But from behind him emerges someone that makes Rowan’s jaw hit the floor for a different reason as he does a double take. And not because of her similar all-black attire, an oversized blazer with the sleeves cuffed to her forearms showing off the long-sleeve lace top underneath and revealing the twin snake tattoo he’d seen that had instantly reminded him of Mal.

It’s the woman he’d helped with the injured arm several months ago. What was her name? Amy?

“Holy shit, you’re that EMT,” she says, mirroring Rowan’s thoughts and shaking her long, messy ponytail off her shoulder.

Rowan’s shock at seeing her and at her recognizing him months later is enough to keep him from correcting his title.

“Wait, how the fuck do you two know each other?” Mal interjects instead of any type of greeting.

She leans into Mal’s side. “Mal, he was with the ambulance when Jared….” Rowan connects the dots at the same time Mal does.

“No shit? Small fuckin’ world. Well, Campbell, this is my sister, Bitchface. Bitchface, this is m—Campbell,” he crudely introduces them.

“Amy,” the woman says, holding out her hand and glaring at her brother. “And it was Rowan, right?”

Rowan’s surprised she remembers, but, “Yeah. How’s your arm doing?” he asks, shaking her hand gingerly while his own is nearly crushed with her firm grip.

“All good. Was just a sprain.”

“And, uh….”

“He’s gone,” she says, inferring Rowan’s next question. “Rest in fuckin’ pieces.”

Rowan’s eyes widen. He doesn’t put it past this firecracker of a woman to actually kill someone. Or to sic Mal on him on her behalf. The sour look on the man in question’s face tells Rowan he might not be too far off on that line of thinking.

But potential felonies aside… holy shit. Everything about the scene when Mal kissed him makes sense: Why he’d gone radio silent for days in a row before requesting more praise than normal. Why he’d been so distracted that he’d done something outside his normal boundaries. Why he’d slept with someone else afterward.

He doesn’t yet know how close Mal and Amy are, but hell, if any one of Rowan’s siblings got abused like that, he’d be a fucking mess too.

“Mal! Happy birthday, darling!” Rowan hears from behind him.

For a moment, the name that Camilla calls doesn’t register with Rowan, being so used to hearing her calling Mal Malcolm.

But when it does, Rowan’s stunned into silence. Everything makes sense now. These aren’t just random people that Mal happens to see on a fairly regular basis when he’s at the club. These are his friends. His family. Of course they’re going to call him what he wants to be called. His stomach twists as if he’s on a Tilt-a-Whirl at the thought of what that makes him to Mal.

As everyone hugs and wishes Mal a happy birthday, Rowan catches snippets of conversation.