He curled onto his side, eyes already drifting shut.
“You staying?” he murmured, half-asleep.
I sat on the edge of the bed, one hand braced on the mattress, the other gently tracing the line of his arm. “Not going anywhere.”
His breathing slowed, deepened, and I listened to it, letting the rhythm anchor me. I watched him until the tension in his body melted, until the pain lines on his face faded into nothing.
I sat there, sentinel, my own wounds forgotten. Tomorrow I’d hunt the fuckers who hurt him. Tonight, I’d guard him until the sun came up.
It was the only thing that mattered.
* * * *
The house was quiet except for the tick and pop of the fire. I stood in the darkened hall, every sense stretched thin, straining for the smallest sound from the bedroom—a shift in the sheets, a soft exhale, the music of Levi’s breathing. Nothing. He was out cold, and the silence pressed down like a weighted blanket.
I drifted toward the living room, steps light on the old pine boards. The air in the house was cold, but the fire raged in the hearth, flames gnawing at the logs, the heat stinging my face as I stepped close.
Pa sat in the big chair, elbows on his knees, hands knotted together so tight it looked like he might snap them. He stared into the fire, not blinking, not even when I settled into the couch beside him. He didn’t say a word. He never did, not unless it was necessary.
The silence was worse than shouting. I tried to sit still, but my legs twitched, my hands drummed the arm of the couch, every movement a staccato Morse code of anger. The fire threw red stripes over the walls, painting us both in blood.
I finally broke. “They tried to take him from me,” I said, the words torn out of my throat like wire.
Pa nodded, slow and grave. “I know.”
The logs shifted in the grate, sending up a gust of sparks. I watched them, trying to make sense of my own thoughts, but all I saw was Levi—his face swollen, the blood on his shirt, the terror in his eyes when I found him. I balled my fists, nails digging crescent moons into my palms.
“I’ll kill them if they try again,” I said, not as a threat but a fact. My voice was unsteady, too thin to be menacing, but it felt truer than anything I’d ever said.
Pa didn’t flinch. He just looked over, the lines on his face deepening in the firelight. “I know you will, son. Any man would.”
I stared at the rug, unable to meet his gaze.
He cleared his throat, and for a second I thought he’d let it go, just let me stew in my own violence. But Pa never wasted a teaching moment, even if it meant opening old wounds.
“You remember the time you broke Bodean’s collarbone?” he asked.
I looked up, startled by the change of subject. “I was ten,” I said. “He had it coming.”
Pa’s lips quirked. “That’s what you said then. But your ma—she made you sit with him every day until it healed. Made you carry his plate, do his chores. Said if you were gonna inflict pain, you better be ready to pay for it.”
I nodded, the memory hot and embarrassing.
“She was right,” said Pa. “But so were you. Sometimes people do have it coming.” He turned back to the fire, the orange light hollowing out his cheeks. “Whatever you do,” he said, voice low, “remember that Levi needs you. You’re married now. You got responsibilities. If you go to jail, you can’t protect him.”
I bristled. “I’m not stupid. I just—” I stopped, words catching in my throat. I didn’t have the vocabulary for what I felt, only the raw nerves and the pounding of my heart.
Pa leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s not about being smart or stupid. It’s about knowing the difference between vengeance and protection. A McKenzie never lets anyone hurt what’s his. But a McKenzie also knows when to hold, and when to strike.”
He let the silence stretch. The fire spat, the clock in the kitchen ticking off the seconds.
“They tried to take my Sunshine,” I said, quieter this time. The words tasted like blood and salt. My eyes burned, and I blinked hard, furious with myself for being weak.
Pa’s hand landed heavy on my shoulder. The calluses rasped against my skin, the grip strong enough to anchor me to the world. “I know, son,” he said. “I know.”
I buried my face in my hands. For a long moment, I sat there, crushed by the weight of what I wanted to do, what I knew I couldn’t do. The urge to destroy, to annihilate, burned brighter than the fire in the hearth. But underneath it was the fear—bone-deep, marrow-deep—that if I failed, Levi would be gone, and I’d be nothing.
A tear slipped down, hot and bitter. Then another. Not for pain, not for loss, but for the violence and the love twisted together inside me.
