"It was more than that," I tell him. "You saw it yourself."
The station door opens again, and Austin steps inside, carrying a tray of coffee cups. He freezes when he sees us, uncertainty clear on his face. The moment hangs suspended, the three of us caught in a tableau of unresolved tension.
Then, unexpectedly, Paul sighs. "Rivers," he says, nodding once in acknowledgment.
"Chief," Austin returns cautiously, his eyes finding mine, a question in them.
I give him a small, reassuring smile, and he moves forward, setting the coffee tray on the counter. He hands me a cup—vanilla latte, just how I like it—his fingers brushing mine in a brief touch of solidarity.
Paul watches the exchange, something shifting in his expression. Not acceptance, not yet, but perhaps the beginning of understanding.
"You're sure about this?" he asks me quietly.
"I am," I tell him, not looking away.
He nods slowly, then turns to Austin. "If you ever hurt her—"
"I won't," Austin interrupts, his voice steady and sure. "But I understand the warning."
A moment passes between them, man to man, something unspoken but important transpiring in that shared gaze. Then Paul extends his hand, the gesture both an offering and a concession. Austin takes it, their handshake firm, a tentative truce established.
"I'm still your captain," Paul says. "On shift, nothing changes. No special treatment, no distractions."
"Understood, sir," Austin agrees immediately.
"And I'm still your brother," Paul adds, turning back to me. "I'm still going to worry. Still going to have opinions."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," I tell him with a small smile. "Just maybe express those opinions a little less forcefully?"
A hint of humor finally touches his eyes. "I'll try," he concedes. "No promises."
The tension in the room dissolves, not completely, but enough. Enough for now. Paul picks up his coffee, taking a long sip, then gestures toward the window.
"We should talk about rebuilding your studio," he says. "I know some contractors who could help with the insurance paperwork."
The simple offer, straightforward, so typical of my brother, brings unexpected tears to my eyes. This is Paul's way of showing acceptance, of moving forward.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it for more than just the offer of contractors.
He nods, understanding the layers in my gratitude. "Shift starts in fifteen," he tells Austin, already shifting back into chief mode. "Don't be late."
With that, he picks up his duffel and heads toward the locker room, pausing just briefly at the doorway to look back at us. There's still reservation in his gaze, still adjustment happening behind his eyes, but there's also resignation and, perhaps, a hint of reluctant blessing.
As he disappears down the hallway, Austin moves to my side, his arm sliding around my waist. "That went better than expected," he murmurs.
I lean into him, the solid warmth of his body a comfort I'm already growing accustomed to. "He'll come around," I say with newfound certainty. "He just needs time."
My studio is gone, but I'll build another, perhaps better than before. My relationship with Paul is changing, evolving into something more balanced, more honest. And Austin… Austin is a beginning I never expected, a warmth I never thought I'd find.
I take a sip of my latte, savoring the sweetness, the moment, the sense of rightness settling into my bones.
For the first time in years, maybe for the first time since losing my parents, I feel completely myself.
Epilogue – Austin
Three Years Later
Early morning sunlight streams through the east-facing windows of Michelle's studio.
