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For a second, neither of us moved.
Carter looked at me, uncertainty flickering.
“You ready?” I asked.
He took my hand, squeezed it, then laced our fingers together.
“With you?” he said. “Yeah.”
We got out, boots crunching the gravel in unison. Carter squared his shoulders, ran a hand over his belly, then marched toward the door. I followed, close behind, ready to shoulder the next fight, whatever shape it took.
And as we walked inside, the old world waiting to take its shot, I knew exactly who I was fighting for.
