“You’re safe,” I said, not caring who heard.
Bo shuddered, once. “I don’t feel safe,” he whispered.
I kissed the side of his head, just above his ear. “Doesn’t matter. You are. I’ve got you.”
Across the fire, the brothers watched, not saying anything. Knox broke the silence. “You want to see the plan?” he asked. “We’ll show you. Tomorrow morning.”
Bo shook his head, almost a flinch. “No. Just… don’t get killed. Okay?”
Knox snorted, a sound so dry it could have started a brushfire. “Please. The only thing that could kill us is each other.”
Ransom grinned, teeth white in the dark. “Or Ma, if we ruin her tomatoes again.”
That actually made Bo smile, for real this time. He looked at them, then at me, and I could see the armor starting to regrow, piece by piece.
The family moved closer, filling in the empty chairs around the pit. Ransom sat on the end, propped his feet on a log, and started flicking pebbles into the coals. Quiad just crouched, arms around his knees, scanning the yard like he was looking for threats. Harlow hovered behind us, hands on my shoulders, big and gentle as a bear.
For a few minutes, nobody spoke. Just the fire, the wind, the slow hiss of wet grass under falling sparks.
Then Ma appeared, her apron still on, holding a plate of cookies like it was a shield. “Thought you boys might want something sweet,” she said, and set the plate on the bench beside me.
“Thanks, Ma,” I said.
She patted my arm, then Bo’s. When she touched his head, he closed his eyes, leaned into it. She left her hand there a second longer than usual, then walked away, the sound of her slippers fading into the dark.
The sky above was all stars and black velvet, the kind of night that made you believe in beginnings.
Bo shifted in my lap, wrapped the blanket tighter. “You really think it’s over?” he said, voice small.
I squeezed him, let my hands settle on his ribs. “I don’t think. I know.”
He craned his neck to look at me, brown eyes wet but defiant. “Promise?”
I held his gaze, let the words hang between us until they felt real. “I promise. You’re never going back. Not ever.”
He blinked, then nodded.
The fire died down, leaving only the heat and the glow and the family circled tight around it. I watched Bo’s breathing slow, the tension bleed out, and for the first time since the chase, I felt the old fear start to lift.
We stayed like that until the coals were nothing but memory and the night was all silence. One by one, the brothers drifted off, back to the house, to the warmth and the safety of home.
I carried Bo inside, cradled him like something precious, and when he fell asleep in the bed in his old bedroom, I lay beside him, arm across his chest, and kept watch until the sun came up.
He was mine now.
And nobody, not Harley, not anyone, was ever going to take him away.
Chapter Thirteen
~ Bodean ~
I woke with Jo’s arm heavy around my waist, the skin-to-skin pressure so unfamiliar it might as well have been a foreign object stapled to my side. My childhood bed at the farm wasn’t much—bare mattress with a scratchy wool blanket, air that smelled like sun-baked dust and the lavender sachet Ma hid in every closet—but I felt safer than I had in years.
Outside, the morning was trying to burn through a thin sheet of fog. It leaked in around the edges of the threadbare curtains, casting the room in a bluish haze that made everything look underwater.
Jo’s hand was splayed open across my stomach, his thumb grazing the top of my waistband like it had business there.
I didn’t move. Didn’t even dare to breathe hard. I wanted the moment to stretch, to freeze, to stay longer than it had a right to. The ache in my ribs was still there, low and familiar, but the fear that used to run on top of it was gone.
