Chapter 52 #2
The bond flickers faintly as the boys register the shift in my mood, but they don’t intrude. Just awareness. Just presence.
“I was going to call,” I say.
“I know you were. I don’t blame you. It sounds like a lot has happened in a short space of time, dear.”
There’s no accusation in it. Only patience.
For a moment I don’t know what to say. The words feel too large and too small all at once.
“I’m sorry,” I start automatically.
“For what, my darling?” she asks gently.
“For…how it ended, I guess?”
A quiet pause.
Then, softly, “You were never safe around that man. I’m the one who should be apologising.”
The simplicity of it steals the air from my lungs.
She’s never said it so plainly before. There were euphemisms. Carefully folded phrases. Observations wrapped in civility. We barely knew each other, she was careful and I was guarded.
Not today.
“You knew,” I whisper.
“I suspected,” she corrects. “I stupidly trusted that you would leave when you were ready. I should have found you sooner. I have so much to be sorry for, Lani.”
There’s no anger in her voice. Just calm certainty. And deep regret.
“I didn’t leave,” I say. “Not properly.”
“No,” she agrees. “You outgrew it. I’m only sorry I didn’t get you out sooner.”
The distinction settles into me like something precise and clean.
Outgrew.
Not escaped. Not survived.
Outgrew.
It gives me a lot to think about, but there’s no blame on her shoulders. She didn’t know.
She asks about the boys next. Not one. All of them.
I lean back against the wall and close my eyes for a moment, letting myself smile.
“They’re…steady,” I say first, because that feels important. “It’s not chaos. It’s not madness. It’s organised. They take care of each other. And me.”
“And do you take care of them?” she asks.
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “They’re…more settled with me? Does that make sense? I don’t know them like you do, but from what I’ve heard, the twins barely tolerated one another when Finn wasn’t around, and Sol had almost nothing to do with any of them.”
“That sounds about right. They were definitely fractured. And now…?”
“Things are better. They still bicker, but it feels…comfortable? Like brothers, or pack I guess I should say. It’s more good-natured now. Gentler. I don’t know. It just feels right.”
She hums approvingly.
“The first time I met Kai,” she says after a moment. “He tried to charm me into paying him for mowing my lawn.”
“Did you?”
“I did not. For one, he was trespassing. My lawn didn’t need mowing. And he took the heads off all my flowers! Cheeky little beggar he was, even then. He didn’t change. He was always trying to talk me into selling my house to his family.”
I laugh. “And?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
“He failed.”
That doesn’t surprise me. Doris is a force to be reckoned with at the best of times.
“And the quiet one,” she continues. “Koa?”
“Yes.”
“He watches before he speaks. That’s a good quality in a man.”
“It is,” I agree softly.
“And Finn,” she adds. “That boy has always been protective of his friends. Horrible father, and yet despite all the odds stacked against him, he’s proven that sometimes the apple can indeed fall very far away from the dirty rotten tree.”
The way she says it makes my throat tighten. “Finn is perfect.”
“And Sol?” she prompts gently.
“Sol is…solid,” I say. “He feels like home. The hardest nut to crack, but I think he might be the one with the sweetest centre.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Not judgement. Reflection.
“From the moment we discovered one another, I always knew you were meant for something bigger than that house,” she says at last.
The words land deep.
Not louder than the others. Not dramatic.
Just true.
“You were never meant to be small, Lani,” she continues. “You were simply contained and now that your father has gone, you can be free.”
Tears prick unexpectedly behind my eyes.
“I’m happy,” I tell her.
The admission feels different this time. Not defensive. Not fragile.
Just steady.
“I can hear it,” she replies.
There’s a smile in her voice. Warm. Protective.
“I approve,” she adds, lightly. “Of all four. I’m so glad you’ve found your place, sweetheart.”
I laugh through the tightness in my throat. “That’s good.”
“It is,” she says firmly. “You were always meant to be surrounded by warmth, not fear. Stay safe, darling. And I’ll see you all when I’m home.”
When we hang up, I stay leaning against the wall for a moment longer, watching the tide shift.
The bond hums softly, like four quiet lanterns waiting.
Not demanding.
Just there.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I need permission to keep what makes me happy.
Dinner is loud.
Not chaotic. Not frantic.
Alive.
The windows are open to the evening air, the last of the light spilling across the kitchen table in long, honeyed stripes. Sol insisted on cooking “something simple,” which in Sol language means three courses and a sauce that took six hours to reduce properly.
The table is too small for all five of us, but no one suggests replacing it.
Kai is half-leaning across it, gesturing wildly as he recounts something ridiculous that happened during a lesson.
Koa corrects his exaggerations without looking up from where he’s slicing bread.
Finn has rolled his sleeves to his elbows and is listening with that attentive stillness that makes people confess things they didn’t intend to.
I watch them.
Not because I feel separate.
Because I feel…full.
Sol sets a bowl down in front of me before I realise he’s moved. His fingers brush my shoulder briefly – a check-in, a grounding point – then he returns to the stove.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says casually, which is his warning tone.
Kai groans immediately. “Here we go.”
“A small place,” Sol continues, ignoring him. “Not big. Twenty covers. Focused menu. Seasonal. Something that feels…intentional.”
“A restaurant?” I ask.
He shrugs, but there’s something careful in his posture. “Eventually.”
Kai grins. “We are not calling it ‘Intentional’.”
“I wasn’t going to, dickhead.”
“Good. Because that sounds like somewhere you go to eat fermented air.”
Koa wipes his hands and leans back in his chair, practical already. “Where?”
“Near the harbour,” Sol replies. “Old storage unit by the eastern dock. It’s solid structurally. Needs work.”
“It needs more than work,” Kai says. “It needs exorcising.”
Finn speaks for the first time since the idea surfaced. “It’s a good location.”
There’s no drama in his tone. Just assessment.
“You’ve looked at it?” I ask.
“Twice.”
Sol blinks at him. “When?”
“Last month.”
Kai laughs. “You were planning this without us?”
“I was assessing feasibility,” Finn corrects calmly.
Koa nods slowly. “Parking would be an issue.”
“Not if we partner with the marina,” Finn replies. “They’re underutilising evening capacity.”
Sol’s eyes flick between them, something dawning there – not control, not dominance – partnership.
“You’d fund it,” Kai says bluntly.
Finn doesn’t flinch. “I’d invest.”
There’s a difference.
I see it in the way Sol straightens slightly. It isn’t charity. It isn’t saving.
It’s belief.
The conversation shifts into numbers. Timelines. Permits. Renovation schedules. Kai suggesting outrageous names just to derail them. Koa countering with practical objections. Finn quietly dismantling problems before they fully form.
And Sol – not defensive, not territorial – listening.
Adjusting.
Building the idea with them instead of alone.
The bond hums faintly beneath my ribs, warm and steady. Not loud. Not fevered.
Steady.
I realise something slowly as I sit there with my hands wrapped around a glass of water, watching them sketch out a future on the back of a napkin.
This isn’t heat. My heat was sharp. Urgent. Consuming.
This isn’t adrenaline either. There’s no edge to it. No desperation.
This is…construction. They’re building something. Together.
And they’re building it with me in the centre, not as something fragile to protect, not as something wild to contain – but as a constant.
I think I did this…I brought them together.
Kai catches me staring.
“What?” he asks, grinning.
“Nothing.”
“Suspicious.”
Koa’s gaze lifts next, steady and perceptive. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m listening.”
“To what?”
I hesitate, because it feels almost too simple to say.
“To our future.”
That earns me silence.
Not awkward.
Attentive.
Sol moves back to the table and sits beside me this time instead of at the head. His thigh presses to mine. Kai’s arm drapes along the back of my chair. Koa’s foot nudges lightly against mine under the table. Finn reaches for the bottle of wine and refills my glass before I can ask.
No one announces it.
But we close in.
Five points drawing together. By choice.
I look at each of them in turn.
Kai – bright and reckless and somehow softer now that he doesn’t have to pretend he’s untouchable.
Koa – steady, grounded, the quiet centre that holds when everything else tilts, but the one who’s slowly coming into his own now that he’s not having to compete with his twin.
Finn – composed, controlled, powerful in ways that don’t need announcing, and so much more than his father ever gave him credit for.
Sol – solid, deliberate, building something tangible out of hope but finally willing to work with someone rather than insisting on going it alone.
They aren’t circling me like prey. They’re sitting with me. Planning. Existing.
Choosing.
A month or so ago I thought something in me was broken. Misfiring. Too much. Too strange. I thought maybe I needed curing. Fixing. Explaining.
I don’t. I don’t need curing. I don’t need fixing. I just needed them.
My pack.
The realisation doesn’t arrive like thunder. It settles. Soft. Calm. Certain.
Sol reaches for my hand under the table and threads his fingers through mine as Kai presses a lazy kiss to my hair. Koa sends me a soft look that makes me flush and Finn blows me a kiss from the other side of the table..
Outside, the tide rolls in slow and steady.
Inside, so do we.
And for the first time in my life, I am not bracing for loss.
I am home.