That sharp, protective gaze of his drops straight to our joined hands.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say a word.
Second, Evan sees it.
And unlike his uncle—who just files it away for later—the kid reacts.
He charges me.
Full force.
The shove to my gut isn’t light, either.
The boy’s got size and anger behind him.
“Get away from my mom!”Evan yells, and Kelly jumps in fast, grabbing his shoulders.
“Evan!What’s come over you?Stop it right now!”
But he’s past hearing her.
He’s yelling, crying, swinging.
So I move.
Not away.
In front of her.
I plant myself between Evan and Kelly and take the brunt of the boy’s temper without hesitation.
There’s a sound behind me—Kelly’s breath catching, breaking—and something ugly twists low in my gut at the pain in it.
She tries to push past me, but I don’t budge.
Not because I’m blocking her.I’m not trying to do that.
But I am shielding her.I’m not about to let either of them get hurt.
He’s young.Ten, she said.Tall for his age.Built long and solid like Thatcher.And he’s got fire in him.
Just like his mother.
This kind of behavior?It wouldn’t fly in boardrooms or at one of my development galas.
But this isn’t a boardroom.
This is a scared kid who thinks the ground under his feet is crumbling.
So I let him swing.
The first few hits land square in my ribs.Then my stomach.
They’re not light.
The kid’s got some power behind him.
But I’ve taken worse from men twice my size on job sites.
