“It’s not fine.” Jonah’s voice carried an edge Walker had rarely heard from him. “None of this is fine.”
“No,” Boone said quietly. “It’s not.”
More footsteps on the porch, lighter this time. River pushed through the door, his curls wild, grease smudged on his jaw. He stopped short when he saw them all gathered in the kitchen, his eyes going immediately to Johanna’s neck.
“You okay, Doc?” The usual manic energy was gone from his voice, leaving something raw underneath.
“I’m okay.” She offered him a small smile. “Thanks to you.”
River shoved his hands in his pockets, shifted his weight. “Yeah, well. Couldn’t let her hurt you. You’re the only one who sits on cold garage floors with broken people.”
The words hung in the air, honest and unguarded.
Boone cleared his throat. “Thank you again. For talking her down. I couldn’t reach her, but you did.”
River shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the gratitude. “She just needed someone who understood what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. To need someone to throw you a rope instead of lectures.”
Walker watched the two men look at each other, something passing between them that hadn’t been there before. Understanding, maybe. Or just the shared weight of last night.
“Anyone sleep?” Jonah asked, breaking the moment.
Head shakes all around.
“Right.” Jonah set down his mug. “So we’re all running on fumes and trauma. Merry Christmas.”
The bitter laugh that escaped Boone sounded like broken glass.
“I should go,” Johanna said, setting her untouched coffee on the counter. “Let you all process this.”
“Stay.” The word came out of Walker before he could stop it. “Please.”
Her eyes met his, searching. Whatever she found there made her nod slowly and pick up her coffee again.
The morning stretched on in fits and starts. Jonah disappeared to check on Sunny again. River vanished into the garage, the sound of metal on metal and blasting music carrying across the yard. Boone made phone calls, his voice low and tense as he navigated insurance claims and hospital administrators.
Walker and Johanna ended up in the living room, the crooked Christmas tree standing in the corner like a monument to the holiday they’d tried to have. The presents underneath looked wrong now, frivolous in the face of what had happened.
“I keep thinking about her face,” Johanna said quietly, staring at the tree. “When she realized Boone had grown up. That desperate need to turn back time, to get her little boy back.” She touched the bandage at her throat. “I’ve never seen grief that raw.”
Walker sat beside her on the couch, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “You could’ve died.”
“But I didn’t.” She turned to look at him, her brown eyes steady. “River talked her down. Boone caught her. It ended without anyone dying.”
“This time.” The words tasted bitter. “Next time?—”
“There won’t be a next time. She’ll get the help she needs.” Johanna’s hand found his on the couch cushion, her fingers threading through his. “You can’t control everything, Walker. You can’t protect everyone from every possible threat.”
“I should’ve known. Should’ve seen the signs.”
“How?” Her grip tightened. “Boone didn’t even know how bad she’d gotten. You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s mental illness.”
But he did. Would. Because that’s what he did, carried the weight of everything that went wrong at Valor Ridge, every injury, every setback, every near-miss.
“Hey.” She shifted closer, her free hand coming up to cuphis jaw, forcing him to look at her. “Stop. I can see you spiraling, and I need you to stop.”
The touch burned through him, her palm warm against his face. He wanted to lean into it, to let her take some of this weight. But guilt sat heavy on his chest, choking him.
“I asked you to stay,” he said, voice rough. “Knew it might be dangerous. Knew the town hated us, knew we had enemies, and I asked you anyway.”
