WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

More famous Fairgoods show up right before dinner. Mason Fairgood, the guy from that one restoration motorcycle show that always seemed to be on instead of Rap Star Wives when I turned on the TV in the breakroom, comes walking in with June Fairgood—the woman from that one tattoo show Sierra likes so much. They have a little girl with them who spends most of the dinner bragging about all the stuff she’s doing in preschool to her older cousins and a teenage boy who immediately asks if anyone wants to play soccer with him after we’re finished with the meal.

Other than the insane amounts of fame, the Fairgoods seem like a big, happy, down-to-earth extended family.

They tell me shared family stories and laugh a lot.

They also tease Waylon whenever he smiles over at me. But that doesn’t stop him from doing it. Or holding my hand all through dinner.

And no, this doesn't even remotely resemble the Thanksgiving family dinner in the suburbs that I imagined when I was spinning former foster kid dreams about Jonathan. But I feel happy here with Waylon and his Fairgood cousins. Like I finally belong.

“So, this smiling thing—is that something he actually does now?” June asks, her eyes wide when Waylon takes her son up on his invitation to play soccer in the backyard after dinner. “Like, regularly? Because I think Mason was getting used to saying stuff like, ‘at least I’m not as bad as Waylon’ when I ask him to smile in pictures or stop glowering at our neighbors.”

I laugh, and tell her, “I think it’s here to stay.”

So, okay, no…most healthy relationships don’t include a guy introducing you to his family because he wants to see if you'll try to run. But I find myself appreciating the test for reasons that have nothing to do with the freedoms I’m hoping he’ll grant me after I pass his little test.

I want to be with Waylon. Here, and in Iowa. That’s an important thing to know for myself too.

And even though I have plenty of opportunities to ask for help from reasonable people, at no point do I want to borrow a phone to call the police. Or slip one of the Fairgood wives a note that says, “Help! I'm being held semi-hostage in Angel Pond.”

“It's nice up there,” I tell his family as we sip on the signature cocktail Kyra and Colin commissioned for their party. “Quiet. And peaceful.”

I tell them about the town and the dream house Waylon built on the pond that bears his nickname for me. By the time I'm done, all the Fairgood wives are sighing, and Colin, Mason, and Woods are kicking around the idea of coming up for a visit.

“Kyra’s always complaining about how our oldest kid spends too much time on the iPad,” Colin says. “We should try something like camping. Take it back from our dads.”

A shadow falls over Mason’s and Dixon’s faces when Colin says that.

As bad as Waylon's mother sounded, I get the sense that their dads weren’t any better.

“We’re really glad Waylon brought you,” Kyra says after their moment of silence. “Waylon’s always been great with our kids. But he doesn’t talk much, and I never would’ve imagined him bringing someone to Thanksgiving dinner we actually liked.”

Everyone laughs, and all those warm, accepted feelings that I kept waiting for with Jonathan’s family rush over me.

“Are you two planning next steps yet? Like marriage and having kids?” Nitra asks. “Because once a Fairgood picks you, it’s like boom!”

She karate chops both hands down and up above her belly and calls out, “Ya pregnant!”

They laugh some more, and I laugh some more, too.

But then, I wince and answer, “I don't think marriage is a thing his club does. And I’m not sure if Waylon’s up for the whole kid thing anyway.”

“I want kids,” Waylon says, interrupting us out of the blue.

We all turn to see him standing behind us with a soccer ball under one arm.

“I’ve just been waiting for you to say the word about coming off birth control,” he informs me with all his family looking on. “And no, most Reapers don't believe in marriage. But if you want to belong to me on paper too, just say the word, angel. I'll take you to the courthouse tomorrow.”

I'm so shocked, I don't know what to say. Especially with all these people staring at us, like we’re the TV stars.

But then, the doorbell rings, saving me from having to come up with an answer.

“I wonder who that could be?” Kyra says with a frown. “Everyone who RSVPed is already here, and dinner’s over.”

The answer to that question drops my heart to my feet.

Hades strides in, wearing head-to-toe black underneath his Reapers jacket. And trailing behind him?

Persy…the woman I vowed to help get away from her captor.