Chapter 11
Sayla
A week had passed since the worst of the snowstorm, and life outside was slowly clawing its way back to normal. Plows had groaned down the street for days, salt trucks had passed like clockwork, and neighbors had been shoveling what was left of the snow off their walkways, muttering about frozen pipes and cracked gutters. It was the kind of quiet chaos that came after nature threw a tantrum.
Inside my house, the cleanup was just as intense.
My dad stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest, staring up at the gaping hole in the ceiling with a grimace like it had personally insulted him. Bits of insulation still clung to the floor like dust bunnies from hell, and the smell of water damage lingered faintly in the air.
“Jesus,” he muttered, for what had to be the tenth time in five minutes. “That bath didn’t just leak, itexploded . ”
I closed the box I’d just finished packing with what was salvageable from the hallway closet. “Yeah, Dad, weknow. You’ve said that multiple times.”
“But look at this.” He turned, gesturing wildly. “The floor’s probably warped now. You’ll need a full ceiling replacement, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s water in the wall cavities. That could mean mold, so you need to get that checked. And the wiring up there—God, don’t even get me started?—”
“Dad.” I rubbed my temple. “The insurance adjuster was here this morning. They’re covering the ceiling, the floors, the bathroom, the electrics, and yes, the walls. They already agreed in principle to pay for the repairs. You can take a breath.”
He gave me a look like I’d just told him I was planning to rebuild the house using bubble gum and fairy dust. “I’m just saying—there’s probably more wrong with it than they think.”
“There’salwaysmore than they think,” I muttered under my breath.
My irritation was bubbling, but I bit it back. Dad meant well—he always did—but the constant doom-and-gloom commentary was starting to feel like an extra layer of damage I hadn’t insured against. Add to that the noise, the mess, the clutter, and the fact that my house no longer felt likemine, and I was dangerously close to snapping.
But at least I had Roque. Or I had.
Living with him these past few days had felt easy in a way I hadn’t expected. Comfortable. Safe. Like we’d slid into this shared rhythm without talking about it. He’d been kind, funny, and steady, even when I wasn’t.
So naturally, my dad had something to say about that, too.
“You know,” he said, turning to me as if this had just occurred to him, “you can always stay with us. Your mom’s been saying it since day one. You don’t need to be shacked up with some boy in the middle of all this chaos.”
I blinked. “Some boy ? I’m an adult , Dad.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to play house with someone just because?—”
“Heidi lived with Bond before they got married,” I cut in, arms folded.
He grunted. “I said the same thing to her, and you know what? None of my damn kids listen to me anyway.”
I snorted, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I walked over to the window, just to have something else to focus on, and looked across the street toward Roque’s place.
It was dark. That was odd, he was supposed to be home hours ago. Out of habit, I’d been listening for the sound of his SUV and checking for the glow of his porch light. Maybe work ran late. It happened. Maybe Judd had called him in. Or maybe—hopefully not—he’d had to stop by Ailee’s again for something. Or perhaps he was with his family. He’d mentioned wanting to check in on his sister and see his new niece. He was close with his nephew, Cody, and I knew he’d been missing them.
But even as I tried to logic my way out of the unease crawling up my spine, it didn’t help that he didn’t text or call. And by the time I climbed into bed that night, his phone was still off.
I lay awake far longer than I wanted to, staring at the ceiling, imagining every possibility. Maybe he ran out of gas. Maybe he crashed. Perhaps he got caught up in something to do with the case—the one he wasn’t talking much about, which I knew was darker than he let on.
Maybe someone found out what he and Judd were doing, or perhaps he was hurt.
I reached for my phone, staring at the last message I’d sent him hours ago: You okay?
Still no reply, and I hated how the silence felt like an answer.
Roque
The call came just after I’d gotten to work.
At first, I didn’t understand what the officer was saying—his voice was too calm, too measured, the way people talk when they're trying not to fall apart themselves. I’d used it myself on quite a few occasions, so I was instantly on guard. But then the words hit, one after the other, like a brick to the chest.
Kemble and his wife, Aislinn, had been found dead.
Dead.
My best friend since we were kids. The guy I’d snuck out of class with, who’d stood beside me during every high and low, every stupid mistake and every hard-won victory gone. Just like that. And Aislinn, sweet, quiet Aislinn, who made him better just by existing. Who’d called me “Uncle Roque” from the second she’d found out she was pregnant.
But now those loving parents and people were taken from the world, leaving behind a huge gap that most people would never know existed.
I was already halfway out the door before the officer had finished the call. The roads weren’t great, but I didn’t give a shit. I drove like a man possessed, my hands white-knuckled on the wheel, the silence in the car heavy with everything I couldn’t say out loud.
The only small, bitter mercy in the whole nightmare was that the kids—Kairo, who was almost three, and little Kaida, who was eighteen months old—had lived . They’d spent the entirety of both pregnancies thinking of unique names that had strong meanings, and that’s what Aislinn had decided on for both kids, much to our amusement. Kairo meant smooth, worldly, and stylish, and that little guy totally lived up to his name with his quiet yet brilliant self. And little Kaida, she was given that name because it meant little dragon, and she’d proven that was the case from the second she was born. They were total opposites in personality but made up the world together.
They were in the hospital, still recovering. Carbon monoxide poisoning, the doctor had said. Kemble’s generator had gone out—just like I’d suspected it might—and he'd lit a fire in a desperate attempt to keep the family warm. But what he’d used to burn had released poisonous gas into the air. The only thing that saved the kids was the cold—they’d burrowed under so many blankets and duvets that it had created a barrier, keeping the worst of it away.
It didn’t feel like a miracle. It felt like a cruel, narrow escape.
When I got to the hospital, I went straight to their room. Both of them looked so small in those beds. Monitors beeped softly, and there were oxygen tubes taped beneath their noses, their faces pale and far too still. Kaida’s little hand was curled into a loose fist on the blanket. Kairo’s brows twitched now and then, like he was halfway between dreaming and waking.
I sat between their beds and didn’t move. I didn’t cry, I was too hollow to do that. I just stared at them, waiting and wishing for something to feel real again.
And then a woman from Child Protective Services came in, clipboard in hand, her voice gentle but firm. She introduced herself, explained who she was, and said the police had found some documentation at Kemble and Aislinn’s house. Legal paperwork that’d been notarized and was framed and hanging on the wall like a photo, as if they’d always known there was a chance this could happen. As if they’d planned for the unthinkable.
They’d named me as the kids’ guardian.
My ears rang as she spoke, and I could barely hear her over the roaring in my head.
“Are you aware of the document?” she asked.
“I’ve seen it,” I said, my voice rasping. “But I didn’t think…” I trailed off because what the hell else was there to say? I didn’t think I’dever needto step in because I didn’t think Kemble would ever be gone .
But it made sense. His dad’s health had been declining for years—he had COPD and could barely make it through a phone call without wheezing. His mom had passed two years ago. His older brother was an addict who was in and out of jail and barely able to take care of himself, let alone two grieving kids. So it fell to me.
I looked at Kairo and Kaida—my godkids, my chosen family—and knew what I had to do.
But, God, I had no idea how I was going to do it.
There was my job—the late hours, the danger, the absolute chaos I waded through every day. The corruption investigation was heating up fast, and I was knee-deep in it. How the hell could I protect two innocent kids while also trying to tear down a system filled with people who’d rather see me buried than exposed?
My house was barely set up for me , let alone two children. Bedrooms needed clearing, locks needed changing, and routines needed rewriting. And Sayla, I hadn’t even told her yet. She’d been so good to me, the dogs, and this strange little life we were building together. But this was a lot .
As much as I cared about her and wanted her by my side, she couldn’t be the priority right now. These kids had lost everything . What they needed now wasn’t romance, comfort, or stability—it was safety, consistency, and a home.
I didn’t know if I could give them all of that. But I was going to try. I had to try.
Because Kemble had trusted me with the most important thing he had. Because Kaida and Kairo had no one else. Because there wasn’t a single version of me that could look in the mirror if I turned away from this.
So I sat between their beds, hands clenched, and silently promised them—and him—that I wouldn’t let them fall.
No matter what it cost me.