29. Jack #2
Because Silas plays in a beer league, Hale insists on tagging along to every single practise and game. At this point, he’s their unofficial mascot, loud, loyal, and entirely convinced he’s part of the official roster.
Every practice, every game, he throws his gear bag next to Silas’s in the back of the truck, climbing in and bouncing in his seat, eager to get to the team. He’s Silas’s sidekick, a dynamic Hale pretends to hate but secretly clings to with everything in him.
Ever since Silas started the adoption process, Hale’s been loosening up, testing boundaries, and playing around in ways he never used to. He finally has consistency, someone who shows up, and he’s learning how to be a kid again, even if that kid is a chirping little shit.
Coming from Ottawa, Hale worships the Senators with a devotion usually reserved for a cult. Silas finds this personally offensive, given his unwavering loyalty to the Canucks. The two of them can argue for hours, neither willing to concede even a single stat.
Technically, Hale has bragging rights this season; his Sens clawed their way into Round One of the playoffs… only to lose to the Canes. Silas reminds him of this at every opportunity, usually with a grin that makes Hale want to commit minor violence.
Hale’s response is always the same: a quick punch to Silas’s arm and a muttered, “Shut the fuck up,” which only makes Silas laugh harder.
And Hale loves it. He loves that he can throw a punch and Silas doesn’t flinch. He loves that Silas chirps him back. He loves that he finally has someone to argue with, joke with, and belong to, even if that someone is a Canucks fan.
For a second, the laughter fades into a low hum. The warmth of the sun on my face blurs, and the sound of the crackling grill shifts, morphing beneath the weight of an old memory.
I am suddenly six years old again, standing on the patchy grass of our old backyard before the shadows took everything over.
I see my mother standing by the old grill, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheek with the back of her hand, her face lit up with a bright, carefree laugh as she flips burgers for us.
She was always trying to find the light in that house, trying to carve out little islands of joy before the dark closed in.
She smiled. She laughed. She made the world feel big and safe, even when the walls were crumbling around us.
A sharp, familiar ache twinges in my chest, but it doesn’t sting the way it used to. It feels softer now, like a scab finally finished healing.
My gaze drifts to the side, landing on Silas.
He’s leaning casually against bench by the BBQ, holding a cold bottle of beer while Deck says something sarcastic that makes Silas huff a short, amused laugh.
The late afternoon sunlight catches the dark waves of his hair and highlights the sharp, familiar lines of his profile.
He’s relaxed. The constant, lethal tension that usually defines his posture has melted away, leaving behind a man who is simply standing in his own home, surrounded by the people who would burn the world down for each other.
I smile when I hear his laugh again, a deep, rich sound that hits my ears like a physical touch, and watch as he throws his head back just slightly.
As if feeling the weight of my stare, Silas turns his head.
His dark eyes lock instantly onto mine across the short distance of the deck, the laughter fading from his face, replaced by that quiet, fierce devotion that belongs entirely to me.
He doesn’t say anything to the guys; he just pushes away from the counter, walks over, and sits down right beside me on the step.
His warm shoulder presses against mine, and his hand finds my knee beneath the blanket, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding circle against my skin.
“Penny for them, dove,” Silas murmurs softly, his eyes searching my face with endless care.
I lean my head against his shoulder, letting out a long, shuddering breath as I watch Hale score another point against Callan in the grass.
“Just thinking about my mom,” I whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “She would have loved this.”
Silas’s arm wraps tighter around me, pulling me closer until I am entirely enveloped in his heat.
“She would have loved you,” I add, looking up into his eyes.
Silas lets out a low, rumbling chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I wish I could have met her.”
“Me too.” I say, laying my head on his shoulder, looking back out over the lawn.
I watch the smoke drift up toward the sky, watching the men who have become my family more than blood ever was. The ghost of my mother’s smile still lingers in my mind, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a memory of a life stolen . It feels like a promise.
I am safe. I’m loved. And I’m home.
* * *
Later that night, the house finally settles into a peacefulness.
Everything from the afternoon’s chaos has been cleared away, and Hale has long since gone over to a friend’s house for a sleepover, leaving just the core of us, the men who had bled and burned a path across borders to pull me back from the dark.
We are all scattered around the kitchen and living area as the evening winds down, the formal edge of the party completely dissolved into a loose, comfortable haze.
But as the noise began to wear thin, a heavy weight starts pressing against my chest again, the phantom shadows, the lingering ghosts of that Seattle cellar.
Needing air, I slip quietly away from the group, sliding open the back glass door and stepping out onto the porch.
The night air carries the salty scent of the ocean, rolling in over the back lawn and it cools the heat of my skin. I lean my forearms against the wooden railing, staring out into the dark expanse of the water where the moonlight shatters into jagged, silver streaks across the water.
A moment later, the soft click of the door tells me I’m not alone. Silas.