Sophie strolls in looking tired but amused. “Someone set the baby down.”

I turn and give her a kiss on the cheek. “You two have a tiny dictator in your midst. Throw down some tough love and say no once in a while.”

Sophie and Scottie burst out laughing. They keep laughing until Felix smiles around the edges of his dummy, and Sophie wipes a tear from her eye. “Oh, that was good. I needed that.”

“Har.” But I’m smiling too.

“Can you say it again?” Scottie pulls out his phone. “I want to record it for future use on the off chance you decide to have kids.”

That sobers me right up. My future happiness is why I’m here. “Maybe later.” I grimace. “Look, I need to find Stella.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. Scottie adopts his business face, which is basically a wall of “I know nothing.” Sophie’s eyes narrow like she’s considering pulling Felix’s dummy free and siccing him on me.

“Sorry,” Scottie says, “but she isn’t here.”

Nice evasion. I step closer. “That isn’t what I asked.”

“Actually, you didn’t ask anything.”

He’s going to play it like that? I smile thinly. “Scottie, old boy, would you happen to know the whereabouts of Ms. Stella Grey?”

He glances at Sophie, who glances at me, then back to Scottie. It’s like some bad reenactment of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly standoff.

“Hey,” I cut in, “I’m just trying to find my girl.”

“Your girl?” Sophie snorts. “You lost the right to call her that when you kicked her out.”

“Sophie,” Scottie says softly.

She glares at him. “He hurt her.”

God, that gets me. I know it’s true. But it still slices through the gut. “I need to apologize and try to make it better, Soph. But I can’t if I can’t find her.”

Stubborn as hell, Sophie lifts her chin and refuses to talk. I sigh and turn to Scottie. There was a point in my life where I’d laughed at the idea of laying my heart on the line. He was there to witness it. We both know this well, but I’m not afraid to beg now.

I know Scottie sees this in my expression. I don’t have to say a word before his shoulders slump and he sighs. His eyes cut to Sophie, who glares.

“You are not telling him.”

“Darling,” he begins.

Sophie crosses her arms under her breasts in a huff. “So it’s bros before hoes, huh?”

Scottie’s lips twitch. “I would never call a woman a ho. And it isn’t our place to intervene.”

“Just think,” I say, “if Scottie’s bros hadn’t stepped in when we found him unshaven, surrounded by an utter mess, and pitifully moaning over your loss, you’d still in Australia.”

Her eyes go wide and a small smile blooms over her face. “You were moaning?” she asks a disgruntled Scottie.

He makes a face. “I was not moaning.”

“Whimpering,” I correct, earning a glare. But really, I’m doing the guy a favor—Sophie’s already across the room and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s so sweet, Sunshine.”

“Glad you think so.” Scottie kisses the tip of her nose before telling me, “Stella is staying with Brenna.”

“Shit.”

“Mmm,” he agrees. “I don’t know how you’ll get past her. Brenna has become extremely protective of Stella.”

Still clinging to Scottie, Sophie smirks. “You think I’m a hard-ass? Good luck with all that.”

Strangely, the fact that the other women in my life are looking out for Stella makes me happy and grateful. Stella has always wanted friends, a family. I can give her that. I glance at little Felix who is drooling all over Scottie’s shirt and giving me the stink eye, and I shudder. Well, maybe not the full-on family thing just yet. One hurdle at a time.

I need to get my act together, and I need to plan this carefully. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win back her trust. And it doesn’t scare me.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Stella

* * *

I’m not sure what I expected of John. Maybe a text, a phone call, or maybe nothing. But I sure as hell didn’t expect a delivery. It comes three weeks after our implosion.

“What the hell?” Brenna asks, seeing me lug a big square box into her kitchen after signing for it.

“I don’t know,” I say, grabbing scissors out of the catchall drawer. “It’s for me, but that’s all it says.”

Her ponytail sways as she hurries over to help. “It’s gotta be Jax.”

I suppress a grimace. “We don’t know that. How would he even know I’m here?”

Her brow furrows with a frown. “Scottie must have ratted you out. He’s the only one of the guys who knows you’re here, and he’s a total closet romantic.”

“Really?” I can’t imagine stone-faced Scottie being sentimental.

“Believe it. Now that he has a family, he wants us all happily settled.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” I ask, amused at her sour expression.

“It’s an annoying thing.” Brenna quirks a brow. “Enough about matchmaker Scottie. Do you know anyone else who would have something hand delivered? Besides, the courier was Darren. He works for us. My money is on Jax sending this.”

I stare at the box, hesitant to open it. Whatever John sent isn’t small. The box is about twenty inches square.

“If he sent a human head,” Brenna says darkly, “I’m going to be really upset.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “What the hell, Brenn? You are sick.”

She shrugs. “Got you to smile, didn’t I? Stop looking at the box like it’s a bomb and open it already.”

“Sneaky cheeks.” A couple of slices from the scissor blade to open it, and we both peer in.

“Well,” she says, “it’s not a head.”

“Nope.” Bottles rattle as I pull a six-pack of beer free from the box.

“Jax is so fucking weird.”

A smile threatens, and my lips wobble before I force them flat. “It’s one of his best qualities.” God, I’m going to cry. Over this strange-ass gift of beer.

Brenna roots through the box, but it’s empty. “What the hell does it mean?”

“I honestly have no idea. It’s not like I’m a huge beer enthusiast.”

“How could he not leave a note?” Brenna scowls at the beer. “His first contact and it’s to send random beer?”

Suppressing a sigh, I put the beer in the fridge. “I’m done trying to figure him out.”

Words are shallow, though; the beer haunts me as I walk away. What the hell is John trying to say? Hey, let’s have a few beers and laugh this all away? Sorry, I broke your heart, have a drink on me? Whatever it is, I find myself getting more and more pissed.

It builds as I try to lounge in Brenna’s living room, and I end up tossing the copy of Vogue back onto the coffee table with so much force, it slides right off and lands with a thump on the floor.

“You know,” Brenna says, not looking up from her magazine, “only Rye could annoy someone more than Jax. Be grateful you didn’t fall for him.”

“Tell me,” I murmur. “How much of a pain is it to fall for Rye?”