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I grit my teeth. I told Cece this was a terrible idea.

But I am drained, and the last thing I need is to get into a battle of words with the little viper—knowing she'll eventually give in, like she always does. That’s just who she is. Louisiana Wright wears that hard, unbreakable mask, making everyone think she is a closed-off bitch who doesn’t care about anyone or anything. But I see through it. Beneath the walls, there is a heart so big it could swallow the world whole.

And maybe this little boy is who any one of us could have been without the love only family could provide.

After the little terror damn near destroyed my office I watched him finally settle in a corner and doze off, and as I sat there head propped in my hands I decided he would never go back into another fucking group home again.

“Louisiana, I just spent the last nine fucking hours cramped in my office with a slightly smaller, more feral version of you. Then I spent another four hours going over his file with his caseworker, and let me fucking tell you…” I drop my voice, low and dangerous, every word deliberate like I’m making sure she feels the weight of it. “Not everyone got a Magnolia Wilder like you and Soph did. Not everyone had someone who stepped up to the plate the way you did, someone who fought tooth and nail to keep them from disappearing into a system that doesn’t give a damn.”

“Henry,” Mama warns, but I don’t hear her.

I ignore her warning and stalk closer to Lou, the room goes silent and the air becomes thicker the closer I get to her, the only sound coming from the hum of the coffee maker. My mother is a fucking saint, everyone standing this room knows it. Especially the hard headed ass woman standing before me.

I let the words hit the air like a fist pounding a table—hard, unforgiving.

Her jaw tightens. Her hands ball into fists at her sides, knuckles whitening with the force of it. I watch the fire flicker in her eyes, but it’s different now—darker, edged with something raw and dangerous.

“Where’s his Magnolia Wilder? Who the hell’s gonna fight for him? Who’s gonna stand up and give him a damn second chance?”

My voice drops low, rougher, like gravel scraping concrete.

“Because right now? He has no one Louisanna, not like you had us and damn sure not like you had Soph.”

I pause, letting the weight of it land like a stone to the chest, my voice low and firm, cracking at the edges. I think someone mutters something behind me—Mercy, maybe Maddox—but I don’t turn. Don’t flinch. I can’t. Because right now, Louisiana Wright is the only thing I can see, feel, or fucking breathe. She’s standing there like a storm in denim, arms crossed, scoff locked and loaded, the same old wall already going up brick by God damn brick.

But I don’t let her speak. I step in, cut her off, the words spilling out hard and fast, because God help me, I can’t afford for her to say no. I won’t survive it if she does.

“You can scoff all you want, Lou, but you know I’m telling the God damn truth. So let’s push all this personal bullshit aside, wildflower—and focus on the fact that there was a nine-year-old boy,” I point in the direction of the sheriff station, “living in a makeshift fucking camp, hiding in the woods like a ghost, where two people in this room damn near died.”

Behind me, a coffee cup slams hard against the counter, the sharp clang echoing off the peeling walls.

I take a slow step forward, closing the last few inches between us. The weight of my stare dares her to look away.

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel this, Lou.” My voice lowers, rough and gritty, scraping against raw nerves. “Don’t act like it doesn’t matter. Because I see it—every crack in your armor. You want to turn and walk away, but your heart’s too fucking big for that.” I can almost see the tight clench of her jaw, the flicker of a fight in her eyes. “You’ve always been the one who bloomed through fire, remember? Cracked concrete, scorched earth—you grew anyway.” My hand slides up to rub the dull ache lodged in my chest—a ghost pain from the night I watched that boy curl up, trembling and alone, in that cold, God damn corner. “And that boy?” My voice drops to a rasp, thick with something I’m barely holding back. “That boy is just waiting for someone to do the same for him.”

Her gaze pierces me, sharp and unblinking, like I just ripped the skin off and laid her bare. For a long, heavy breath, the room freezes between us—like time’s holding its breath too. I swear I can hear her heart pounding, quick and desperate beneath her ribcage. I think she might shove it all down like she always does and bolt.

But then she laughs—sharp and bitter, with no humor to soften it.

“Oh, fuck you, Sheriff.” Her voice cracks like dry wood, low and ragged. She steps into me, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off her like a storm ready to break. Her breath brushes my cheek, sharp and warm, and her fury vibrates against my skin like thunder barely held back.

“You think you can guilt me into this? Tell me what to do?” Her eyes flash amber, wild and fierce, strands of her pale blonde hair escaping the messy bun to frame her face—almost too damn pretty for the words she spits. “You forget who the fuck I am.”

“And don’t ever throw Maggie up in my face again.” I catch the flash of something—pride, pain—in her eyes. “As if I could ever forget everything your mama has done for me, for us.” Her voice softens for just a moment as she pokes a slender finger into my chest, hard enough to make me shift but not enough to break the skin.

She takes another step forward, her face tilted up to mine—fierce, unflinching, and heartbreakingly wild. There’s a kind of beauty to her that refuses to be tamed, the kind that grows in spite of everything, like a wildflower pushing through cracked earth—battered by storms but still standing, still blooming.

“You’re asking me to open myself up to another thing that could be ripped away from me.” Her voice cracks, just for a breath—a fragile, raw edge that she snaps shut fast, like even the smallest crack might tear her apart. I catch the tremble in her throat she won’t show.

My mind flashes back to that hospital room, the sterile smell of disinfectant thick in the air, the beep of machines cutting through the silence. Lou lying there with Evie, Evie clinging to death’s doorstep, fragile and fighting. Her words then echo heavy. “She can’t be another one to abandon me here.”

“You’re scared, Lou. I know that.” My voice drops softer as I reach out, hands settling gently on her slender shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath my palms. “But I’m not asking you to save him from the whole God damn world—I’m asking you to give him the same shot you had. The one Soph had. The one I had. That’s it.” My hands tighten just a fraction, steadying. “We’re not perfect. None of us are. But we’ve got each other, and maybe that’s all Dallas will ever need.”

Lou stands there for a long moment, a storm in her eyes, before she finally exhales, that tough exterior starting to crack, just enough for me to see the rawness underneath. The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy, we’re both holding our breath, afraid of what the other might say next. Then, finally, Lou speaks, her voice low but steady. “Fine, tell me what you need.”

Suddenly, Sophie’s gasps cut through the tension like a scream. I watch as she reaches desperately for her sister, big amber eyes shining wet and raw. She whispers, voice thick with something that sounds like grief, “Louisiana.”

“How about getting all the facts before whatever the hell that was happens again?” The sharpness in Mercy’s voice snaps me back. “Jesus Christ! Mama, make them stop—I feel dirty!”