Her face lights up the second she sees me.
That does something I’m still getting used to.
She walks down the steps, meeting me halfway. “Hey. You were gone a while.”
“Had somewhere I needed to visit,” I say.
She studies my face, reading every line, every shadow. She’s annoyingly good at that.
“You okay?” she asks.
For once, I don’t deflect.
“I think I am,” I say.
Her eyes soften. “Good.”
I take her hand—something I never used to do in daylight—and pull her closer. Her palm fits against mine like it was cut to match.
“I went to Tammy’s grave,” I say quietly.
Holley’s breath catches. “Oh.”
“I told her about you.”
She stares at me, eyes glassy but steady. “What did you say?”
“That I’m living again,” I answer. “That I’m learning how to feel things I thought died with her. That I’m not replacing her, but I’m not staying frozen either.”
Holley swallows hard, a tear threatening. “Tony.”
“And I told her thank you,” I add. “For everything she gave me. And for everything you’re giving me now.”
A tear slips down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.
“I’m not good at this,” I admit. “Feelings. Talking. Any of it.”
“Yes, you are,” she whispers. “You just never let yourself try.”
I huff a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Maybe.”
She leans into my chest, arms sliding around my middle. I hold her tight, chin resting on the top of her head.
“You give me peace, Holley,” I murmur into her hair. “A kind I haven’t felt in… I don’t know how long.”
She presses closer. “You give me safety. And choice. And a home I didn’t know I could want.”
I kiss her forehead. Soft. Reverent.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“For what?” she asks.
“For giving me back pieces of myself I thought were gone.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “You did that for me first.”
We stay like that—still, warm, wrapped in each other while the world goes quiet.
