Page 53 of Oliver (The Golden Team #7)

Oliver

Y ou’d think after a week of blood and bullets, my team would want to sleep for a month.

But here we were — back porch, mugs of coffee, an old Bluetooth speaker playing country music that made Raven groan every five minutes.

Gage nursed a bruised jaw and glared at me every time I offered him another ice pack. Cyclone leaned back in a chair, arms folded, eyes half on the conversation and half somewhere else. Jude hadn’t come out yet, and that alone told me something was up.

Emery was curled beside me on the porch swing, her feet tucked under my thigh. She was the only one still awake enough to listen to Gage’s dramatic retelling of how we’d rescued him.

“And then — get this — Oliver punches the guard so hard, I swear the poor bastard is gonna tell his grandkids about it one day. If he still has a jaw. Which is debatable.”

Emery’s laugh was the sweetest damn sound. “You’re lucky he didn’t leave you tied to that chair, Gage.”

“Hey!” Gage threw his hands up. “You wound me. Truly.”

Raven snorted. “Next time, try not to get caught in the first place.”

“Next time, try to be fun at parties, Raven.”

Cyclone’s chuckle was low and rare — the kind that made me look twice. Something softened in him lately. Not many people noticed, but I did.

I caught his eye over the rim of my coffee mug. You good? my look asked.

His barely-there nod answered: Better than good.

When Jude finally stepped outside, hair still damp from a shower, Cyclone’s whole posture changed. Subtle, but clear to anyone watching. His eyes tracked her like she was the only thing worth seeing in this whole damn zip code.

I elbowed Raven lightly. “We taking bets on who ties the knot next?”

Raven just rolled his eyes. “Not it.”

Gage grinned, catching on. “I give it six months. Tops.”

Jude froze halfway to Cyclone, cheeks pink. She shot me a glare that should’ve killed me on the spot. Cyclone just dragged her into the crook of his arm and muttered something that made her swat his chest — then curl into him anyway.

Emery leaned closer, whispering, “You see that?”

I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yeah. Family, babe. Even the messed-up parts. We are all still one big happy family.”

The sun climbed higher, burning off the last scraps of the storm we’d weathered.

For a few perfect hours, there was no Langston, no headlines, no threat lurking in the shadows. Just laughter, coffee, and the woman I’d hunt the world for asleep against my side.

Tomorrow we’d be soldiers again.

But today? We were home.