“You boys wash your hands before you sit,” Kellum said, mock stern, blue eyes twinkling.
Aaron groaned, Dylan bolted for the sink.
“Come on. Kellum doesn’t cook often, but when he does, it’s worth dropping everything,” Creed said, motioning to him.
Stone followed, the smell of garlic and chicken heavy in the air—home-cooked food he hadn’t sat down to in a long time.
The porch boards creaked under Stone’s weight as he leaned back in the rocking chair, a bottle cool in his hand.
The sky over the Port Hueneme beach was painted in brilliant orange as the sun sank. Stone drank it in.
From inside the house came the muffled sound of Kellum herding the boys, a burst of laughter, the scrape of chairs on tile.
Normal life.
The kind Stone hadn’t touched in years.
Creed tipped his bottle toward him from the other rocker, a half-smile edged with concern. “Hell, cousin, you sit quieter than a loaded gun these days.”
Stone’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer. He just took a slow pull of beer and let the silence stretch.
Creed leaned back, gaze drifting out across the yard. “We were kings of that block in Ventura, remember? Nobody told us shit. Just you and me, raising hell. Henderson twins never saw us coming.”
A chuckle slipped out of Stone before he could stop it. “Yeah. Back before it all got complicated.”
Creed studied him. “You’ve fought a thousand wars, Cousin, but you look worse than when we limped home bloody after the Hendersons kicked our asses.”
“Mission stuff,” Stone muttered, eyes on the darkening yard.
But Creed didn’t let it go. “You keep looking out there like you’re waiting on someone who’s not coming.”
Stone stiffened, jaw flexing. He didn’t respond.
Creed sighed, voice dropping low. “I know you. You’re carrying something heavy. Tell me straight—what’s going on?”
Stone sat forward, elbows braced on his knees, bottle dangling from one hand. For a long beat, he said nothing. Then it broke loose in pieces, stripped down and raw.
“Every time I call him, Clinton’s the one who answers. Not Dave. And when I do get Dave…” His throat worked, the words dragging. “I thought with time, maybe things would change, but they haven’t. He keeps walls up. Always has.”
He stared out into the night, watching the porch light catch dust in the air.
“Now I’m here. He’s there.” His voice dropped, bitter. “Feels like I’m standing outside my own life, looking through the glass.”
Creed was quiet, waiting.
Stone leaned back, jaw tight. He’d carried worse weights than this, but tonight, in the midst of family, it dug deep and raw in a way he couldn’t shake.
“Every time I reach for him, something gets in the way. Feels like I’m already losing him.”
Creed blew out a short, sharp breath, almost a snort.
“Then hold on tighter. Stop letting other people stand between you. I’ve never seen you back away… unless you want to.”
The words hit like a fist.
Stone wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t that simple—but he couldn’t. Because Creed was right.
He couldn’t afford to let Dave slip away without a fight.
