“So we’re doing this,” she says, and it’s not quite a question. “We’re really doing this. All of us. Together.”
“Yeah,” I say, and I can’t keep the smile off my face even though my eyes are doing something suspicious that might be tears but I’m choosing to ignore that. “We’re really doing this.”
“All of us,” Jace confirms, and there’s finality in his voice. A decision made and committed to.
Silas just nods, but the look in his eyes says everything he can’t put into words. Gratitude. Love. Hope. All the things he’s never been good at expressing but that we can all see written across his face.
We sit in silence for a moment, letting it all sink in. The confirmation. The revelation. The possibility of more. The fact that we’re really doing this—building a family out of chaos and violence and love that doesn’t follow any traditional rules.
Then, from up the hill, we hear it. Children’s laughter. High and bright and unmistakable. Noah’s voice shouting somethingabout racing, Liam’s quieter response that still carries, Lottie and Jimmy, joining in with their own chaos.
Our kids.
All of them. In different ways. In ways that matter more than biology ever could.
“We should go get them,” Parker says, but she doesn’t move yet. Like she needs another moment to let this settle. “Bring them home.”
“In a minute,” Silas says, and he’s looking at all of us now. Really looking. “I just—I need to say this. What my parents did to me, what they made me believe about myself—that I was too broken, too violent, too much of a monster to be a father—I carried that for thirteen years. Believed it. Made peace with never having children because I thought they were right.”
“They weren’t,” I say fiercely, because someone needs to. “They were wrong about everything. About you. About what you’re capable of. About what you deserve.”
“I know that now,” Silas continues, and his voice breaks slightly. “I see it every time Noah laughs at one of Cal’s terrible jokes. Every time Liam asks me a serious question and actually listens to my answer, like what I think matters. Every time they both climb into my lap like I’m the safest place in the world instead of the monster I was raised to be.”
He stops, swallows hard, and I can see him fighting to get the next words out. “You gave me that. All of you. You gave me a family when I thought that word would never apply to me. You gave me sons who look at me like I’m worth something. Like I’m not just a weapon. Like I’m?—”
“Human,” Jace finishes quietly. “Like you’re human. Which you are. Which you’ve always been, even when they tried to convince you otherwise.”
Fuck.
I’m not crying. I’m not. But my eyes are definitely doing something suspicious, and when I look at Jace, I can see he’s in the same boat. His jaw is tight, his eyes are too bright, and he’s gripping the arms of his chair like they’re the only things keeping him grounded.
Parker’s full-on sobbing now, and she launches herself at Silas despite his wounds, wrapping her arms around him carefully but firmly. “You’re not thanking us for letting you be part of this family, you idiot,” she says fiercely into his shoulder. “You are this family. We wouldn’t be whole without you. We wouldn’t be us without you.”
Jace gets up, moves to join them, and I follow because why the hell not, because we’re all emotional disasters right now anyway. Suddenly, we’re all there, tangled together in a group embrace that’s probably putting pressure on Silas’s healing wound,s but he doesn’t complain, just holds on tight with one arm around Parker and his other hand gripping my shoulder like he needs the anchor.
We stay like that for a long moment. Longer than is probably necessary. But none of us wants to be the first to pull away.
“We should probably stop being so fucking emotional and go get our kids,” I say finally, because someone needs to break the moment before we all drown in feelings. “Before Charles starts to worry that we’re going against doctor orders and fucking Parker.”
“Oh, God,” Parker gasps, “how did he find out anyway?”
“You were abducted, Princess,” Jace shrugs, “it was a bit too obvious to hide at that point.”
“How did he take it?” She asks.
“He threatened to chop our dicks off,” Silas jokes with a laugh.
“He didn’t,” I grin, “but he looked like he really wanted to threaten us. Had the stiff jaw and squared shoulders and everything.”
She laughs, shaking her head. God, we needed that laugh.
“Our kids,” Parker repeats, testing the words like they’re new. Like she’s tasting them for the first time. “That sounds good.”
“It really does,” Jace agrees, and there’s wonder in his voice. Actual wonder. From Jace. Who approaches everything with tactical precision and rarely lets himself feel anything this openly.
We pull apart slowly, reluctantly. Silas is moving carefully, wincing slightly as his wounds pull, but there’s a lightness to him that wasn’t there before. Like some weight he’s been carrying for thirteen years just lifted. Like he finally gave himself permission to want something he never thought he could have.
“One more thing,” he says as we’re heading toward the door, and we all stop. Turn back. “If we do decide to have more kids—and I’m not saying we should or we shouldn’t, just if—I want to do it right. I want to be there for the pregnancy, for the birth, for all of it. I want to know what that’s like. What it means to choose to be a father instead of having it thrust on me. To be part of creating something instead of just inheriting the aftermath.”
