Page 129 of Nash
"East's fucking face is not going up in our room," I say from the wall.
Ruby stops mid-sentence. Her mouth stays open. She looks at me. Looks at Sloane. Looks back at me. "You said our room."
"Yeah."
"I said our bed. You said our room." Her eyes go wide. "Did we just move in together? Right now? In this room? In front of everyone? Is that what just happened? Because if that's whatjust happened, this is the best day of my entire life and I need someone to mark the time."
"Seven-fourteen," Knox says without looking up from his phone.
"SEVEN-FOURTEEN. The Greg operation AND a cohabitation agreement on the same day. Someone write this down. This needs to be documented. This is historic."
East crosses the room. He stands in front of the couch, arms crossed, looking down at the woman holding his daughter while roasting him.
"You," he says.
"Me?" Ruby looks up with the expression of a woman who could not possibly be involved in a club-wide conspiracy. "I've been sitting here the whole time, Greg. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You put him up to this. Nash wouldn't rename a man unless a woman told him to."
"Nash is a fully autonomous individual capable of making his own decisions."
"Nash didn't make a single autonomous decision from the moment he met you. Nash's autonomy died the day you stole a fry off his plate. You are the puppet master, and the entire club is dancing on your strings."
"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." Ruby's eyes fill. "Greg, I'm touched."
"My name is EAST."
Rowan starts fussing. East's face softens immediately. He reaches down, takes the baby from Ruby's arms, and settles her against his chest. His hand cradles her head. The transition from outrage to tenderness takes half a second.
"Fine," he says to the baby. "Daddy's name is Greg now. Your Uncle Nash decided. Your Aunt Ruby orchestrated. This is the world you were born into. I'm sorry."
Ruby's face splits into a grin aimed at me across the room. I'm at the wall. My post. The place I've watched every room from for years. She grins at me from the couch. Full wattage. The grin hits low in my gut, and my eyes drop to the neckline of her top before I catch myself. There's lace underneath. The black lace she told me about at the door, pressed against her skin, waiting.
I hold her gaze. My mouth pulls.
Maggie's rosemary chicken fills the tables. Plates are passed. Conversations overlap. Lawrence and Raine arrive at six-thirty, Raine carrying bread she baked this morning. Lawrence shakes hands around the room in pressed khakis. Raine finds Maggie in the kitchen, and within four minutes the two of them are plating food side by side as if they've been doing it for years.
Every seat is taken. Babies are passed between arms. The goat wanders beneath the tables. Kyle feeds him scraps from his plate while pretending he isn't.
"Hey Nasty, bring me a beer," Ruby calls across the room.
I push off the wall. Grab a beer from the cooler. Cross the room and set it in front of her.
Kyle looks up. "Nasty?"
"Nickname," Ruby says. "Based on his personality."
"His personality is nasty?"
"In a grumpy way. A won't-smile-at-parties way." She pops the cap and takes a sip. Her eyes find mine over the rim. The look lasts one second too long.
Kyle shrugs and goes back to feeding the goat. Nasty Nash Jr. chews the scrap from Kyle's fingers. Neither Kyle nor anyone else at this table connects the name on the goat to the name Ruby just called me across a room full of people who watched her hold that goat at a baby shower three months ago.
I do. Ruby knows I do. Her mouth pulls against the bottle.
Across the room, Ruby slides into the empty chair beside Olivia. She leans in, elbows on the table, and says something thatmakes Olivia's bright blue eyes widen before softening. Olivia tilts her head and answers. Ruby nods. Asks another question, her voice so low I can only read the shape of it on her lips. Olivia's fingers drift to the gold necklace at her throat, turning the pendant while she talks. Ruby's eyes follow the movement, then lift back to Olivia's face. She doesn't interrupt or deflect with a joke. She sits with her hands folded on the table and absorbs whatever Olivia is telling her the way she absorbs a client's story before she picks up the machine.
Olivia laughs at something Ruby says. Full, unguarded. Victor watches from two seats away. His posture hasn't changed, but his eyes track the conversation the way mine track Ruby's. When Olivia reaches across the table and squeezes Ruby's hand, Victor's jaw relaxes by a degree. His woman, speaking freely, is choosing to share. The dynamic holding without a word from him.
