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“I haven’t ever called you Dad. Still won’t.” He shrugs. “But that doesn't mean you weren’t him for me. You taught me how to stand up straight, how to tell the truth even when it made my voice shake, and how to look a man in the eye when I’ve got nothing left but fists and pride. You did all that while still being just a kid yourself.”
Henry doesn’t move, but his jaw tightens, just barely. I take his hand in mine giving it a gentle squeeze.
Then Merc turns to Maddox. His grin fades.
“But Maddox…”
He pauses, presses his lips together like he’s chewing the next words.
“You didn’t raise me. You didn’t tell me right from wrong. Hell, you barely knew it yourself some days. But you were there. Every scrap, every bad decision, every bruised knuckle—I looked beside me, and there you were. Bloody and wild, same as me.”
He huffs out something between a laugh and a breath as he runs a hand through his blonde hair. “You didn’t teach me how to be a man. You taught me how to survive being a boy.”
The room goes still.
“You taught me how to take a hit, and when to throw the next one harder. You taught me how to keep moving when it all felt like it was going to crush me. You taught me to swing, even when I couldn’t win, just so they knew I’d never go down easy.”
Maddox’s eyes don’t leave his.
“You were my best friend. You still are. You were the one there beside me in the mud. When I was pissed off and scared and had no clue who the hell I was—you were there. Bleeding with me. Laughing with me. Fighting for me.”
He huffs a dry laugh, his voice wobbling. “I give you shit, Maddy, because you’re the strongest son of a bitch I know. And If I’m half the man you are when this life is done chewing on me—then I’ll know I did something right.”
Merc takes a breath, like the weight of those words pulled something loose from his chest. Then, softer, “I love you, brother.”
Maddox doesn’t speak. Just shifts Vivi gently off his chest, sets her in Evie’s waiting arms, and stands.
Then Maddox closes the distance in one long step, arms wrapping around Merc with a fierce, bruising hug—bone-deep and raw, the kind of embrace that carries every unspoken word they’d never dared voice as boys. Their breath mingles, chests rising and falling like the steady beat of a silent promise.
When they finally pull apart, the room feels heavier—full of something fragile and fierce all at once. Maggie blinks back tears, cheeks flushed, and swallows hard.
“Damn, Maggie,” Aunt Joe says, her voice thick with warmth, “they just had to inherit that bleeding heart of yours, huh?”
Chapter Thirty-One
YOU GOING TO PULL THAT FLASHLIGHT OUT AGAIN?
LOUISIANA
Later that night, after we got back from Aunt Joe’s—bellies full, leftovers packed in foil, the kind of tired that settles in your bones after a long day of love and noise—I help Dally into his pajamas. The house has gone still, quiet in that sacred, after-holiday kind of way. The only sound is the soft hum of the heater and the occasional creak of settling wood.
I tuck him in tight, smoothing the blanket over him just how he likes it, and lean down to kiss his forehead.
Before I can pull away, his small hand wraps around mine.
“Louis…” he says, voice soft and unsure.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, giving him time. Letting him gather whatever is sitting too heavy on his little heart.
“I know earlier I said I was thankful for fishing…and Thunder Lake,” he mumbles, staring at his hands, “but really, I meant you, and Henry.”
“I’m thankful for you too, Dally,” I whisper, brushing a thumb over the back of his hand.
He looks up like he isn’t sure he heard me right, like part of him still expects to be let down.
So I give him the truth—plain and fierce.
“I’m so damn thankful the universe gave me you,” I say, barely able to get the words out through the lump in my throat. “I love you, kid. More than if I’d carried you inside me for nine months. More than if you had my blood. I look at you every single day and think—how the hell did I get so lucky that you landed right here, in my neck of the woods?”
