Buddy blinked slowly. “No.”
Sterling didn’t look away. “What do you need?”
Buddy swallowed, the motion painful. “I need her to survive this.”
Sterling exhaled, long and low. “Then you make sure she does.”
Buddy nodded, but it wasn’t agreement. It was surrender to the truth he’d been fighting since this whole damn mess began.
He wasn’t choosing between Fallon and some hypothetical victim. He wasn’t choosing between love and duty. He wasn’t even choosing between past and present.
He was choosing how much of himself he was willing to lose to keep her whole.
And the cost didn’t matter.
Not anymore.
Not with her in that jacket.
Not with Maya and Sophie staring back at him.
His hand closed over the edge of the board until the wood creaked.
“Whoever he is,” Buddy whispered, “he picked the wrong woman. Because he doesn’t get to take her.”
Sterling nodded, grim. “So, what now?”
Buddy straightened slowly, eyes locked on Fallon like he was counting every second before the room burned down around them.
“Now?” he said, voice low and steady. “We hunt.”
The raffle table had been busy all morning, and Fallon had barely had a second to breathe—exactly what she’d hoped for—noise, distraction, people. Anything to keep her mind occupied so she didn’t hyperfocus on the jacket that reminded her of that night or the quiet storm humming below the surface of the crowd.
She was halfway through straightening a stack of raffle tickets, while the other volunteer at the table stood off to the side, yelling, “raffle tickets for sale”, when she heard her name.
“Fallon, you outdid yourself this year.”
She looked up—and broke into a smile.
Favoring his left side, Trent carefully made his way toward her, wrapped in a loose button-down someone had probably insisted he wear so people wouldn’t see the bandages underneath. His mother, Linda, walked beside him, one hand lightly touching his arm, as if to steady him but without hovering.
They both looked thinner. Paler. Like the bullet and diagnosis had stolen more than blood and health—they'd taken peace, security, the belief that tomorrow was guaranteed.
But they were here.
Fallon stepped out from behind the table. “What are you doing here? You should be home resting and recovering.”
Trent grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t stand sitting still a second longer.”
Linda rolled her eyes affectionately. “He keeps trying to help me with stuff around my house. I thought coming here was the lesser of two evils.”
“I’m healing nicely,” Trent said, though he seemed winded from the walk. “We weren’t missing this.”
Fallon swallowed the unexpected emotion rising in her throat. “I’m glad you’re here. Really.”
Linda reached out and squeezed Fallon’s hand. “You’ve done something beautiful. We all need to remember those we’ve lost, those who have fallen, and those who are missing.”
Fallon squeezed back. Linda’s hand felt too light, her bones too sharp. The cancer was hitting fast. Hard. But she still stood straight, chin lifted, revealing the same quiet strength visible in Trent.
