Page 11 of Happily Ever After… Again and Again

“Keep your secrets then,” Finn says.

Jay is out of his car, not waiting for the driver to get Finn’s door. Reaching in, he unbuckles Finn’s seatbelt and hands him onto the sidewalk. “Come on, puppy. Your birthday surprise awaits.”

The glass doors reflect his cheek-splitting grin.

Inside, they’re greeted by a bearded, middle-aged Were in shredded skinny jeans and a Tempest tee stretched tight across his barrel chest. He’s got the look of an ex-roadie who’s probably done blow with someone in Fleetwood Mac—and survived it.

“Jay Rhodes and Long Road Home—damn. I’m Del Raines. Knox says to show you a good time.” He hands Jay a matte black card embossed with the Nashville Tempest logo. Underneath, it reads:VP of Partnership Experience.

“Thanks for having us,” Jay says, shaking his hand. “We appreciate it.”

Del grins, a gold tooth flashing. “Knox sends his regards. He’ll call next week to catch up.”

“Later’s good,” Jay replies. “He’s got his hands full.”

Del chuckles. “That he does. Let’s get you upstairs. First pitch is in fifteen. Y’all could probably use a drink.”

The elevator’s tight, Pack-scented air thick around them. Luca’s hands ghost over Finn’s belly, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, and Finn flushes under Del’s twinkling eyes in the mirrored wall.

The doors open directly into a small lobby where the box’s doors are standing wide open and welcoming—the scents of catering and the audio from the stadium broadcasting into the space. Yet, it’s the vast expanse of the grassy field that sets Finn’s pulse pounding.

The luxurious box sits right behind home plate, giving Finn an unfettered view of the whole diamond, where fresh chalk lines and gleaming bases wait for the men who are masters of the best game on the planet. Maybe the universe.

He fucking loves baseball—always has. He’s bombarded with memories from his childhood, where he belonged with teammates and coaches more than he did at home, where his parents rarely remembered he was there.

He wants to get the social niceties with Del over with so he can press his nose to the glass or head out onto the balcony, where the stadium-style seats wait for him, but manners mean they have to stand with their alpha until he lets them go.

“Sounds great. I’ll see you after the game,” Del says, stepping back and waving them in. “Let us know if you need anything—and enjoy yourselves.”

“Thanks again,” Jay replies.

Gideon snorts quietly behind him, already tired of people he doesn’t know and doesn’t have to like, more interested in the quality of food the catering staff has left for them.

The Pack takes that as their cue, breaking like balls in a billiards game.

The door to the box finally closes behind them, and there’s a subtle click where Grayson slidesthe lock home.

Leo and Rowan fall on the food like they’d not eaten for a week, while Gideon stands four feet from the glass window—close enough to see out, but not close enough to trigger his vertigo.

So as not to take the alpha unawares, Finn makes his steps heavier before putting his arm around him and slipping his hand into the back of Gideon’s jeans. “You okay up here?”

“I’m good,” Gideon snorts, ears turning pink. “I’ll stay in here, though, if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s only fifty-eight feet,” Rowan mumbles, mouth full and fingers covered in sauce from the chicken wings he’s piled high on a blue-and-white china plate.

“High enough,” Jay says, hefting a big bottle of bourbon. The black label says Tempest Twelve. Holding it up, he grins, “Knox’s newest venture. Del said his new mates run a distillery.”

“Lucky bastards,” Rowan growls, making a grab for the bottle, but Jay is faster.

“You’re not chugging a twelve-year-old bottle of bourbon on an empty stomach.”

“Or at all, please,” Finn mutters.

“Not empty now…” Rowan opens his mouth to reveal half-masticated chicken and BBQ sauce.

“Gross, Ro.” Sometimes Finn worries for his own sanity because he is no less attracted to Rowan Foster, even after the childish gesture.

“You happy, Finnie?” Jay asks, slipping the gifted bottle of bourbon between the sectional and the wall, just in case Rowan gets through the tequila he’s uncovered from the bar.