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It undoes me a little.
Because that—that is what he should’ve had all along. Maybe I can’t rewrite the years that came before, but I can damn sure try to make sure he gets more moments like this one. Moments where life feels light. Where he doesn’t have to carry the whole weight of it on his own.
Chapter Twenty
I’M GIVING YOU MY BEST NOAH SPARKS HERE
HENRY
I sit here watching them after dinner—and after that math, which, if I’m being honest, made me question if I need to go back to school. Because the way they teach it these days? Confused the hell out of me. I’ve always been good with numbers, sharp even, but Dallas looked at me like I was some kind of invalid the second I tried to help.
I don’t know how, but after only a week—one fucking week—that kid has wormed his way in and buried himself deep. Like he’s always belonged here. And as I sit at that table, watching the two of them, something hits me so hard and so fast I can’t move.
This is it. This is what I’ve always wanted. A home. A table that stays cluttered. A kid who rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath. A woman who challenges me at every turn and still makes me feel like I can finally breathe.
But I’m not stupid.
I know Lou. Know the way she bolts when things start to feel too good. She’ll leave. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But eventually. She’ll tell herself it’s safer that way—that she’s protecting herself, or maybe protecting us.
No matter how good the sex is—God damn is it good—that is never going to be enough to make her stay. She is right: the spark between us is easy. It always has been.
What I need—what I want—is for her to stay because she wants to. Because she looks around and sees something worth rooting herself in.
I’m not worried about Dallas. She’ll never leave him behind. If she walks, it’ll be with one hand still holding tight to that boy. It’ll be joint custody and calls at bedtime and holidays negotiated with care despite us only living thirty-six yards apart.
But me?
She can let go of me. Again.
Honestly? I don’t think I'll recover from that this time.
The hard truth is this—she can run, she can fight, she can build walls so high no one’s ever meant to climb them…
But she still owns me. Every scarred, stubborn, fiercely loyal part of who I am.
She always will.
“My mama left when I was really little—decided she didn’t want to be a parent anymore.”
Her voice doesn’t waver, not even a little, but I know it guts her. How could it not?
She and Sophie showed up that night like two fragile little angels in pink nightgowns, tears still fresh on their cheeks. Merc saw them too—called them angels himself.
Damn, he was right.
Dallas looks down at the pencil in his hand and I can see the tremble in his jaw like he wants to sob but he fucking refuses and I know what he’s going to tell her is going to break her heart because God damn it broke mine the first time I read it.
“Mine died. Tried sending us to heaven too, but I made it.”
I watch Louisiana Wright wilt—her shoulders slump just a little, her breath catching in a silent gasp. A tear slips down her cheek, tracing the curve of her throat. Then, in this shattered moment, she fucking blooms—for him, fierce and tender all at once.
She gently cradles his face, turns him until his pale blue eyes meet hers.
“Your God damn right you did,” she whispers. “I’m so thankful for that, Dally.”
I swallow hard, forcing back the tears clawing their way up my throat. Because the things that little boy and his baby brother endured…they’re enough to bring the biggest, toughest son of a bitch to his knees.
His mother was a paranoid schizophrenic with a crack habit and a head full of voices louder than reason. She refused her meds, traded stability for delusion, and believed her sons were spies—sent to watch her, to betray her. In her mind, she was some kind of assassin, trapped in decommission, always waiting for a signal that never came.
