He said it so simply it broke me open a little more, and I had to look away so I wouldn’t start sobbing in front of the whole clan.
Even Grandma Minnie, who usually kept to the kitchen unless she needed to referee, shuffled in and pressed a steaming mug of coffee into my hand. “This is for you, darling,” she said. “A little sugar helps mend the soul.”
I sipped, the taste so sweet it made my teeth ache, and felt something uncoil in my chest.
Pa watched all of it with that slow, knowing look. When the crowd died down, he stepped over, hand heavy on my shoulder. “No one messes with a McKenzie,” he said again, softer. “Not in this house.”
The words rang in my ears, sharp and clear. I nodded, and this time, the tears rolled silent and easy.
We spent the rest of the evening like a family should: eating until our bellies hurt, trading stories, watching the sunset pour through the dining room windows in stripes of gold and orange.
Every now and then, Ma or one of the brothers would check in, just to make sure I was still upright, still breathing. No one let me drift too far, not even Bodean, who kept finding ways to shoulder up next to me and make bad jokes until I was laughing again.
When it was finally time to leave, Quiad was waiting on the porch, his arms folded, leaning against the rail like he’d never once been afraid of anything. I stood next to him, both of us looking out at the fields, the way the last of the sun turned the grass silver.
He took my hand, and I squeezed it as hard as I could without breaking bones. “Thank you,” I said, not sure if I meant for dinner, for the rescue, for all of it.
He turned and gave me the look—the one that said, Mine, and don’t forget it. “You’re stuck with me now, Sunshine,” he said. “Hope that’s okay.”
I grinned, all my bravado coming back in a rush. “I think I can handle it.”
He laughed, then pressed a kiss to my hair, softer than you’d think from a guy with hands like hammers.
We walked down the driveway together, the sky overhead all velvet blue and the first stars just popping into view. My head felt light and new, like every cell was still learning how to live without the weight of the past pressing down. I watched the way Quiad’s thumb traced the inside of my wrist, right over the healed skin where his name sat permanent, a brand and a comfort.
I looked back at the house—at the glow in every window, at the silhouettes moving in and out of frame, at the way the whole thing radiated a kind of stubborn peace.
I wanted to hold it there forever, to memorize the shape of the door, the sound of Ma’s laughter rolling through the kitchen, the chorus of voices that made up my real family.
In my mind, I started sketching it out. The scene, the feeling, the moment: not just a memory, but a truth to build everything else on. It wasn’t perfect, but it was home.
And I was never letting go.
Chapter Twelve
~ Quiad ~
The shop was silent when we got back, the world gone blue at the edges and the only light what the moon leaked through the grimy loft windows. I walked Levi up the stairs, my hand at the small of his back—not because he needed steadying, but because I needed the contact, something to convince myself he was real and not just another thing the world had left me for dead.
Inside, I locked the door behind us, turning the deadbolt with a force that was probably unnecessary. I didn’t bother with lights. There was nothing up here anyone needed to see—just my bed, the big ugly dresser, the kitchen counter loaded down with more bills and blueprints than groceries.
I turned to face Levi and found him backlit by the window, shoulders hunched and eyes fixed on the floor. The moon painted his face in slices, the blue and the gray. He looked tired, but not fragile. Not anymore.
I crossed the room in two steps, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pulled him in hard enough that our hips clapped together. He sucked in a breath, mouth opening, and I kissed him before he could even close it.
There was nothing slow about it—my tongue pushed past his lips, my hands fanned flat on his back, locking him in. He kissed back, harder, like he’d been holding it in all night.
When we broke apart, we were both gasping. He tried to speak, but I caught his jaw in my palm and tilted his head up to meet me.
“Don’t,” I said. “Just let me.”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple working. “Okay,” he breathed, and it was more of a prayer than a word.
I shoved his hoodie off his shoulders, fingers snagging on the collar. The static snapped, little sparks lighting in my head with every inch of skin I uncovered.
His t-shirt followed, crumpled to the floor, and I got my first look at the tattoo since the scab had healed—a dark band circling his wrist, my name there, permanent and clean.
He shivered, but not from the cold.
