“You taught them?” I ask.
“Yeah. Started last summer. Liam picked it up in a day. Noah crashed into a rosebush and wanted to go again immediately.” She’s smiling now, soft and unguarded. “They’re good kids. Really good.”
“I know.”
“You don’t,” she says, and the smile fades. “You saw them for five minutes yesterday. You don’t know them.”
“Then let me.” The words come out rougher than I intend. “Let me know them, firefly. Let me—” I stop, jaw clenching around everything I want to say and can’t.
“Silas—”
“Those bikes. One’s got Cal’s coloring. One’s got Jace’s.” I meet her eyes, let her see everything I’m holding back. “You’re telling me that’s a coincidence?”
She goes very still. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.” I step closer, not touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. “Blue and silver for the serious one who plans everything. Red and black for the wild one who jumps first. You gave them colors that match their—” I stop myself. “That match us.”
“It’s just paint,” she whispers.
“It’s not just paint, and we both know it.” My hand comes up, almost touching her face, before I force it back down. “You gave them bikes in our colors. You taught them to ride because—” My voice cracks. “Because you wanted them to know something about where they come from. Even if you couldn’t tell them who.”
Tears shine in her eyes. “Stop.”
“I can’t.” The admission comes out broken. “I’ve been trying to stop thinking about everything since yesterday. Trying to give you space, time, whatever you need. But Parker—” I have to stop, collect myself. “I don’t know if one of them is mine or if they’re both theirs or if I’m just the one who gets to watch from the sidelines, but either way?—”
“Either way, what?” she challenges, and there’s steel underneath the tears now.
“Either way, they’re ours.” The word comes out fierce. Possessive. “Yours and ours. And I need—” Christ, I sound wrecked. “I need you to stop running, firefly. Stop hiding. Stop trying to do everything alone when we’re right fucking here.”
“I’m not running,” she protests. “I came back, didn’t I? I brought them home.”
“You came back because Dominic died. Because you had no choice.” The words are cruel but true. “If he were still alive, would you be here? Would we ever have known they existed?”
She flinches like I’ve struck her.
“That’s not fair,” she whispers.
“Isn’t it?” I’m crowding her now, backing her against the POD, my hands braced on either side of her shoulders. Not touching,but close enough that she can feel me. See me. Can’t avoid me. “You kept them from us for years. Five years of birthdays and first days of school and—” My voice breaks again. “Five years of their lives we can never get back. So yeah, firefly, I’m asking. If Dominic were still alive, would you have ever told us?”
“I don’t know,” she admits, and the honesty of it guts me. “I was protecting them. From him. From the life he would have forced on them. From being pawns in games played by dangerous men.”
“We’re not Dominic.”
“No.” Her hand comes up, presses against my chest where my heart is trying to beat out of my ribs. “But you’re still dangerous. Still violent. Still part of a world that breaks people.”
“And you think we’d hurt them?” The question comes out quieter. More vulnerable than I’ve allowed myself to be in years.
“I think you’d die for them.” Her green eyes hold mine. “I think you’d kill for them. I think you’d burn the whole world down to keep them safe and never once ask if that’s what they needed.” Her voice cracks. “Just like you did with me.”
The truth of it sits between us like shrapnel.
“I’m not apologizing for taking care of you,” I say finally. “We were boys trying to protect something precious, and we smothered you with it.” My hand finally moves, fingers ghosting along her jaw. She doesn’t pull away. “But we’re not boys anymore. And if those kids are ours—if we get a chance to be part of their lives—we’ll do what we do best.”
“Silas.”
“You’ll tell us when we’re fucking up.” I let myself smile slightly. “You’ve never had a problem calling us on our bullshit, Parker. Don’t start now.”
She laughs, watery and broken. “You make it sound so simple.”
