“Yeah.”
“That’s not weakness. That’s using the tools you’ve got.” Dorian’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Service animals’ work. I’ve seen the research, seen the results. There’s no shame in having help.”
A small body hurtled past them at knee height, shrieking with laughter. A second followed half a beat later, equally loud, equally chaotic.
Dorian stepped back reflexively. The kids—preschool age, maybe three or four—circled around Derek’s legs like he was a slalom pole, then took off toward the kitchen without slowing down.
He had no idea whose children they were. The extended family had grown past the point where he could keep track of every offspring.
Dorian shook his head. “I don’t even know who’s who anymore.”
“Pretty sure the one in the reindeer sweater belongs to someone on the Harrison side.”
“They all look the same to me when they’re moving that fast.”
The kids had reversed course and were now tearing back through the main room, weaving between adult legs with the precision of tiny drunk drivers. One of them clipped Finn’s knee and kept going without acknowledgment.
“This is what happens,” Dorian said, “when you give children unlimited sugar and let them stay up three hours past bedtime.”
“Bold strategy.”
“Go eat Aunt Ray’s brownies,” Dorian called after them. “The ones on the left side of the dessert table.”
Derek snorted. “That’s cruel.”
“I sure as hell don’t want to take them home. Might as well put those ticking-time-bombs-on-legs to use.”
The kids disappeared around a corner, their yells fading to a manageable background frequency. Dorian settled back against the wall, and the conversation resumed as if it had never been interrupted.
“Bear and I went up to Montana a few months back,” Derek said. “Resting Warrior Ranch. Pawsitive Connections. You know them?”
“I know of them.”
“The work they’re doing with service animals—it’s incredible. Not just dogs. Horses, llamas, damn near everything. Like what Eva’s trying to build here at Linear. They’ve got this whole program for veterans, matching them with animals, training them together.” Derek’s voice had shifted, some of the tightness easing out of it. “It helps. Being around people who are doing something concrete. Something that works.”
“Your brother’s got plans for that?”
“Bear wants to incorporate more of it into the kids camp next year.”
As if summoned, Bear appeared at Derek’s elbow. He’d been working the room all evening—Dorian had tracked his movement peripherally, the way he tracked everyone’s—but now he stopped, something in his brother’s posture apparently catching his attention.
“You two look serious. Should I be worried?”
“We’re solving the world’s problems,” Derek said. “You’re interrupting.”
“Story of my life.” Bear leaned against the wall on Derek’s other side, completing their small cluster of semi-isolation. “What are we solving?”
“Service animals. Your kids camp. Whether you’re actually going to do it again next year or if that was just talk.”
“Hell yeah, we’re doing it. We’re confirmed for July.” Bear’s expression shifted into something more focused, more invested.
“You’ve got the funding?”
“Working on it. Gavin’s helping with the grant applications. And there’s a foundation out of Colorado that’s interested?—”
“Bear!” Charlie’s voice cut across the room with surgical precision. “The dishwasher is doing something and there are bubbles starting to cover the kitchen floor and your father is just standing therelookingat it!”
Bear closed his eyes briefly. “The dishwasher is not my responsibility.”
