“Be kind, be brave, be myself,” Liam recites, his small face so serious it makes my chest ache.
“And if anyone’s mean, tell the teacher,” Noah adds. Then, with a glance at Cal, “But also maybe challenge them to a race.”
I laugh despite the tightness in my throat. “Maybe save the racing for recess.”
“Okay, Mom.” Noah throws his arms around my neck, squeezing with all the fierce love a five-year-old body can hold. “Love you.”
“Love you too, baby.” I press kisses to his hair, breathing in his little-boy scent of syrup and shampoo and innocence. “So much.”
Liam’s hug is more reserved but no less tight.
“I’ll take care of Noah,” he whispers against my shoulder.
“I know you will, sweetheart. But who takes care of you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
So serious. So determined to be strong.Yep. Totally my kid.
“I know, baby. But you don’t always have to.”
I release them reluctantly, watching as they start toward Lottie and Jimmy. But Noah turns back suddenly, his amber eyes—Cal’s eyes—bright with something I can’t name.
“Bye, Mr. Jace! Bye, Mr. Cal! Bye, Mr. Silas!”
The three men—these dangerous, violent, complicated men—respond with varying degrees of awkwardness. Cal throws a casual two-finger salute. Jace nods once, solemn as a vow. Silas just raises his hand, but something in his storm-gray eyes has gone soft.
“High five before you go?” Cal offers, stepping forward with that easy charm.
Both boys run back, tiny hands smacking against his much larger ones with enthusiastic cracks. Then Jace’s. Then Silas’s.
“You’ve got this, soldiers,” Jace says.
“Remember—be kind, be brave, be yourself,” Cal adds with a wink.
“And we’ll be right here when you get out,” Silas says quietly.
They run toward the entrance with Lottie and Jimmy, backpacks bouncing, nervous energy transforming into something braver. I stand there watching them disappear through those heavy wooden doors, and the world feels too big. Too full of variables I can’t control. Too many ways they could be hurt or lost or?—
“They’ll be alright.”
Jace’s voice is quiet, meant only for me. I feel him move closer, his presence solid at my back.
“I know.” But my voice cracks on the words. “I just?—”
“I know.” His hand finds mine, warm and callused and steady. He squeezes once. “But they’re tough. Like their mom.”
I squeeze back without thinking, then lean slightly into his shoulder because I need the contact. Need the reminder that I’m not doing this alone anymore.
He’s solid against me. Smells like coffee and something darker—gunpowder, maybe, or just controlled violence wearing expensive cologne.
Silas appears at my other side, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. His hand finds my shoulder, squeezes gently. Grounding.
“They’re gonna be fine, firefly,” he says, his rough voice carrying certainty. “And if anyone bothers them, they know who to call.”
“You’ll terrify the other kindergartners,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
“Good,” Silas says simply.
