His cane tapped against the deck as he approached. His gait was worse now than it had been.
I shifted to make room on the bench. He lowered himself beside me with a grunt he didn't bother to hide. His shoulder pressed against mine. His hand found my knee.
"Xavier's speech," he said.
"I know."
"He could have said more. Didn't have to protect the narrative."
"He's your son. He protects what's his."
Algerone made a low sound that might have been agreement.
"Xander's been carrying that bag all night," he said. "The one you made."
"I noticed."
"Red leather. Bold choice."
"They gave me the specifications. I just executed."
His hand tightened on my knee. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Diminish yourself." He turned to look at me. "You made something beautiful for someone who wanted you dead. And they're carrying it around like it matters."
My throat constricted. "It's just a bag."
"It's not just a bag." His thumb traced a circle on my knee. "It's you learning to exist without the company. To make things that don't optimize anything. To build relationships that aren't leverage." He paused. "I'm proud of you."
In three decades, he'd praised my work, my efficiency, my competence. He'd never said he was proud of who I was becoming.
"I'm learning," I managed. "It's strange. Having time."
"Good strange?"
I considered. A month ago, the empty hours had been unbearable. Time without purpose, without the hum of necessity.
Now I had a workshop. I had leather and tools and projects that took weeks. I got Sunday mornings in bed past eight, his body warm against mine, and dinners I cooked because I wanted to.
"Good strange," I said. "Mostly."
"And the triplets?"
I thought about Xander laughing in the kitchen, Xion sending me a link to a craftsman in Portland, Xavier's speech, carefully coded for two audiences at once.
"We're building something," I said. "I don't know what to call it. Not forgiveness. What I did doesn't warrant forgiveness."
"Maxime—"
"I'm not asking for absolution. Whatever we're building, it's not that. Coexistence, maybe, or just the ability to be in the same room without bleeding."
His jaw tightened. He hated when I said things like this.
"Something in between," he said finally.
"Yes."
