Chapter Seven
The late afternoon sun covered Port Hueneme in a cool, gray haze, the kind of light Stone remembered from childhood.
His father, a military man, had been stationed out here. They’d lived off base, close to his uncle, and he’d grown up with Creed down the block.
The air smelled of citrus and dust, carried on a breeze that stirred the sycamores lining the quiet road.
For a moment, as he turned up the street toward Creed’s place, Stone almost felt like he was sixteen again, pedaling a bike, skinning his knees, hearing his mother call him home when the streetlights came on.
But that was a lifetime ago.
Creed’s parents had split not long after those summers, his father passing soon after.
By the time Stone left for the military, their childhood block already felt like another life.
His own parents were gone too—his father to cancer, his mother to diabetes—leaving just him and Creed, with cousins scattered and distant.
Stone punched in the gate code, and the Lyft eased to a stop in front of Creed’s house. Not the one they’d grown up in, but close. A wraparound porch, fresh paint, and a place Creed had built into a home for Kellum and the boys.
The door swung open before Stone could knock. Creed filled the frame—tall, broad, the tilt of his jaw so familiar it was like staring into a mirror aged by a different life.
“Well, damn,” Creed said, breaking into a grin. “Look who the wind blew in.”
Stone felt something in his chest loosen as he took the steps upward, and Creed crossed the porch. He was pulled into a rough hug.
No hesitation. Just family.
“You’re still ugly,” Stone muttered into his cousin’s shoulder.
“You’re still broader, but I can take you,” Creed shot back, patting him on the back before letting go.
Voices carried from inside—Kellum calling something about the oven, two boys arguing over who got to pick the next video game.
“Dylan plays video games already?” Stone lifted a brow at his cousin.
“Yeah. Too freaking smart for his age. That kid is going to be a General. I swear.”
Stone laughed. Then the screen door banged open.
“Uncle Stone!” Aaron barreled out, fifteen and lanky, muscles starting to find their shape. He came to a stop. “Holy crap, it’s really you!”
Stone huffed a laugh, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You got taller. Don’t think that means you can take me.”
Aaron puffed up proudly. “I’m almost as tall as Creed now.”
“Not even close,” Creed said, hooking the boy by the collar and tugging him back gently.
“Man, you guys look like twins.” Aaron gaped at them back and forth a few times.
“You’ve seen us together before,” Creed snorted.
“Yeah, but it’s still cool.” Aaron smiled.
Then Dylan appeared, six years old and fearless, clinging to the doorframe before launching himself at Stone like a missile. “Climb you like a tree!” he yelled.
Stone caught him easily, lifting him high with one arm. Dylan giggled, wrapping sticky fingers around Stone’s neck. The kid smelled like peanut butter and sunshine.
For a second—just a second—Stone let himself breathe.
Kellum leaned in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Well, look who decided to show up without warning.” His smile was wide, and his eyes softened at Stone. “You staying for dinner, or just breezing through?”
“Dinner,” Stone said before he could stop himself. His voice came out rougher than intended, and Kellum only nodded like he’d expected nothing less.
The boys dragged Stone inside in a whirlwind—showing him fridge drawings, a new soccer ball, and Aaron’s scraped knee. Kellum moved easily in the kitchen, garlic and chicken in the air, and Creed laughed at the chaos.
It all felt almost normal, almost home, and the ache in Stone’s chest told him just how much he’d missed this kind of warmth.
Aaron proudly showed off his drone project, Dylan, and his fortress of stuffed animals, which drew Stone into every corner—comics, cardboard helmets, and plastic swords—until he was growling at teddy bears and catching Dylan mid-strike to a chorus of giggles.
Settling into it, Stone realized this was what home looked like, what family sounded like, and for the first time in years, he let himself stay there.
From the doorway, a warm voice cut through the laughter. “Dinner’s up!”
Kellum leaned against the frame, apron slung around slim hips, blond curls damp from steam. Slender, sharp-eyed, he looked every bit the Pegasus techie—bright, brilliant, always three steps ahead—but tonight he was just Creed’s husband, smiling at the chaos.
“You boys wash your hands before you sit,” Kellum said, mock stern, blue eyes twinkling.
Aaron groaned, Dylan bolted for the sink.
“Come on. Kellum doesn’t cook often, but when he does, it’s worth dropping everything,” Creed said, motioning to him.
Stone followed, the smell of garlic and chicken heavy in the air—home-cooked food he hadn’t sat down to in a long time.
The porch boards creaked under Stone’s weight as he leaned back in the rocking chair, a bottle cool in his hand.
The sky over the Port Hueneme beach was painted in brilliant orange as the sun sank. Stone drank it in.
From inside the house came the muffled sound of Kellum herding the boys, a burst of laughter, the scrape of chairs on tile.
Normal life.
The kind Stone hadn’t touched in years.
Creed tipped his bottle toward him from the other rocker, a half-smile edged with concern. “Hell, cousin, you sit quieter than a loaded gun these days.”
Stone’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t answer. He just took a slow pull of beer and let the silence stretch.
Creed leaned back, gaze drifting out across the yard. “We were kings of that block in Ventura, remember? Nobody told us shit. Just you and me, raising hell. Henderson twins never saw us coming.”
A chuckle slipped out of Stone before he could stop it. “Yeah. Back before it all got complicated.”
Creed studied him. “You’ve fought a thousand wars, Cousin, but you look worse than when we limped home bloody after the Hendersons kicked our asses.”
“Mission stuff,” Stone muttered, eyes on the darkening yard.
But Creed didn’t let it go. “You keep looking out there like you’re waiting on someone who’s not coming.”
Stone stiffened, jaw flexing. He didn’t respond.
Creed sighed, voice dropping low. “I know you. You’re carrying something heavy. Tell me straight—what’s going on?”
Stone sat forward, elbows braced on his knees, bottle dangling from one hand. For a long beat, he said nothing. Then it broke loose in pieces, stripped down and raw.
“Every time I call him, Clinton’s the one who answers. Not Dave. And when I do get Dave…” His throat worked, the words dragging. “I thought with time, maybe things would change, but they haven’t. He keeps walls up. Always has.”
He stared out into the night, watching the porch light catch dust in the air.
“Now I’m here. He’s there.” His voice dropped, bitter. “Feels like I’m standing outside my own life, looking through the glass.”
Creed was quiet, waiting.
Stone leaned back, jaw tight. He’d carried worse weights than this, but tonight, in the midst of family, it dug deep and raw in a way he couldn’t shake.
“Every time I reach for him, something gets in the way. Feels like I’m already losing him.”
Creed blew out a short, sharp breath, almost a snort.
“Then hold on tighter. Stop letting other people stand between you. I’ve never seen you back away… unless you want to.”
The words hit like a fist.
Stone wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t that simple—but he couldn’t. Because Creed was right.
He couldn’t afford to let Dave slip away without a fight.