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November 4 - November 17, 2025
once he saw Avery, it was like he couldn’t see anything else.
“You,” Avery told him, her voice reverberating through every bone in his body, “are everything.” She was. This was.
“Is that all?” he murmured, with a crooked little smile. She matched his smile like a poker player matching a bet. “Isn’t that enough?”
“There are private chambers upstairs. What members use those chambers for”—he gave Jameson a moment to imagine—“is up to them.” Rohan’s eyes hardened. “But lay a hand on anyone who does not want a hand there or who is too inebriated to consent, and I cannot guarantee that you will still have a hand in the morning.”
“I’m not just watching, Hawthorne. I’ll be placing a wager.” On him. She was betting on him.
as I want a different life right now, I want to be their mom more.”
“Why the hell would we do that?” Avery beat him to the question. “Because,” another voice called out behind them, “I want you to.” Jameson turned, his grip on the key tightening, and watched as his father stepped through the wrought-iron gate. Ian Johnstone-Jameson met Jameson’s eyes and smiled. “Well done, my boy.”
It was—now and always—Jameson and Avery against the world.
Grayson’s father hadn’t wanted him. His mother had never really been there. The old man had been more concerned with forging them into what they needed to be than what they needed. But Grayson had always—always—had his brothers.

