“Oh.” My cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry, Koa. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize. Nicknames are a sign of affection,” he cut in with a soft smile.
“And Z is just jealous that he doesn’t have one yet,” Casimir scoffed as he scrubbed his knuckles into Zane’s skull, making his messy hair even messier.
As the two of them roughhoused, Koa’s gaze didn’t waver as he stepped closer and slowly raised his free hand. Watching him with wide eyes, I waited to see what he’d do and sighed with contentment as he cupped the side of my face in his palm.
“It’s nice. I like it.” His cheeks flushed just a bit. “Mahalo.”
Then he dropped his hand, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and bent to examine the reel more closely. I watched him for a moment, the way his fingers handled it carefully, his brow furrowed in concentration. There was something about the way he held it, like it mattered to him because it mattered tome, that made my chest ache in the best way.
A sharp yip pulled my attention away. Brumous had grown bored and latched onto the corner of my pillow, thrashing it like it was prey. Freeing himself from Casimir, Zane dove in to save it.
“Hey, furry butt,” he said, his tone more amused than annoyed. “That’s not a chew toy. Give it here before you rip it.”
Brumous growled playfully, tugging harder, and Zane lunged, scooping the pup up with one arm and prying the pillow free with the other.
“Victory!” he declared, holding the pillow aloft like a trophy. Brumous barked in protest, squirming in his grip. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I liked that. I liked that Zane had a way of making everything feel lighter, even when it shouldn’t. As if hearing my thoughts, he caught my eye and winked, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.
“Don’t worry, wifey. I’ve got your back.Andyour pillow.”
I laughed, the sound surprising even me, and he grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
“The pup’s going to get more and more playful as he recovers,” Casimir muttered as he studied each of my Papa’s things.
I stared at him, my heart still tender, but a little less raw. Almost reverently, he picked up the conch shell, turning it over in his hands, the satiny interior catching the light.
“He and Mama found it on a beach in Florida before I was born,” I explained. “It was the first time they visited the ocean. We went every winter until Mama died.”
Casimir set the shell down carefully, then picked up the state fair ribbon.
“First place,” he read aloud. “What for?”
“His apple pie,” I said, wishing I could taste it one more time. “Papa grew the apples himself.”
He nodded, setting the ribbon beside the shell, and picked up the pudding stone. He studied it for a moment, then turned to me, his green eyes very bright.
“We’ll make a dedicated place for these,” he declared. “Somewhere you can see them every day.”
I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He turned to the dresser, arranging the items with care, and I watched him, my heart swelling with gratitude.
He might be stern and scarier than his brothers, but his actions spoke volumes. He was making a space for my father’s memory, treating Papa’s things with the same care he’d show a priceless artifact, and that meant the world to me.
As I sat there, surrounded by the three of them, I realized I felt safe. Not just physically, but in a way that reached deep into my soul.
It was more than I’d ever thought I’d have again.
17. Brick of Pain
Koa
“All right, beloved, let’s have a look at that ankle you’ve been limping around on.” I watched as her face went blank before it paled and knew she was going to protest.
“It’s fine. Hardly hurts anymore.”
Called it.
