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Serena laughs softly. “They’re either watching the fight at Crystal Ball or Remy’s bar.

” She pulls her phone out from under her thigh, expertly thumbing the screen, like she’s used to doing everything one-handed.

“Well, Dex and Emily are running things at Remy’s bar while he’s away.

Em says the place is absolutely packed.”

“That’s great.” Except for Griff’s party, Remy’s bar has been slow when I’ve been there. Hopefully the boost in business helps.

“Oh! I brought you something—” Serena stretches her free arm out, straining to reach for the bag on the floor without jostling Lincoln.

“Let me take him for a while, buttercup.” Grinder stands and scoops his son into his arms.

Serena throws him a soft, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

She digs around in the bag, pulling out diapers, wipes, toys, blankets, extra baby clothes—so many extra clothes. Finally, she unearths a sleek, black, sparkly case shaped like a coffin.

“A-ha!” She holds it in the air like a trophy. “The company sent me two of these limited-edition kits. I thought the bag was so cute. I brought one for you.”

She hands it to me, and I blink in surprise. The name stamped in silver across the front jumps out immediately—an expensive brand I’ve admired but never dared splurge on.

“Wow. Really?” I unzip the case. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes. It’s their fall line. Not available yet. I have to post my videos by the end of the summer. Oh! Maybe you can come down and we’ll swatch everything together. Their new liquid liners are insane—super pigmented, zero flake, and the precision tips? So, so clean.”

Serena’s cheerful enthusiasm finally cuts through my anxiety. We geek out over the kit, comparing shades and formulas. She helps me test one of the lip colors, gently swiping it over my lips like a pro.

I snap a quick selfie and send it to Jigsaw.

No death talk. No sideways glances or whispered gossip. I’m not the weird girl who touches dead people for a living.

I’m…a friend. A guest. Someone who belongs here.

Heidi and her daughter stop by for a few minutes. But after Alexa watches the screen for a bit, she tries to mimic one of the fighters’ moves on Z’s son, Chance.

“That’s our cue to go back to the dining room,” Heidi mutters, while Murphy scoops up his mini menace before a full toddler cage match breaks out.

The rest of the afternoon and evening is just as pleasantly chaotic.

Then, the television screen goes dark except for thousands of twinkling lights in the arena.

“This is it!” Teller shouts. “It’s starting!”

A low hum of anticipation zips around us.

The theme song to Halloween starts playing.

“What the fuck? The guy’s using the Halloween theme song as his walkout?” Sparky shouts. “What a doofus. I hope Griff rocks that dude into next year.”

“Who knew Sparky was so bloodthirsty,” Serena titters.

While Griff’s opponent takes a lap around the entire arena, the screen splits, showing a full hallway of jittering men.

Stash jumps up off his blanket and points at the screen. “There’s Remy.”

Hope squeals. “There’s Wrath. Oh my God, he looks ready to chuck people left and right.”

The camera zooms in on Griff squinting into the light and Molly handing him a pair of sunglasses.

“Awww, they’re so cute,” I sigh.

“There’s Dawson.” Heidi elbows Murphy’s side. “I’m so jealous we couldn’t go with them. Shelby said the private plane was a-maze-ing.”

“Next time,” he promises her.

The screen shifts to just showing Mike “Magic” Everson again. Sparky’s right, the guy looks like a doofus, hurling insults and talking trash about Griff.

The camera switches again.

The whole parade of people backstage starts walking down the long hall into the arena. A loud, grinding country song blares from the speakers. Lights flash everywhere.

“I never realized it was such a spectacle,” I murmur. “It’s all so… theatrical.”

“Right?” Lilly flashes a grin. “Men are so dramatic.”

I shake with laughter and nod.

The announcer’s voice booms, rattling off betting stats—how the odds are laughably against Griff. Making it sound like he’s a charity case.

Indignation flares in my chest. “That’s rude. Why would he be there if he has no chance of winning?”

Teller turns and grins at me. “Let ’em keep underestimating him.” He rubs his fingers together in the universal sign for money. “Only benefits us.”

“Is it too late for me to place a bet?”

“Nope.” He rattles off a bunch of different options—which mean nothing to me, finally promising to place fifty on Griff to win by knockout.

“Oh!” Heidi jumps out of her chair and points at the TV. “There’s Shelby and Molly.”

“Shelby looks so cute in that jumpsuit!” Serena gushes.

A microphone gets shoved in Shelby’s face. “Who are you rooting for, Shelby?” someone off-camera asks.

Shelby’s pretty face screws into an are you stupid scowl. “Stonewall! Who else?”

The camera slides to Molly’s anxious face. “You think your boyfriend’s going to win this fight, Molly?”

Like a baby deer caught in the headlights, she blinks several times. My heart squeezes at her obvious discomfort. Finally, she lifts her chin and glares right into the camera. “Of course he will.”

If Shelby’s on the screen, Jigsaw shouldn’t be far away, right? Searching the people in the background, I finally spot him. My heart kicks. He’s so focused and serious, standing next to Rooster, glaring at the cage. Even in a sea of shouting fans, my eyes go straight to him.

I shoot a quick text.

Me: I see you.

The camera pans away just as it looks like he dips his hand into his pocket.

Next to me, Serena’s phone dings, She quickly checks the screen and frowns. “Aww, some jerk asked Shelby if she’s pregnant.”

Lilly’s eyes narrow. “People are such assholes.” She gestures wildly at the screen. “She looks adorable.”

The screen goes to the inside of the cage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event tonight! Reigning champion Mike ‘Magic’ Everson out of ME Army Gym right here in Las Vegas with an impressive record of eleven wins and one loss, versus the up-and-coming Supreme Underground Fighter Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal out of Furious Fitness all the way in Empire, New York! You’re here to witness history as Stonewall steps into the cage for his first professional fight tonight. ”

“Yes!” Murphy claps. “Shout out to Furious Fitness!”

Z walks over and high-fives him.

I glance to my right. Teller’s abandoned his laptop, standing next to Charlotte and Rock.

The bell rings.

And all hell breaks loose on the screen.

Fists fly. Kicks land. They’re spinning, grappling, throwing each other into the cage wall.

The force behind their movements feels violent and intimate all at once.

It’s hard to track everything—they move fast, and the commentary is a blur—but the sound of the crowd roaring inside the arena? That cuts through loud and clear.

Magic throws a punch that Griff ducks, throwing the guy off balance.

Cocky as all hell, Griff walks right up and slaps the guy across the face.

“Yes!” Murphy laughs maniacally. “Stonewall Slap.”

More punches and kicks are thrown. Griff goes flying into the cage wall.

“Oh my God.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can’t watch.” How do people do this? How is Molly sitting right there in the front row, watching the man she loves get punched? Repeatedly. And kicked. And choked.

I force myself to open my eyes and watch, afraid it’s bad luck to miss a moment.

Hope clasps my arm. “Jeez, no wonder he needed me to write up a will for him.” She winces but can’t seem to look away from the screen either. “This is brutal.”

“Yeah, I can see why he’d need a will.”

Every so often, the camera glides over the front row, catching Molly and Shelby’s anxious faces, Trinity’s stillness, Wrath’s coiled tension, and if it lingers long enough, I catch a glimpse of Rooster and Jigsaw’s stone-cold stares too.

Each time, my heart squeezes.

I miss him so much.

I don’t know if I could stand to be in the arena, though. It’s hard enough watching on television.

By the third round, sweat beads at my temples, and my nerves are wound tighter than a garrote wire. Magic plods across the canvas like a half-dead zombie, while Griff stays light on his feet, bouncing and sharp.

A spark of hope lights in my chest.

“Don’t get cocky,” Murphy says in a low warning tone, as if Griff can somehow hear the advice all the way on the other side of the country.

The same crowd that booed Griff now chants his name—“Stonewall!”—echoing through the speakers.

Magic ducks. Griff’s knee crashes into his face. Blood sprays.

My stomach flips.

A few brutal punches later, Magic hits the canvas like a rumpled blanket.

“That’s it!” Murphy jumps up, hands over his head, clapping wildly.

The front row on-screen erupts. I lose sight of Shelby’s glittering jumpsuit in the blur of movement.

Fans and team members crowd the steps to the cage. The camera pans over them.

“Looks like Stonewall’s crew is first on the steps. There’s his young girlfriend,” the announcer drawls with a dirty chuckle. “Look at that dress.”

“What a bunch of pigs,” Charlotte mutters.

“Winner by knockout in the third round,” the arena announcer shouts. “Griffin ‘Stonewall’ Royal!”

Seconds later, the broadcast announcer echoes the words.

“Yes! Fuck yes!” Teller jumps up, punching the air.

Charlotte whoops, clapping as he pulls her into a kiss.

I turn back to the screen.

Jigsaw and Rooster stand close, cocooning Molly as they wait to be let into the cage.

She’s finally waved in and bolts straight into Griff’s arms. Jigsaw, Rooster, and Remy hover behind them. Jigsaw glances down at something in his hand, flicking his gaze up every few seconds.

My phone buzzes.

Jigsaw: He won.

Me: I know. Still at the clubhouse watching. I see you.

A few seconds later, he lifts his head, gaze scanning the area as if he’s searching for me.

My throat tightens.

Serena leans over. “Are you texting Jiggy, now?”

Laughing, I tilt my screen toward her. “Yes.”