Chapter 83 Dynasty
LIAM
The beer was cold, the music was loud enough to rattle bone, and JJ was absolutely using his jersey as a helicopter rotor while shouting, “Carter’s got his shot back and knocked up the boss’s daughter, it’s a double win!” like he’d just discovered poetry.
Yep. This was my life now.
“Remind me again why we came out with them?” Ava muttered, fingers threaded through mine as she pressed into my side in the corner booth of the team’s favorite bar. The place smelled like fried food, cheap cologne, and victory. Mostly victory.
“Because they threatened to hold my jockstrap for ransom,” I said, watching JJ attempt a keg stand with the grace of a falling tree, “and because you look stupid hot in that dress.”
“Flattery won’t save you if I throw up on your shoes.” Her cheeks flushed, but she gave me that tiny, traitorous smile she pretended not to enjoy.
I dipped my head, brushing my lips against her ear. “If I could, I’d carry you on my shoulders through this whole bar and make a speech that starts with, ‘This woman is the reason I can walk again, skate again, breathe again… and have the best post victory sex of my life.’”
She smacked my chest, laughing. “You did walk funny this morning.”
I leaned back, feigning offense. “Don’t test me, Snowflakes. I’ll bend you over this table and remind the entire bar why I still wear the C on my jersey.”
“Tempting, Captain,” she arched a brow, eyes dancing, “but we’ve already maxed out today’s scandal quota.”
Right.
I winced slightly at the memory of her dad’s face when she dropped the nuclear bomb in his office.
We’re pregnant.
The silence. The slow rise from his chair. The legendary line delivered at maximum volume.
“Liam fucking Carter, you got my daughter pregnant?”
And my very dignified response.
“Run.”
She ran. I stayed. I absorbed the storm like a slightly terrified but committed man.
Now here we were. No one dead. No arrests. Just beer, laughter, and a team that had decided my impending fatherhood was prime entertainment.
“Hey, lovebirds!” Tyler announced, sliding into the booth like he owned the place. He plopped down two trays of fries and shoved a margarita with enough salt to preserve a body toward Ava. “For the queen. Doctor’s orders.”
“Ty,” she laughed, pushing it back toward him, “I’m pregnant. Not dying.”
“Same thing if the kid gets his energy,” Tyler shot back, jerking a thumb at me.
“God help us all,” Ava muttered.
I leaned back, draping my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. The noise swirled around us. Glasses clinking. Someone starting a chant of “Dad! Dad! Dad!” in my direction. I made a mental note to tackle JJ later.
But beneath the chaos, something warm settled in my chest.
Everything felt… right.
Ava leaned into me like she belonged there, like that space between my arm and my ribs had always been reserved for her. We had taken the scenic route to get here. Through injury. Through stubbornness. Through secrets and late night arguments and whispered apologies.
And now? Now she was here. Wearing my last name in her future whether she knew it yet or not.
“Hey,” I murmured, just for her, brushing my thumb along her arm. “You okay?”
She looked up at me, eyes bright, softer than I’d ever seen them. “Yeah. I really am.”
And I believed her.
The music shifted to something louder. JJ fell off the bar to a chorus of cheers. Tyler started arguing about baby names with someone who should not be trusted with naming a goldfish.
“I’m gonna marry you, you know,” I said casually, like I was commenting on the weather.
Her breath hitched. “You are?”
“Yeah.” I pressed a kiss to her temple. “Soon. Big dress, small ceremony. Or small dress, big ceremony. Or courthouse with fries after. I don’t care. I just want you. Always.”
Her fingers tightened in mine. “You really mean that?”
“Every heartbeat.” I took her hand and pressed it flat against my chest. Let her feel it. Steady. Certain.
Her smile started slow, like sunrise stretching over the horizon. And when it fully bloomed, it knocked the air out of me.
“I want us to be a team,” she whispered. “Forever.”
“Then we’re already winning.”
I leaned in and kissed her, soft at first. Just us. Just the quiet promise tucked between our mouths.
Someone yelled, “Kiss her!” and suddenly the entire team picked it up like a drunken choir.
“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”
I laughed against her lips. “They’re relentless.”
“So are you,” she whispered back.
So I kissed her properly.
Not rushed. Not careless. A kiss that said I choose you. A kiss that tasted like beer and salt and the future. The bar blurred out. The noise dulled. There was just her mouth under mine, her fingers curling into my shirt, her heartbeat matching my own.
When we finally pulled back, she was breathless. “You really do love the attention.”
“Only when I’m kissing the prize,” I shot back.
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. God, she was smiling.
Around us, the team erupted again. Someone started chanting “Future Mrs. Carter.” Tyler nearly spilled his drink trying to toast us. JJ saluted dramatically from across the room.
I looked at her, really looked at her. At the woman who rebuilt me. Who challenged me. Who chose me when I was not exactly easy to choose.
Ava Reed. My Snowflakes. The love of my stubborn, chaotic life.
The final buzzer on our madness might not have actually sounded yet. There would be more storms. More chaos. Probably more moments where her dad contemplated murder.
But standing there in that noisy bar, her hand in mine, her future tied to mine in a way that felt terrifying and perfect all at once, I knew something solid.
The game of love?
We weren’t just playing.
We were building a dynasty.