16. Feels Like Home #2
I’ve never given a woman a gun before. Never needed to. But with Melina, I’m preparing her for the very real possibility that she’ll have to use it. I’ve spent my life protecting people, but teaching her to defend herself? That hits different.
I pull the Sig Sauer P365 from the case, drop the clip, clear the chamber, and set it in the palm of her hand. “It’s unloaded.”
She pauses, fingers hovering before wrapping around the frame, testing how heavy it is.
“Lighter than I expected,” she murmurs, turning it over, fingertips grazing the slide.
“Micro-compact. Easy to carry, easy to conceal. Still has stopping power.”
Her thumb traces the custom pink panels, sliding over the accents. Understated, but all Melina—feminine, not weak.
“This is mine?”
I nod. “And this—” I set the biometric safe in front of her, “—is yours too. No one else gets access but you.”
Her grasp tightens. “Show me.”
“First rule,” I say, steady. “Always treat it like it’s loaded. Finger stays off the trigger until you’re ready to fire.”
She nods, adjusting her palms as I guide her hold. I let her feel the weight before reaching for the cold mag.
“Grip it firm, but don’t strangle it. Control’s in your hands, not your arms.”
She shifts slightly. “Like this?”
“Better. Now, rack it.”
She hesitates, then pulls back, brows furrowed at the resistance. “It’s stiff,” she says softly.
“It’ll loosen up. Safety’s here.” I tap the lever. “You’ll feel it connect.”
She flicks it on and off, her mouth pressed tight.
“Magazine goes in this way.” I seat the empty clip with a sharp snap. “You try.”
She presses the release, and the mag drops clean. She exhales, then slides it back in until it locks with a solid click.
“Good.” I give a nod. “Always know your count. Ten plus one when it’s loaded. You don’t shoot unless you have to. But if you do—don’t stop until the threat is down.”
Her throat works as she swallows. “And the safe?”
“Biometric lock. Reads only your print. Keep it by your bed, in your car, wherever you need it.”
She brushes her finger over the sensor, the latch releasing. I see it—the realization. This isn’t just precaution. It’s a promise. The first step to making sure she never feels powerless again.
***
At the range, she’s a fucking natural.
Every correction, every adjustment I make—she absorbs it as though she was built for this. Feet squared, grip strong, breath steady. She’s got the instincts of someone who refuses to be a victim.
By her third try, she drills dead center. She looks at me with fire in her eyes that damn near wrecks me. “Not bad, right?”
I drag a hand over my jaw, smirking. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”
She laughs, lowering the gun. “Told you—I’ve shot before. Just never quite like this.”
I step in behind her, adjust her stance, and lower my voice. “Guess I’ll have to see how well you take instruction.”
She shivers. It’s subtle, but there. Tilting her head to glance at me, her lips part as if she’s about to say something/ Then she turns back to the target, inhales, and fires three more perfect shots.
I huff a quiet chuckle, stepping away. Fucking hell. Melina with a weapon? Yeah. I’m in serious trouble.
***
It happens slow. Or maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe it started that first moment—when she looked up at me, blue eyes bright, chin lifted like she was done fighting alone.
Maybe it’s her laugh, and the way I want to be the one pulling it out of her every damn day.
Maybe it was last night, when she fell asleep with her laptop open, hair in her face, exhaustion finally dragging her under.
I catch myself watching her more now. Not only when I’m on guard, but in the quiet moments too—when she’s humming under her breath, trading shots with Steele, or sitting on the floor with Spencer, that crease between her brows making her look so fucking cute it kills me.
She’s not just beautiful. Not just sharp, stubborn, and brilliant. She’s the kind of woman who makes you crave more. That scares the shit out of me.
Taking it slow is getting harder. We’re trying. But when she looks at me like that—like she wants me as much as I want her—and her touch lingers that extra second, it wrecks me.
This isn’t me falling for her. That already happened. Loving Melina is one thing—but letting myself fall for the kids? That’s the part I’m not sure I can handle.
They’re getting under my skin. Not in a way I can claim, but in a way that knots my chest when I think about what happens if someday I don’t make it back.
Melina sees it too.
Spencer sticking close, looking at me like I’m someone he can count on. Harper loosening up, letting me in.
“They’re getting attached,” she says one night, voice soft, heavy.
“I know. So am I.”
I watch through the window as Spencer kicks a soccer ball against the fence, Harper sprawled on the porch with her phone.
She exhales, fingers twisting at her sleeve. “I want this for them. I do. I want them to have people who love them, people they can rely on. But…”
“But if something happens to me, you’re left picking up the pieces.”
Her throat works. “Yeah.”
I cross my arms and lean back against the counter. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Mel. But I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to.”
Her eyes flick to mine. Hope. Fear. Both. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to.
***
It happens fast with Spencer.One day he’s quiet, sizing me up. The next, he’s dragging me into the yard after school, demanding drills.
“Can you show me that move again?” he pants.
I grin. “Which one?”
He mimics the footwork I’d used to get past his mom, brows pinched in concentration. “That one.”
I roll the ball under my foot, slow and deliberate. “Come closer. Watch my placement.”
He locks in, eyes on my feet. This kid—this incredible kid—looks at me like I matter. Like I’ve got something to give.
Later that week, I spot him on the back steps, arms wrapped around his knees, staring at the sky.
“Thought you were in bed,” I say, lowering myself beside him.
“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice is small. Too heavy for his age.
I rest my forearms on my thighs. “What’s on your mind?”
He hesitates. Then— “Do you think he’s really gone?”
The stalker.
I let out a slow breath. “I’m not sure, kid. I hope so.”
Silence stretches. His fingers fidget, knotted tight.
“I don’t want you to go away if he is.”
My chest tightens. I ruffle his hair, keep my tone steady. “That’s not the only reason I’m here, Spence.”
He glances up at me, brows drawn. “Promise?”
The word lands hard. The one I’ve spent my life avoiding. I should dodge it, tell him nothing is certain. But I can’t. Not with him.
“Yeah, kid. I promise.”
And the thing is—I mean it.
***
Harper’s slower to trust than Spencer. She lets me in, but only on her terms—laughing at my jokes, teasing instead of rolling her eyes. She even allows me to sit in on FaceTime calls with Declan. That’s big.
“Dude, I swear to God, you just enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?” Declan mutters from the screen, shaking his head.
Harper smirks, chin propped on her fist. “You love me anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I take a sip of my beer, amused. “You two always like this?”
Harper barely glances my way. “Like what?”
“Like twins who pretend they don’t have psychic powers.”
Declan laughs. “See? He gets it.”
A few days later, after a particularly animated game of Pictionary, I find Harper lingering in the kitchen. Her fingers trace the edge of the counter absentmindedly. She doesn’t realize she’s doing it. She’s not on her phone or pretending to be busy—she’s standing there, lost in thought.
I lean against the doorframe, close enough to let her know I’m here, far enough not to crowd her. “You good?”
She pauses. “Just thinking about leaving home next summer.”
I nod. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready to do my own thing. No curfew. My own rules. But…” She trails off, her voice carrying something heavier.
“But what?” I ask gently.
She takes her time. “It was hard when Declan left. Now I’m leaving too. Everything’s changing. Leaving Mom, Spence… even you. And you just got cool.”
A grin tugs at my mouth. “Glad I made the cool list.”
Her laugh is humorless, her gaze fixed on the granite countertop. I step closer, letting the silence settle before I speak again.
“Harper… just because you’re getting older doesn’t mean you stop needing your parents.”
I study her for a beat. She’s growing up fast, but that vulnerability is still there, right under the surface.
“You’re not alone in this,” I add, softer now.
She looks up. “Thanks, Matt.”
“Alright.” I open my arms to her. “Get over here, kid. Hug it out.”
I stay put, giving her the choice. She hesitates, then steps in, tucking herself against me. I fold my arms around her, the weight of it settling between us.
When we pull apart, Melina walks in and stops mid-step, taking in the scene.
Spencer hugs me all the time, but Harper? This is new. I catch the way Melina’s face softens, lighting up as if she knows exactly what this moment means. And that’s enough.