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Dallas Murphy.

A child carrying the name of the man I loved more than anything, and the world failed him anyway.

Henry’s still talking, but it’s muffled, meaningless—until Mercy speaks up, quiet and brittle.

“So now what? He’s going right back into one of the same places he ran from?”

And then—Henry looks at me.

Dead-on.

Like he’s known from the start what this would do to me. Like he’s already made peace with the war he’s about to start.

“Not exactly,” he says, voice like iron. “He’s coming home with me.”

That one sentence cracks something open in me. Wide and deep.

Because I know exactly what that means, and I’m not ready for any of it.

Chapter Eleven

NOT EVERYONE GETS A MAGGIE WILDER

HENRY

I watch the color drain from Lou’s face the instant I say the boy’s name. Her reaction says it all—she knows. We both do. From the moment I saw that name on the file, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. It was a sign. This kid isn’t just another case. He needs a family. He needs love. And damn it, I come from the kind of family that can give him both.

Dallas Murphy. Nine years old. He’s already run from four different group homes this year. Fucking four. Right now, he’s holed up in my office with his case worker and Cece, probably scared, angry, and ready to bolt again. He doesn’t know yet—his life’s about to change.

I pulled everyone together because this isn’t a small decision. It is a life-altering one, and when you make moves that shake the ground, you better have people who will hold the line when things crack. No one has a family like mine. Loud, loyal, a little wild—but solid to the core. I need them, especially after the night I just had.

Because who would've thought one small boy was capable of so much damn destruction the moment he walked through the door? Well, dragged through the door is the more accurate description. “Destructive” didn’t even come close. He was a hurricane in sneakers three times his size—shouting, breaking things, testing every single limit like he was begging us to fail him.

But buried under all that chaos, I saw it—that same fire Lou used to carry in her eyes when she was younger. Wild. Untamed. Fierce like she had to fight for every inch of space in the world. That same defiance that said prove to me I’m worth it, and in that moment, I knew. Maybe, just maybe, we could teach him how to use that fire for something better. We could give him something better.

“Okay, Hen. Tell me what you need us to do,” Mama says, her voice soft but steady, her hand settling on my arm like a quiet promise.

No doubts. No second guesses. Just that calm, fierce faith: Tell me what you need.

Told you—best damn family ever.

I clear my throat, trying to loosen the knot that's been sitting heavy in my chest since I read the boy’s file. “That’s why I called you all here,” I say, my voice rough around the edges. “Because the truth is, there’s no way in hell they’re gonna let a single man—with my hours, my job—take him in. Not on paper. Not in reality. It just won’t happen.”

I pause, letting the weight of it settle, my gaze sweeping the room—these people who’ve carried me more times than I can count, even when I didn’t have the words to ask for help. “Not without backup.”

Then I turn, locking eyes with the one person I knew would be the hardest sell. The one sitting there, pale and tight-lipped, like she’s bracing for a storm she thought she'd already weathered.

“Not without you,” I say, head held high.

It takes her a second—a heartbeat and a half—to realize I mean her. Then just like I predicted, she’s on her feet in a flash, all heat and fury, a Valkyrie in overalls and ridiculous ass cow slippers, fists clenched like she’s ready to take on a God damn war.

Her eyes—those amber eyes—snap onto mine, burning through me. That soft flicker I’d caught earlier, the one that trembled like a candle flame when she asked who’d hurt me? Gone.

No more softness. No more cracks.

This is fire. Pure, sharp fire, coiled and waiting to explode if I say one wrong thing.

“What the fuck do you mean, me?” she spits, voice low and rough, every word a bullet.