City catches my eye from across the room. No words, just a nod that saysYou’re not alone.It’s a language born in battle scars and late nights in the garage.
One morning, I walk into our shared office. The gavel, his gavel, is on my desk.
No note. No meeting. No announcement. Just sitting there, waiting.
I don’t touch it. Not yet.
I stare at the gavel on my desk longer than I probably should. It sits there like it knows what it means.
Aria walks in, no knock, just that quiet authority she carries when we’re not at the Club. She sees it and doesn’t flinch. “He’s giving it to you,” she says.
“Not officially.”
“Still giving it.”
I rest my hands on the edge of the desk. “I don’t want it like this.”
“You think he did?” she asks, crossing the room. She lays her hand over mine. “Nobody wants to bury a king, Steel. But somebody’s got to become one.” The heat of her palm is steady, but beneath it, I feel something else. Hesitation, a quiet war.
I don’t answer. I just lean into the stillness and let her presence settle the weight for a second.
Her eyes flick away for a beat, and when she looks back, there’s a crack in the armor I rarely see.
“I’m scared, Steel,” she admits, voice low. “Not just for you… for me. Caring for you like this is more than a risk. It’s everything I’ve built outside this world, everything I could lose. My career, my family... even myself.” She swallows hard, biting back more.
“I’m not used to leaning on anyone. Not like this.” I respond.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “If this goes sideways, there’s no safe place for me to run.”
I want to reach out and pull her closer, to tell her she’s not alone. Tell her she means the world to me and that my heart will stop beating without her, but I see it. Her wrestling with the cost, the fear of falling too hard, too fast.
So, instead, I squeeze her hand. “I don’t want you to lose yourself.”
She shakes her head, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m already losing parts of me. Being with you means stepping into a world that’s dangerous. Sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough.” Her voice cracks just a little. “The last time I let someone in like this, it ended with me holding the pieces alone.”
She pulls back, but the vulnerability lingers. I see it all. The stakes she’s betting on, the gamble she’s making with every beat of her heart.
“You’re not alone,” I say quietly. “We carry this together.”
She nods slowly, resting her forehead against my shoulder. “I just needed you to know… this isn’t just your fight. It’s mine too. And that’s what you do for someone you love.”
There’s her confession. Her fear. Loving me might destroy her. I don’t want to hurt her; I want to watch her grow into the powerful woman I know she will be.
I pull her against my chest and kiss the top of her head, swallowing back the words that will make us or break her.
Later in the week, Dad and I are both in the garage. He’s cleaning tools. I’m buried in a shell company ledger; ink smudged on my palm from sketching a money trail. I’d rather be buried deep inside Aria, but she had to go to visit her parents in Detroit for a few days. Things are strained between us, but at night, when we need each other the most, that worry slips away. Dad and I work in silence until the tension presses against my lungs.
“Why are you doing this like it’s a relay?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up. Just keeps cleaning the same wrench like it’s made of glass and memory. “Doing what?”
“Handing me pieces,” I say. “One at a time. Like you’re counting down.”
He finally meets my gaze, tired eyes clear for a second. “Because if I dump it all on you, you’ll collapse. You won’t say it. But you would.”
My throat tightens. “I can take it.”
“That’s not the same thing as saying you should. Youwilltake it. All of it. But not yet. Not while I’ve still got breath left to help you lift it.”
