“Youarehis family, baby,” I tell him, cupping his cheek. “You feel this way because the two of you went through hell together. Trauma like that bonds people…stronger than blood. You have no reason to feel guilty, pretty boy.”
Maverick steps forward, voice soft but commanding.
“If anything, think of it this way… Knuckles was furious that cancer was going to be the thing that took him out. He didn’t want to die weak. He didn’t want to die in a bed.” Maverick touches Eli’s shoulder. “Yougave him a warrior’s death. A heroic one. A death worthy of Knuckles.”
Eli’s breath hitches.
“He fought for someone,” Maverick continues. “Foryou. His family. Don’t you dare carry guilt for that. You honor him by living your life with pride…for our brother.”
Eli breaks, folding into me, and I wrap him up tight.
Because he needs it.
Becausewe all do.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my chest.
A whisper so soft, but heard by all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eli
***Six Months Later***
“What do you think of this one?” Abby asks, holding a black dress up to her body.
These girls are always dragging me to things like this… but honestly? I don’t mind. Even if I am horrifically unhelpful ninety percent of the time.
“That’s the one,” Riley says.
“Yeah,” Lila nods. “It looks so good on you.”
“I don’t like it,” I say, and all four of them gasp like I just insulted the holy trinity of fashion.
Under their collective judgmental glare, I shrug.
“It’s not you,” I clarify. “You don’t wear black. Ever. You literally design and create your own clothes, Abby. Why pick something that doesn’t feel like you?”
She looks down at the dress in her hands, deflated.
“I just… I don’t want to mess things up,” she says softly.
“I get that,” I nod. “I do. But do you really want to meet someone while pretending to be someone else?”
Yep.
Our Abby is going on a date.
And it’s not with Tank.
I am so damn proud of her I could fist-pump the air.
“You’re amazing just the way you are,” I say, heading straight to her closet like I know what I’m doing. I don’t know anything about fashion, but I’ve lived with this family long enough to know Abby’s favorite go-to colors and her entire brand vibe.
I dig through the hangers until I find it…a dress that practically yells:Hi, I’m Abby. I sparkle in my sleep.
“Here,” I say, handing her a dress she designed months ago and never wore. It’s… pink. Like, really pink. The good kind, not the Pepto-Bismol kind.
