Because now more than ever, I know what it means to be surrounded by people who show up when it counts. When the fists are flying, when the blood’s fresh, when the weight feels too damn heavy for one set of shoulders. And somehow—somehow—they still show up for me.
I used to think I had to protect everyone. If I could just take the hits, carry the weight, bleed first, then maybe nobody else would have to. Maybe I could out-suffer the world for all of us.
But that’s not how this works.
I watched Sable put herself between her son and death. She pulled the trigger with no one there to give her permission. I watched her survive something she never asked for and never should’ve had to face.
And she did it because I showed her how. Because I wanted to be in her life and teach her what to do when a hard decision presented itself. Show her that she didn’t have to stick around and patch up every broken thing just because she knew how. Fixing things didn’t make them right. Sometimes the strongest thing she could do was confront it head on before the damage turned permanent.
She didn’t need saving. Just someone to remind her she could save herself.
And Will? JT?
They fought. For me. For us.
They walked into the lion’s den because they believed in what we’ve built. Because they knew I couldn’t be in two places at once, and they decided that they would protect me.
They made a call I’ve never let myself make. And they did it without asking. Without fear.
Because I taught them to.
And that’s what tears me up most. Not that they fought without me. Not that Will took hits meant for my back. But that I’ve been too fucking scared to let them show me what they’ve become. Because I know loss. I know the cold grip of it. I know what it means to bury people you swore to protect. And that fear kept me from trusting that they’re not boys anymore. They’re men. Fighters. Brothers in every way that counts.
And they made sure I didn’t lose the one person I can’t live without.
Sable.
She’s waiting for me now. Probably sitting at that kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug that’s long gone cold, wondering what comes next. Wondering if I see her differently. If what she did changed the way I look at her.
It didn’t.
If anything, it made me love her more.
Because I know what it costs to make the hard choice. To do what needs doing and carry the weight of it afterward.
She did it anyway.
So yeah, I’m going back to her.
I’m going to walk through that door and wrap my arms around her and let her know, without question, that she’s not alone. Not anymore. Not ever.
It’s been two weeks.
I keep saying that out loud, chasing meaning in the rhythm. Maybe the right number will rest everything: my body, my brain, the way my stomach clenches when the wind hits just right. Sometimes I think screaming might make the ingrained paranoia of the past six months go away. Strip it like bubbling paint.
The shop stayed closed for a few days after everything. I needed time. Bash needed it more. Andrew agreed to let Hex take us out to his Hill Country place for a week to get out of town, breathe different air, and change the view.
It helped.
Hex never strayed far from my side. He hovered without hovering. Tentative, gentle, in a way I never expected from a giant, rough-edged fighter. One who handled Bash with glass-blown care and treated me as if every fractured piece deserved to be rebuilt.
The time we spent together changed the three of us. We played card games until Bash got too competitive and declared himself King of Uno. Hex rigged a gaming system in the living room; a setup so elaborate, it looked ready for permanent teenage residency.
One night, we dragged every blanket and pillow we could find into the middle of the floor and made a pallet. All three of us stayed there: me curled on one side, Bash sprawled down the middle, Hex capping the other end. I woke up at three in the morning, to pee of course, with Hex’s hand in mine and his other arm tucked under Bash’s shoulders.
Sleep came fitfully, broken by sudden starts. A vivid dream yanking me from sleep. His arms were always there to reel me back in and calm me down. Nothing in my life ever came close to feeling that safe.
One afternoon while Bash was in the other room FaceTiming his dad, Hex and I ended up on the couch, legs tangled. I had my feet in his lap, a glass of wine in one hand. He had bourbon, untouched, resting against his thigh. He hadn’t taken a sip in twenty minutes. He was just... there. Calm. Still. Dangerous in every other setting but this one.
