When he excused himself for a bathroom break, plus a promise to find Jess some chocolate, Jess stared up at me through swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “I should’ve come sooner,” she whispered again, guilt still etched deep in her voice.
“You’re here now,” I reassured her. “That’s what matters.”
Her lip trembled. “Is he… is Tyler going to be okay after this?”
I didn’t answer immediately, glancing down at Eli’s tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb.
I was honest. “He’s going to feel everything. But yes. I think the weight will start to lift.”
I wasn’t naive. This didn’t mean Tyler was healed or that the pain had gone away. But it was a shift—a release valve opening after being sealed far too long. He’d allowed himself to feelallthe things at once: the connection with his twin, the unbearable grief of Paxton and the team being gone, and the love for this tiny boy who carried so much of Pax inside him.
And somewhere in that middle ground was hope.
Jess threw me a tearful smile. “Thank you for taking care of him,” she whispered. “All of you.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to thank me.”
“I do,” she insisted, her voice thick. “You’re all saving him.”
I met her gaze, my throat tight. “He’s saving himself, Jess.”
She paused for a moment, glancing toward the door as if she were worried Tyler might overhear. “You love my brother.”
I smiled. “I do.”
“And the way he leans into you, the way he looks at you…” She hesitated, struggling to find the balance between happiness and concern. “Are you together? Is that even ethically okay? I mean—it’s so good to see him smile again. Truly. But should I be worried? Should I have Mom and Dad check in? They want to visit, but if they think for one second that Tyler isn’t safe here, or that you’ve crossed a line…”
“Jess—”
She shook her head, eyes glassy with conflicting emotions. “He’s been through so much. He’s vulnerable. And you’re part of his care, or you were. What if he doesn’t know his own mind yet? What if he’s clinging to you because you’re safe? Because you were there when no one else could reach him? I want him to be happy, Marcus. I do. But I need to know this isn’t something that’ll collapse and hurt him worse. Fuck, do I even deserve to question this?”
I let her finish. Let her say everything she needed to say. Let her voice every concern I’d worked through myself.
“Jess,” I said. “Of course you have a right to question us. You’re looking out for your brother, and I’ve questioned this every step of the way. We didn’t start anything without real thought. And even then, we were careful. We talked. A lot. We’ve stillgot safeguards in place. But yes—we love each other. And it’s real.”
She wiped her tears with the heel of her hand, exhaling hard. “I believe you. I do. And seeing him smile like that…” She swallowed. “It’s like seeing my brother come back to life.”
At that moment, I caught movement in the doorway—Tyler, standing there in silence lost in thought, as if he’d been listening for a while.
“It’s okay, Jess,” he said, his voice calm but full of certainty. “I love Marcus. I’ve never been more sure of anything. He’s good for me. He doesn’t fix me—he helps me stand.”
I smiled then, my chest tight with relief, and as he stepped forward, I gripped his hand. “And you’re good for me, Ty. More than you know.”
“Dinner!” the call echoed down the hallway.
Tyler squeezed my hand one last time before letting go, his gaze steady, clearer somehow, as though he’d crossed some invisible threshold today.
“Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Jess stood, lifting Eli into her arms, planting a soft kiss to his curls before taking her brother’s arm and heading toward the dining room.
And after a beat, I followed them.
Christmas dinner was quiet. Not silent—therewas a gentle buzz of conversation humming through the dining hall, the kind that comes when people feel safe but still carry their own battles. Some of the veterans made it through the meal, others left partway through, needing their own space. No one was judged for that here when Christmas was such an emotional time. I stepped out a couple of times to check on Morgan and Gabbi; both were sleeping, but I left a new bottle for her and a plate of food for him in case they needed it. Their story was going to be so complicated to unravel, and we’d need a staff meeting about the situation as soon as Christmas Day was done. For now, the two of them were safe, and that was all we cared about.
Hands down, the highlight of the meal was Rascal-the-curious-kitten and Eli-the-curious-baby. While a snoring Barnaby-Blue was the official Guardian Hall guard dog—ish—Rascal, Jazz’s rescue kitten was the unofficial therapy cat and was perched on the corner of the table near Eli’s highchair. His tail flicked lazily, eyes wide and tracking every move the baby made.
Eli, for his part, was fascinated with his new furry friend. He giggled each time Rascal’s paw swiped at the air, as though they were playing anunspoken game. Eli would reach for him with sticky fingers and Rascal—because he was, in fact, a miracle cat—never once swatted to hurt. Instead, he leaned in, sniffing at Eli’s tiny hands, giving the lightest nudge with his head.
