Pierce could spot that familiar military posture a mile away.
Glen’s gaze snapped to him the second he stepped into the kitchen. The worry there was obvious, but so was the assessment. The silentWho are you to her? Can I trust you?question in the way he held himself.
Pierce walked straight to him, no hesitation, and offered his hand.
“Glen?” he asked.
Glen’s grip was firm. The kind of handshake that wasn’t about dominance, but about measurement. He held Pierce’s eyes for a second as they shook.
“Pierce,” Glen said. Not a question. A statement.
“Yes, sir.”
That earned Pierce the faintest flicker of approval. Barely there, but real.
Then Bea moved in before Glen could say anything else, and she hugged Pierce like she had known him longer than a handful of weeks. It caught him off guard, not in a bad way. More like it hit him right in the chest with the reminder that this wasn’t just some casual situation. This was family, showing up in the middle of the night because someone they loved had been thrown into chaos again.
“Thank you,” Bea said softly against his shoulder. “For being with her.”
Pierce’s throat tightened. He nodded and stepped back gently. “Of course.”
Jessica moved toward them with that calm, competent energy she always had when things got heavy. “I’m really glad you made it,” she said, placing a hand briefly on Bea’s arm. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”
Bea’s eyes were already glossy. “Thank you for calling,” she said. “Truly. I… I didn’t want her going through something like this alone.”
Glen’s jaw flexed once as he glanced toward the hallway. “Where is she?” he asked, voice controlled but tight underneath.
Pierce answered before anyone else could. “She’s in my room,” he said. “Taking a shower.”
“How is she?” Glen asked.
Pierce kept his voice steady. “Besides the graze on her arm, physically, she’s okay. She did need a few stitches.”
“And the shooting?” Glen pressed, eyes narrowing slightly.
Pierce gave them the cliff notes. Not the full play-by-play, not the part that would make Bea’s knees buckle. Just enough to let them understand the shape of it.
“The police think Calvin was the target, not Charley, but she was right there. She stayed with him. They got him to surgery. He made it through the operation, but he’s still critical.”
Bea’s face crumpled for a second, and she shook her head like she couldn’t process it. “That poor man. And Charley…” Her voice broke slightly. “After everything she’s already been through.”
Glen didn’t say anything, but Pierce saw his hand tighten on the back of the chair like it was taking effort not to do something, like go find the shooter himself, maybe. Pierce understood that feeling all too well.
Bea looked at Pierce, eyes sharp now. “She’s been through so much,” she said quietly. “First her father, then her brother, and she tried so hard to keep standing even when it should’ve crushed her. I just—” Her breath hitched. “I’m worried how this is going to affect her.”
Pierce didn’t flinch. He stepped a little closer, letting his presence say what words couldn’t.
“It won’t,” he said. “Not this time. Because she isn’t alone anymore.”
Something shifted in Bea’s expression, like relief trying to push through dread.
Glen’s eyes flicked toward Pierce, studying him, and Pierce could almost see the calculation changing:He means it.
“She’s got you,” Bea whispered, like she was testing the idea.
Pierce nodded once. “She’s got all of us.”
That seemed to settle something in both of them, even if only by a fraction.
