Eventually, the noise inside and the pressure of all those eyes pushed me toward the back of the property. The clubhouse sat on the edge of the bayou. Out past the garages and the old firepit, the land dropped toward the water. A line of willow trees marked the boundary, their long branches moving in the breeze. The sun had started its slow fall, turning the sky orange and pink, the light catching on the ripples of the Bayou.
Hellsing stood near the edge of the yard with his back to the house. His hands were in his pockets. His cut hung open over a black shirt. The bruises on his throat had faded to yellow. The wind tugged at his hair as he stared out at the water.
For a second, I just watched him. This man had gone to literal Hell for me. He had dragged Bael down and chained him. He held my hand while I came back. Now he stood alone at the edge of my father’s farewell as he was not sure he belonged at the center of it.
I walked over and slid my fingers into his. He startled just a little, then looked down at our joined hands and backed up at me. His eyes were tired, but they softened when they met mine.
“Hey, cher,” he said quietly. “You holdin’ up?”
“No,” I said. “But I am still standing.”
He gave a small nod. “That counts,” he said.
“Come with me,” I said.
I led him along the side of the house, away from the sound of the club, to where the willows cast long shadows and the air smelled like damp earth and slow water. The wind moved the branches just enough to give us privacy without closing us in.
We stopped under one of the trees.
The sun sat low over the bayou, its light catching on his profile. For a moment, I just breathed with him.
“I don’t think he would have liked this,” I said. “The noise. The food. He always said he didn’t want people he loved whispering over a box.”
“He would have been okay, Gracie.” Hellsing said. “He got church, dirt, food, and whiskey. Virgil would be satisfied.”
I smiled, and it hurt, but it felt right.
“Mom said he said goodbye before he left,” I said. “That he knew.”
Hellsing’s thumb stroked over the back of my hand.
“You know your daddy,” he said. “He saw more than he ever said, cher. He felt Bael stirrin’ even before I did. He knew there was a chance he wasn’t comin’ back. Man like that doesn’t walk into a fight blind. He said his piece in his own way.”
“You were there,” I said. “You saw him. Did he… was he scared?”
Hellsing’s jaw tightened as those memories came back. “I saw a man who was mad as hell he had to face that thing again,” he said. “I saw a man who loved his daughter more than he feared dyin’. He was not scared. He was pissed. There is a difference.”
A shaky laugh escaped me. “That sounds like him,” I said.
Hellsing stepped a little closer. Our shoulders brushed as silence settled between us for a moment. The wind moved through the willow leaves. Someone laughed faintly by the clubhouse. A bike engine turned over in the distance.
I turned my face up to him.
“Peter,” I said.
“Yeah, cher,” he answered, the drawl wrapping around the words.
“I need…” I swallowed, trying to find language that did not sound selfish or broken. “I need to feel something that is not this. Just for a little while. Just long enough to remember I am not only made of grief and guilt.”
His brows drew together ash is eyes searched my face.
“You been through Hell and back,” he said. “Literally. You sure what you’re askin’ for ain’t just you runnin’ from it?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I am so tired of hurting. Of seeing that moment over and over. Of feeling Bael’s hands in my head. I just want you. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to remember what it’s like when it’s just you and me.”
He exhaled slowly and his fingers tightened around mine.
“Gracie,” he said. “I do not wanna take advantage of you when you’re cracked open like this, cher.”
