The silence was instant and suffocating. Ransom’s fork hovered mid-air, a slab of butter poised for takeoff. Harlow stopped chewing, mid-masticate, and just stared at the table. Aunt Georgia’s eyes darted between me and Knox, and for a second I saw actual sympathy, which only made me want to crawl into the nearest cabinet and eat my own shirt.
I felt my cheeks burn. I did the only thing I could. I stared at my plate, praying for a sinkhole to open up and swallow me. I started mentally calculating how fast I could pack a bag, how much cash I could get from an ATM, and whether I still had enough frequent flyer miles to escape to rural Canada.
The voice that broke the silence was not Knox’s. It was Pa’s, low and gruff and final. “Leave the boy alone, Knox. He’s right. He’s one of us now. Let him do what he wants.”
You could have powered the whole valley with the relief that flooded through me. It was like every muscle in my body unclenched at once. I actually sagged in my chair, then straightened and tried to beam gratitude at Pa without looking like I was about to cry.
I was, but only a little.
Knox looked at Pa, then at me, then back at Pa. The standoff lasted a solid five seconds, which is a McKenzie world record for not getting punched.
Finally, he sat back, arms crossed, and gave me the look of a man who had lost a battle but fully intended to win the war.
Pa grunted, then picked up his coffee and took a sip, like the matter was settled.
“Well,” I said, not sure if I was supposed to stand up, salute, or run laps around the table. “I have a plan.” I paused, realizing no one was going to ask me what it was. “It’s a good one. I mean, I think so.”
The skepticism in the room could have been packaged and sold as a nutritional supplement. I launched in anyway, feeling the confidence-building in my chest like a slow, hesitant helium balloon.
“We go to the bank. Not just me and Knox, but the sheriff too, and maybe even someone from the FDIC. We pay the whole thing off—every last dime—and we make damn sure there’s paperwork, real paperwork, that says my father can’t touch you or this place again.”
It sounded more plausible in my head than it did in the living room, but I held my ground, staring into the blue depths of the McKenzie family’s collective gaze and refusing to blink.
Knox was the first to react. His eyes did that thing where they go dark and predatory, but this time, instead of being terrifying, it was a little bit like foreplay.
“Smart,” he said, so quiet I almost missed it.
My entire body flushed with pleasure at the word. It’s possible my toes actually curled in my slippers.
Harlow, never one for a lot of words, simply grunted and gave me a thumbs-up.
Ransom hooted, “That’s my boy,” and then went back to trying to mainline pure syrup without using his hands.
Aunt Georgia smiled, soft and proud, and I could see her already running the numbers in her head, cross-referencing the best pie recipe for a victory celebration.
Even Pa looked impressed, which I suspect is a rare and beautiful thing.
For a second, I let myself believe it was going to be okay. That I could just… stay. That I was one of them, not just in a name-on-the-mortgage kind of way, but for real.
I almost didn’t know what to do with the feeling.
I settled for sitting up straighter and saying, “So, what’s next?” like I was used to being included in this sort of thing.
Knox stared at me with that intensity that always made me want to crawl under the table or maybe climb onto his lap. “What’s next,” he said, “is we win.”
I grinned. “I can do that.”
I could, too. If it meant saving the McKenzies, I’d drain every penny I had and call it the best deal I’d ever made.
At the far end of the table, Harlow made a pancake sandwich, stuffed it in his mouth, and said, “He’s family.”
Ransom raised his mug in salute. “To Newt. The best Bridger we ever had.”
Aunt Georgia and Pa raised theirs too. Even Knox, finally, lifted his coffee in my direction.
I beamed, probably way too hard, and raised my glass of orange juice. “To us,” I said, and tried not to sound like I was about to cry. Nobody even noticed the tears. They were too busy eating.
Which is how I knew, for real, that I belonged.
