“Gifts first or cake?” Liam asks, already pouring himself a drink.
“Gifts,” Cora decides before I can answer. “Mine first.”
Cora hands me a small box wrapped in matte black paper with a silver ribbon. Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as I carefully unwrap it, preserving the paper out of habit.
Inside rests a platinum tie clip with “D.V.” engraved in an elegant script. When I turn it over, three small initials are etched on the back: C.P., L.H., R.C.
“So, I’m with you during those important meetings,” she explains, her voice soft. “All of us are.”
I clear my throat, oddly moved by such a simple thing. “It’s perfect.”
Ryder bounces forward next, handing me a package that feels like a book. I tear the paper to reveal a leather-bound first edition of “The Art of War.”
“You mentioned once your grandfather had this book, but your father sold it after he died,” Ryder says. “Took me weeks to track down this edition.”
I run my fingers over the embossed cover, remembering afternoons spent on my grandfather’s knee as he read passages aloud. “How did you remember that? I barely remember telling you.”
Ryder shrugs. “I listen when you talk.”
Liam steps forward last, handing me a small wooden box. Inside is an antique silver pocket watch with intricate engravings.
“Open it,” he instructs.
The watch face is impeccable, clearly restored. But when I open the back panel, I find a photograph carefully fitted inside—the four of us at the event last week, laughing at something.
“For someone who values control so much,” Liam says, “you should always know what time it is. And who’s waiting for you to come home.”
I look up at these three people who’ve somehow burrowed past my defenses. These gifts aren’t just things—they’re acknowledgments of who I am, pieces of myself I’d mentioned in passing, fragments I’d shared without realizing it.
“Thank you,” I say simply, unable to articulate the weight in my chest.
We move to the dining table where Ryder’s cake sits waiting. He slices into it, revealing layers of dark chocolate and buttercream.
“Jesus, this looks professional,” Liam says, accepting his plate.
Ryder shrugs, but I catch the pride in his eyes.
I take my first bite and close my eyes involuntarily. The combination of bourbon, chocolate, and espresso is perfect—rich without being cloying.
“Good?” Cora asks, watching my face.
“Exceptional,” I admit.
The conversation flows as we eat. Cora talks about the Harbor Point investment, Liam discusses a new case he’s excited about, and Ryder tells a ridiculous story about a card cheat he caught at Purgatory last year.
Something expands in my chest watching them—Cora’s animated gestures, Liam’s sharp wit, Ryder’s unguarded laughter. The thought surfaces before I can stop it: I love them. All of them. Differently but equally.
The realization tightens my throat. My father’s voice echoes in my head:Everyone leaves eventually, Dominic. Don’t be weak.
I set my fork down, feeling three pairs of eyes turn to me.
“You okay?” Ryder asks.
“I’ve never had this,” I say quietly. “People who...” The words stick, refusing to emerge.
“People who what?” Cora prompts gently.
I force myself to meet each of their gazes in turn. “People I love. People who might stay.”
