Chapter Five
Lila
“Bree, honey, go grab one of those carts while I push your uncle.”
“I can push Uncle Micah,”
she offers quickly, her small hands already reaching for the chair. The earnestness in her voice makes me smile.
“Not in this one, sweetheart.”
I bend a little so we’re eye level.
“It’s not like the chair at home. This one’s a lot heavier and you have to control it with a handle.”
Her shoulders sag, but she nods, obedient as always, and trots off toward the line of carts. I watch her go, my hand steady on the back of Micah’s chair, and for just a moment, the weight doesn’t feel quite as heavy.
“Alright, kiddos,”
I say, pushing open the door to Marv’s Market and steering Micah’s chair inside. The blast of air-conditioning washes over us, a welcome break from the summer heat.
“Let’s grab what we need for a picnic and then head to the park.”
“Did you get Uncle Micah’s food?”
Bree asks, glancing back at him like she’s already double-checking me.
“It’s all set,”
I reassure her, patting the bag strapped to the back of his chair.
“Hooked up to his G-tube and packed safely with his feeding pump. It’ll run for the rest of the day.”
Bree nods, satisfied, and skips ahead toward the produce section. I adjust my grip on the control of Micah’s chair, guiding him between displays of bright fruit and stacked boxes. The faint hum of his pump follows us, steady and constant. A reminder of the careful planning it takes just to go anywhere. But I wouldn’t trade these little trips for anything. They’re ours.
“Looks like you get to pick the pudding flavor,”
I tell Micah, steering him toward the shelves.
He can’t eat solid food, but every now and then, I let him taste a little. Just enough to give him the flavor, a small reminder of something normal. He’s able to swallow his own saliva, though not easily, and I never risk it without being careful first.
Unzipping the side of the bag, I check for the suction equipment. The sight of it tucked safely inside loosens a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“What flavor do you want to try today, buddy?”
I ask, crouching a little so I can see his eyes.
I wait as his gaze moves over the glowing squares of his device, slow but deliberate. Then the computer voice speaks for him:
“Chocolate… duh.”
A laugh slips from me, warm and real.
“Don’t know why I even asked,”
I tease, shaking my head.
“You always pick chocolate.”
His eyes sparkle, and for a second, it almost feels like the old Micah is right there with me, grinning at his own joke.
“Mama, can Uncle Micah have a taste of applesauce?”
Bree asks, her voice hopeful.
“If he wants a taste,”
I tell her, smiling softly.
“I thought you were going for the gummies?”
“I was, but Uncle Micah can’t have those. But we can both have some applesauce.”
Sweet girl. Always thinking of him.
“How about this,”
I suggest, brushing a hand over her hair.
“you go grab those gummies you wanted, and we’ll find the squeeze applesauce pouches for you and your uncle.”
“Is that okay with you, Uncle Micah?”
she asks, turning her attention back to him, her little face earnest.
“We can get yogurt instead of gummies. They taste the same.”
I watch her wait patiently, giving him time, never rushing him. My chest swells with so much love for her.
His eyes flick over his device, and then the voice answers for him.
“Get gummies, squirt”.
My throat tightens, eyes burning. Squirt. The nickname he’s called her since she was just a baby, back when his voice was his own.
It’s moments like this that cut the deepest. My brother is still fully himself, trapped inside this stubborn shell of a body. I see it in his humor, in the way his eyes light when Bree teases him, in the patience he has with her questions.
Micah used to be unstoppable. Always talking, always joking, always in motion. He was the kind of uncle who never turned down a chance to play with Bree, who’d carry her on his shoulders until she laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.
Now… now all of that is locked away. I can see it…see him…right there behind his eyes. But he’s a prisoner in his own skin. And it makes my heart ache in ways I can’t put into words.
“Hey, guys. It’s so good to see you.”
Turning, I find myself smiling at the radiant woman heading our way. Sunny practically glows, like her name was made for her.
“Hey, Sunny,”
I say warmly.
“I haven’t seen you in here the past few times we’ve been. Everything okay?”
“Of course,”
she answers quickly, her smile never faltering. But even as she says it, I can’t help but think Sunny’s the type who would never admit if things weren’t okay.
“I met someone,”
she adds after a beat, her grin widening.
“We went away for a little while.”
I laugh softly, but inside something twists. Jealousy. Not sharp or mean, just a quiet ache I’ll never voice. Because God, I would give anything…well, almost anything…to find someone to love me.
To love us.
But that’s asking a lot. On top of raising a ten-year-old, I’m caring for a sixteen-year-old who needs round-the-clock attention. It’s the very reason Bree’s father walked out four years ago. He couldn’t handle the added responsibility. Said h.
“hadn’t signed up for this life.”
We’re still friendly, I suppose. We have to be, considering we share a daughter. But the day he left, he lost what little respect I still had for him.
But the truth is, I get it. I understand the weight. The sacrifices it would take for a man to step into my world and stay. But it’s not something I’ll ever ask of anyone.
So, I’ve made my peace with it. Being alone for the rest of my life hurts in a place I don’t often let myself look too closely at. But if the choice is between love and my brother, I’ll choose Micah every time.
Because loneliness, I can live with. Losing him, I couldn’t.
“That’s wonderful,”
I tell her honestly.
“It looks like he makes you happy.”
“Oh, he does. But enough about me.”
Sunny leans down, her smile bright as she turns her attention to my brother.
“How have you been, Micah? You ready for school?”
I can’t help but chuckle as we wait for his answer. An answer I already know.
Micah doesn’t go to school, not in the traditional sense. After the accident, they set him up with a tutor who specializes in teaching children with locked-in syndrome. He still gets the basics…math, science, history…but most of the focus is on helping him use his communication device.
It’s more than just a way for him to talk to us. It’s independence. Safety. With it, he can answer questions, play memory games, and even call the police if there is ever an emergency. Small squares of light on a screen, but to Micah, they mean freedom.
And sitting here, watching Sunny wait patiently for him, I realize again how much strength it takes for him to keep learning, to keep pushing forward when so much of the world is locked away from him.
“Too cool… school,”
Micah’s device says after a moment.
Sunny tosses her head back and laughs, her joy bright and unfiltered.
“Yeah, you most definitely are too cool for school,”
she says with a smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Mama, I found them!”
Bree’s voice carries from the end of the aisle before she skids to a stop beside us. Her eyes light up.
“Oh! Hi, Sunny.”
“Hello, little Bree,”
Sunny sings, crouching a little to meet her at eye level.
“Oh, those are my favorite gummies. Excellent choice.”
Bree grins, proud of her selection, and clutches the box to her chest like a prize. Micah’s eyes track her, sparkling with the same mischief that’s always been his.
For a moment, standing there between Sunny’s laughter, Bree’s chatter, and the steady hum of Micah’s pump, it almost feels normal. Almost feels like we’re just another family running errands on a summer afternoon.
Almost.
“We’re going on a picnic,”
Bree announces proudly.
“Do you have any more of that old bread?”
Sunny claps her hands, delighted.
“I’ve been saving it just for you. Be right back.”
I watch her hurry off, and a smile tugs at my lips. Last summer, during one of our picnics, we saw some workers tossing out expired bread near the loading dock. Bree asked if we could take a loaf to feed the ducks at the park, and it turned into our little ritual. Now, every picnic means a bag of snacks for us and a stale loaf for the birds.
“Here you go,”
Sunny says a few minutes later, slightly out of breath as she returns with a loaf wrapped in clear plastic.
“Tell the birdies I said hi.”
“Thank you, Sunny.”
My smile is genuine, warmed by her small kindness.
“No problem, Lila,”
she says sweetly. She leans down, her voice sing-song bright.
“Bree, Micah, you two have fun at the park.”
“Bye,”
Micah’s device says instantly, one of his programmed quick phrases that never fails to make people’s eyes widen a little.
Sunny beams, giving his hand a gentle pat before Bree grabs my arm, bouncing with excitement. For a brief moment, the world feels lighter. Like the simple act of stale bread and an end-of-summer picnic might be enough to make the day good.
***
“Want another bite?”
I ask gently.
“Please,”
Micah’s device answers.
Smiling, I hold the applesauce pouch to his lips and squeeze the smallest amount onto his tongue. With my thumb and forefinger, I brush the sauce across his lips so it spreads, making sure he gets the taste without too much to swallow at once.
His eyes roll back dramatically, exaggerated as if he’s savoring a five-star meal. The sight pulls a laugh straight out of me.
“That good, huh?”
I tease, shaking my head.
“Guess applesauce is giving chocolate pudding some competition.”
Micah’s eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Never,”
his eyes tell me.
Most people don’t understand how Micah communicates. How much he still has left. Locked-In Syndrome stole every muscle in his body, but it didn’t take his eyes. Not completely.
He can blink. He can look up. He can look down. He can even move a few fingers a small amount. For the most part, that’s it. The side-to-side movement of his eyes is faint, almost nonexistent, so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention. But I notice. I always notice.
That’s why his communication device is set the way it is…rows of glowing squares that scroll up and down instead of side to side. His eyes can follow that motion, can choose, can tell me what he’s thinking when nothing else will.
Some people say it must be maddening, being trapped in a body that won’t obey. But when I see the spark in his gaze, the way he rolls his eyes at Bree’s jokes, I know he’s still in there. Still my brother. Still Micah.
Like now. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t make a face. Not a single sound. But I can still read his eyes as clearly as if he shouted.
“Nothing will ever beat chocolate pudding, huh?”
I ask softly.
He blinks twice. Our code for no.
“Uncle Micah, watch this!”
Bree announces. She plants herself right in front of his chair, gives a dramatic flourish, and then launches into a cartwheel.
“Want to see it again?”
she asks breathlessly.
“Yes,”
his device replies after a careful pause.
So, she does it again. And again. And again, until she’s giggling, and even Micah’s eyes seem to sparkle brighter with every tumble.
When she finally collapses onto the grass, she grins at him.
“Let’s play bumble bee, bumble bee.”
It takes longer with Micah’s device, every phrase a process, every answer a choice he has to fight to make. But Bree waits patiently, never rushing, her laughter filling the air each time the computer voice buzzes out his turn.
And me? I just sit back and watch them. My body aches, exhaustion tugging at me like a weight I can’t shake. But I don’t let them see. I can’t. Because for these few minutes, the world feels light for both of them. And I won’t be the one to steal that.
Micah’s pump lets out a sharp beep, the kind that makes my chest clench until I realize what it is. It’s just empty. I kneel beside his chair, sliding the bag out of his backpack, and add two more containers of Ensure. A quick flush of the lines, a few practiced motions, and the pump hums back to life.
That’ll be the last batch for today. The machine runs almost sixteen hours straight, feeding him slow and steady, drip by drip, giving his body the nutrients it can’t get any other way.
I brush my hand over the backpack that holds the pump, the steady rhythm of it oddly comforting. Luckily, his insurance covers the formula and the equipment. I don’t let myself think too long about what I’d do if it didn’t…because the truth is, I have no idea.
Several minutes later, while Bree tosses bread crumbs near the pond, two sharp beeps cut through the quiet. My stomach sinks instantly.
At home, Micah uses a standard wheelchair. Light, simple, just enough to move him from point A to point B. He doesn’t stay in it for long. But out here, for traveling, we use his power chair. It keeps his body supported in a safe position, locks into the van floor, and powers his communication device so he can “talk”
wherever we go.
The power that has just died.
“Oh no,”
I whisper, eyes going wide as Micah shifts his gaze toward me.
“I am so sorry. I must have forgotten to charge it after the last time we used it.”
Panic prickles beneath my skin. I scramble to pack up what’s left of our picnic, shoving food back into bags with shaking hands.
“Bree!”
My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.
“Come on, honey. Help me carry this stuff to the van.”
She doesn’t question, just gathers what she can and runs ahead. The van’s only ten feet away, but with Micah’s chair sitting dead and useless, it might as well be ten miles.
“When we get home,”
I say, trying to force lightness into my voice.
“I won’t even complain if you give me the silent treatment for this.”
Micah rolls his eyes, and despite everything, a laugh bubbles out of me. “Brat,”
I mutter fondly.
Ignoring the ache already burning in my back, I crouch beside him.
“Okay, easy part first.”
Carefully, I lift my brother out of his chair, cradling his weight as best I can. One hundred and forty pounds of slack muscle pulls against me, heavier than it should be, but I lay him gently on a folded sheet in the grass.
“That’s it,”
I murmur, more to myself than to him, brushing the hair from his forehead with trembling fingers. I force a smile so he won’t see the worry tightening my chest.
But the truth gnaws at me. Micah is heavy, but manageable. His chair, though? Five hundred pounds of dead weight.
And somehow, I’ve got to get it into the van.
Taking a deep breath, I grip the handles and pull with every ounce of strength I have.
Nothing.
The chair doesn’t move so much as an inch.
Ten minutes later, sweat runs down my back, and my arms tremble from the effort. Not a single budge. Five hundred pounds of steel and silence…immovable.
I force myself to stop, to kneel beside Micah. His lips are wet, his breath shallow. Lying him flat makes things worse. Without the help of gravity to help push it down his throat, his mouth fills quickly with saliva. My chest tightens as I grab the suction kit, slipping the tube carefully into place and drawing out what his body can’t handle on its own.
“Easy, buddy,”
I murmur, brushing a hand across his hair.
“I’ve got you.”
His breathing evens a little, but I can still see the worry in his eyes. He knows. He always knows.
I swallow hard and paste on a smile I don’t feel.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just catching my breath. We’ll figure this out.”
“Mama, I asked this man to help you.”
My heart nearly leaps from my chest. I whip my head up and find a man…no, not just a man, but a very sexy man…standing there with my daughter’s small hand tucked trustingly in his.
“Brianna Marie,”
I scold, surging to my feet and tugging her away from him.
“You were supposed to stay in the van. And you definitely don’t go walking up to strange men without me. No…strike that. You don’t do it ever. You have no idea if someone is going to be kind or cruel.”
Bree frowns, glancing between us.
“But, Mama, you needed help… and he looks strong.”
“Not the point, Bree.”
I crouch down, holding her chin so her eyes meet mine.
“Don’t do it again. Promise me.”
Her lips wobble, then she sighs. “Promise.”
Only then do I let her go, my pulse still hammering. I turn back toward the man, ready to tell him we don’t need his help, when I make the mistake of really looking at him. Broad shoulders, hard jaw, dark eyes that miss nothing. The kind of man women dream about, and the kind of man I can’t afford to.
“Your mama’s right, pretty girl,”
the man says, his voice steady but kind.
“Not everyone you meet is a good person. Be a good girl and do what she says so she always knows you’re safe.”
“Yes, sir,”
Bree sighs, shoulders drooping. She peeks up at me, guilt written all over her face.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I only wanted to help.”
I pull her into my arms, hugging her tight against my chest.
“It’s alright, honey. I understand. And I love your heart. Now, go sit next to your uncle until I say otherwise.”
She nods and scurries back toward Micah, leaving me alone with the stranger.
“What can I do to help?” he asks.
A nervous laugh slips from me before I can stop it.
“Got a three-hundred-foot extension cord and about six hours to spare?”
I gesture toward the heavy chair.
“His chair died because I’m an idiot and forgot to charge it.”
The man shakes his head slightly, his expression softening.
“You’re not an idiot. I’m sure your mind was elsewhere.”
He crouches down beside the chair, running a hand over the frame like he’s measuring it up.
“How about we both take a side?”
I shake my head, biting my lip.
“This thing weighs at least five hundred pounds. I couldn’t even get the tires to roll, let alone lift it. I don’t think there’s a chance I can even manage half.”
His gaze flicks up to mine, steady, unbothered. He grabs his phone, presses something, and holds it to his ear.
“Brother, you still nearby? Head back and meet me at the park. Need your help. Yep. See ya.”
“Mister, are you kind?”
Bree asks from her spot beside Micah. Her little voice is curious, not shy at all.
“You said not everyone is. But are you?”
The man doesn’t answer right away. His silence stretches a few long seconds before he gives a short nod.
“I’m nice to people who deserve it,”
he says finally.
“What about the people who don’t?”
Bree presses, tilting her head. I silently pray that, just this once, my daughter will run out of questions.
He studies her for a moment, then answers, steady and sure.
“If someone’s mean to you, then they don’t deserve your kindness in return. But that doesn’t mean you have to be mean back, either. Sometimes showing kindness to people who don’t deserve it is how they learn better.”
“So…”
Bree hesitates, chewing her lip.
“I should be nice to people who are mean to me?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. Wait. Something’s up.
“Is someone being mean to you?”
I ask, crossing quickly to her side.
“No,”
she says, then sighs.
“Well… yes. But I was mean to her first. So I don’t deserve her kindness anymore.”
Micah’s lips are wet again. His breathing shallow. I grab the suction, sliding the tube into place with practiced care until the sound quiets and his breathing evens. All the while, I keep my eyes on Bree.
“Explain,”
I prompt gently, because I know my daughter. There’s always more to the story.
She twists her fingers together.
“Susan told her sister she was stupid for liking a boy. It hurt Kathy’s feelings, so I told Susan she was being mean and needed to apologize. When she didn’t, I told her I didn’t want to be her friend anymore. Now I’m friends with Kathy instead, and Susan says I broke the best-friend code. She says that means she has the right to make fun of me.”
My heart squeezes at the confusion in her voice, the way she looks at me like she’s not sure whether she’s the hero or the villain in her own story.
“It sounds to me like Susan is the one in the wrong here,”
I tell Bree gently.
“She was being a bully to her sister, and you stepped in to try and stop it. Now she’s mad because she didn’t expect anyone to stand up to her. But she has zero right to make fun of you about anything. Do you want me to talk to your teacher?”
“I got it, Mama,”
she sighs, throwing her little hands up dramatically.
“I’m just going to do what my new friend said and treat her with kindness so she might learn a lesson.”
My chest tightens as I glance back at the stranger who’s looking down at us with surprisingly soft eyes.
“What’s going on, Max?”
a deep voice booms behind him.
I blink as another man steps forward. Big doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s massive, the kind of presence that turns heads without trying. He pulls Max into a hard, brotherly hug that rattles the air between them.
“Need help lifting this chair,”
Max says simply, jerking his chin toward Micah’s wheelchair.
“Up for the task?”
“Depends,”
the big man answers, a playful grin tugging at his mouth.
“You finally gonna admit I’m stronger than you, or do I have to embarrass you again?”
Max snorts, the corner of his lip twitching into something almost like a smile.
“In your dreams, Tank.”
“You’re very big,”
Bree blurts out, her wide eyes fixed on Tank.
Heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Bree! You can’t just say that to someone.”
“It’s alright,”
the giant rumbles, amusement softening his tone. Tank, I think that’s what Max called him.
“And yes, I am. And you, little one, are very cute.”
“I know,”
Bree replies confidently, chin tipped up like she just won the argument.
I glance at Micah, catching the unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. He doesn’t need his device to answer. I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“You’re totally on your niece’s side, aren’t you?”
I glare, pointing a finger at him.
“You two are always ganging up on me. Not cool, guys. Not cool at all.”
His eyes brighten, and I swear if he could laugh out loud, he would. Bree giggles beside him, already reveling in their silent alliance.
Traitors. The both of them.
“Where are we taking this beast?”
Tank asks, his deep voice rumbling.
I point toward the van.
“There’s a spot where the wheels can be locked into place. I really appreciate this, guys.”
They nod in unison, each taking a side of the chair. With surprising ease, they lift it as though it isn’t nearly as heavy as I know it is.
With their backs turned, I allow myself a moment to really look at them. Tank is massive. Tall, broad, with a long beard that frames his mouth and short, neatly trimmed hair. He looks like the kind of man who could wrestle a bear and win, yet there’s an ease to the way he moves that makes him seem almost gentle.
And then there’s Max. Dark hair, close-cropped beard, eyes sharp and intense, like he sees far more than he lets on. He’s not as tall as Tank, but he doesn’t need to be. Power clings to him in a quieter, more dangerous way, the kind you feel in your bones without him saying a word.
I take notice of the leather cuts stretched across their backs. Iron Shadows.
The patch is unmistakable. Around here, you can’t walk two blocks without seeing it somewhere. On a jacket, a T-shirt, or a sticker slapped across a bike. Palm Springs belongs to the Iron Shadows, and everyone knows it.
We also know not to mess with these men. They’re not cruel, and they keep our streets cleaner than the cops ever could. But we’ve all heard stories. Whispers of what happens if you cross one of theirs.
I bet their women and children feel safe in ways I’ve never known. Loved in ways I’ve only dreamed of.
“Alright,”
Tank says, dusting off his hands as he and Max walk back toward us.
“Chair’s locked in place.”
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and bend over to lift Micah.
“Allow me,”
Max says, stepping in gently, his hand brushing against mine as he moves me aside. His voice is calm but careful.
“Is there anything I need to worry about when lifting him? A part of his body that hurts or shouldn’t be grabbed?”
My throat goes tight. “No,”
I whisper.
“Well… you have to support his head. And I’m sure his bones ache from not being able to move them. But he’s never mentioned anything about it.”
The words linger like ash on my tongue, and a thought I hate sneaks in. Or maybe he does hurt, and he just stays quiet because he doesn’t want to add to the guilt I already drown in.
“If I do something that hurts you, let me know,”
Max says softly, looking straight into Micah’s eyes. The sincerity there makes my heart ache.
“He can’t,”
I admit quietly.
“He has locked-in syndrome. He communicates through the tablet on his chair, but that one died when the battery died.”
“He can blink, Mama,”
Bree pipes up from her spot beside us. She crouches closer to Micah’s face.
“Uncle Micah, if Mr. Max hurts you and you need him to stop, just blink three times.”
Micah blinks once, deliberate and steady.
“That means yes,”
Bree explains matter-of-factly. Then she grins.
“Or I guess right now it means okay.”
I can’t help it. I smile, even with my heart lodged in my throat. Leave it to Bree to build a bridge where the rest of us stumble.
“Alright, buddy,”
Max says, his voice low and steady as he lifts my brother into his arms. He adjusts Micah carefully, shifting his weight until Micah’s head rests against his chest.
Lucky brat.
“Mr. Tank, can you lift me as high as your arms go?”
Bree pipes up, bouncing on her toes.
“I wanna feel like I’m flying!”
“Brianna,”
I scold, heat rushing to my cheeks.
Tank’s beard twitches with a smile as he glances at me.
“Only if it’s okay with your mama.”
His tone is gentle, almost playful, but respectful all the same.
Max and Micah are nearby, watching the exchange. My brother’s weight looks effortless in Max’s arms, but I know how heavy he is. Reluctantly, I nod.
“Fine. Just be careful.”
Tank’s big hands sweep Bree up in one smooth motion, and her laughter bursts out like sunlight. She stretches her arms wide, hair flying around her face.
I glance back at Max, nerves tugging at me. He meets my eyes.
“He won’t hurt her,”
he says softly.
Something in his tone settles the worry coiled in my chest. My gut agrees even before I whisper.
“I know. But, dang, she’s up so high.”
Max chuckles under his breath, then crouches and lowers Micah gently into his chair. I rush forward, automatically adjusting his head, his arms, his legs, until everything is in its place.
“Can you slide his bottom back a little more?”
I ask, frowning when Micah’s head doesn’t sit where it should.
“Got it,”
Max murmurs, shifting carefully until Micah is exactly right.
“Perfect,”
I sigh.
“Thank you so much.”
“No thanks needed,”
Max says, stepping back out of the van.
“Just glad we could help. Do you have someone at home who can help you get him out of the van?”
For a second, I want to lie. I want to say yes. That my big, strong alpha male husband is waiting with open arms. But the truth slips out instead.
“No. But it’s okay. I can get him out of this chair and into the one we use at home.”
“You sure?”
His brow furrows.
“What about this chair?”
“Oh, I can plug it into the van,”
I explain.
“It’ll take a few hours to charge enough to move, but once it’s hooked up to the house, it’ll be fine. Really, we’ll manage. Thank you again. For everything.”
“No problem, ma’am,”
Tank says with a grin as he gently sets Bree into the back seat.
“That was fun, Tank,”
she laughs.
“You’re as tall as an airplane.”
Tank chuckles, ruffles her hair, then leans down to say goodbye to Micah before stepping back.
“I’m heading out. You coming back to the compound tonight? I’m grilling steak.”
“Nah,”
Max says, shaking his head.
“Just gonna head home. But I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
“Better be,”
Tank warns good-naturedly.
“Maverick says he wants our help with something.”
“Well, that’s a first,”
Max mutters.
“Skip’s over the moon excited,”
Tank laughs.
“He’s been trying to figure the Outlaw out for years. See you in the morning, brother. Nice to meet you three.”
“Nice to meet you, too,”
I say, smiling.
“Thanks again.”
Tank nods and turns away, leaving us in the quiet hum of the van.
I smile and turn back to Max. He lingers by the side of the van, thumb tucked into his pocket, broad shoulders blocking out the late afternoon sun. He looks steady in a way that makes something in me ache.
“Well,”
I murmur, smoothing Bree’s hair as she buckles herself in.
“I guess we’ll be heading home. I need to get Micah to his other tablet. I don’t want him feeling detached from the rest of us for too long.”
Something flickers in Max’s eyes at that, respect, maybe even admiration, and for just a heartbeat, I let myself wonder what it would feel like to be looked at that way all the time.
“You take on a lot,”
he says softly.
The words nearly undo me. People usually say, You’re so strong or I don’t know how you do it. Lines that sound more like distance than comfort. But the way Max says it… It’s not judgment. Not dismissal. Just truth.
“I don’t have much of a choice,”
I answer, forcing a small smile.
“Micah and Bree need me. And they come first. Always.”
He studies me for a moment, and I feel laid bare under that gaze. Like he can see past the tired smile, past the careful strength I wear like armor, and into the parts of me I keep locked away.
Don’t look at me like that, I think, panic stirring in my chest. Don’t make me wish for something I can’t have.
Because I do wish. God help me, I want someone to stand beside me, to hold me when the exhaustion wins, to tell me it’s okay to need instead of always being needed. But I won’t risk Micah and Bree’s happiness or stability just to soothe the hollow ache in my chest. I won’t pull a man into this life and watch the weight of it crush him until he walks away, too.
“You shouldn’t have to carry it all alone,”
Max says after a long silence. His voice is low, rough, but there’s no judgment in it. Just conviction.
My throat tightens.
“But I do. And I will. Because that’s what family does. You show up, even when it costs you everything.”
Something flickers in his eyes then, something I can’t quite name…recognition, maybe. Like he knows what it means to give everything and still feel like it’s not enough.
I look away quickly, pretending to fuss with Micah’s straps. Anything to keep from drowning in the pull of those dark eyes.
“Thank you again,”
I whisper, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods once, but his gaze lingers on me like he’s memorizing the shape of me. And for reasons I can’t explain, I already know that this man has impacted me in ways I can’t explain.
Maybe it’s longing. I crave touch. Not the desperate kind, but the kind that anchors you. Being held. Being seen. Being comforted.
I bite the inside of my cheek and force my eyes away. That kind of wanting is dangerous. Dangerous because it whispers that I could have more. That I deserve more. And I can’t afford to think like that.
Because Bree and Micah are my world. Their happiness, their safety…those are nonnegotiable. I won’t gamble with them for the sake of my own heart, no matter how hollow the ache inside me grows.
Still, as Max steps closer to the van, his hand brushing the doorframe, the ghost of warmth lingers in my chest. A reminder of what I’m missing. A reminder of how much I wish I didn’t have to.
Leaning down, Max looks at my kids.
“You two be good,”
he says, his large hand steady as it rests on Micah’s shoulder.
“See ya, big guy.”
Micah’s eyes lock on his, and something unspoken passes between them. Respect. Recognition. Approval?
Turning to Bree, Max reaches out and lets his fingers trail gently through her hair.
“Take care of your mama, Butterfly,”
he says softly.
Her grin widens.
“I always do.”
My throat tightens at the sight. So simple. So ordinary. But in that moment, I see a glimpse of something I’ve tried hard not to imagine: a man folding into our world like he was always meant to be here.
And that thought terrifies me almost as much as it warms me.
“Wait,”
Bree calls out as Max leans back from the van.
“I want a hug.”
A low chuckle rumbles from him as he starts to lean in again, but instinct takes over. I reach out and grip his arm, shaking my head quickly.
His brow furrows, the faintest crease forming as he glances at me, probably thinking I’m shutting him down.
I smile, softening the moment.
“Bree hugs with her whole body,”
I explain.
“She would never dream of hugging someone while sitting down. Prepare yourself.”
Bree is already unbuckling, her small arms outstretched, eyes bright with the unshakable trust of a child.
For a heartbeat, I watch Max. The way he straightens, bracing himself like he’s about to face something far bigger than a ten-year-old’s embrace. And then, jumping out of the van at full force, Bree collides with him in a hug that’s all legs, arms, and laughter.
Something shifts in my chest at the sight, something dangerous and warm. Because for one breathless moment, it feels like he belongs here.
Max’s eyes slip shut as he gathers my daughter into his arms, holding her as though she’s something precious. Bree hugs him back with all the strength her little body has, clinging without hesitation.
I can only stare, astonishment tightening my chest as I watch the change in him. The hard lines of his face soften. His shoulders ease. His entire body seems to melt beneath the weight of her tiny embrace.
Max didn’t just accept that hug. He needed it.
After several long moments, Max sits my daughter back in her seat, buckling her in.
“Mama’s turn,”
my little devil child announces.
“Mama’s turn for what, Butterfly?”
Max asks as he double-checks her seatbelt, his voice low and easy.
“A hug, silly,”
she laughs.
“Mama always says it’s best to hug goodbye, because we never know when we’ll get to see that person again.”
“You didn’t hug Tank goodbye,”
Max points out, his mouth twitching with amusement.
Bree’s eyes go wide. “Oh no!”
she gasps, dramatic as ever.
“He’s gonna be so sad.”
Her little hands fly to her cheeks, and for a moment, the whole van fills with her worry. Max chuckles under his breath, and I swear even Micah’s eyes glimmer with quiet laughter.
“How about if I tell him you’re sending him air hugs?”
Max offers.
“That way he won’t be so sad.”
“Maybe,”
Bree sighs, tilting her head.
“But when I see him next time, he’s getting an extra big hug.”
“Sounds good, Butterfly,”
Max says warmly. “Bye.”
“We don’t say bye,”
Bree corrects quickly.
“It’s see you later.”
Max dips his head solemnly.
“Apologies. See you later.”
“Don’t forget to hug Mama,”
she calls out as he straightens, and suddenly Max is standing in front of me, arms opening wide.
“Come on, Mama,”
he grins.
“You heard the little butterfly.”
Heat rushes up my neck as I shake my head, but there’s no escape. My daughter is beaming at me, waiting, and Max looks like he’d wait all day if I made him.
So I step forward, stiff at first, until his arms wrap around me.
And oh… my… stars.
He’s both hard and soft all at once. Strength under my hands, warmth pressed against me, the kind of solid I didn’t know I’d been craving until now. My face burns as I force myself to hug him back, my hands sliding across the leather of his cut.
Then I sigh, close my eyes, and let myself relax for one dangerous moment. I allow myself to dream. Just for a few seconds.
Max has one arm firm around my back, the other cupping the back of my head, holding me steady against his chest.
A lover’s embrace.
My dreams deepen in that space, the need I try so hard to bury clawing its way up. For a heartbeat, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were real…if I belonged here in this man's arms.
Then I feel him stiffen.
Shame scorches me. I made him uncomfortable.
I pull back quickly, laughing in that awful way people do when they’re covering nerves.
“Well, thanks again. I should get these two home. Have a good evening, Max.”
“You too…”
His voice is quiet, almost rough.
“Lila,”
I blurt, realizing I never actually gave him my name. He must’ve only known Bree’s and Micah’s because I’d said them.
“Lila,”
he repeats, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how it feels on his tongue. His gaze holds mine.
“You take care of yourself, Lila. Have a good life.”
The words hit me harder than they should. Final. Distant. Like a door closing. My chest tightens.
“Yeah,”
I manage, shutting the van door between us and the kids. I glance up, my emotions locked up tight to hide the ache inside.
“You too, Max.”
With one last look…his eyes memorizing me, mine memorizing him…I turn away.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I force my voice steady.
“Let’s get home, kids.”
As I pull out of the lot, I adjust the rearview mirror…not for him, but to keep Micah and Bree in sight. To remind myself of where my heart belongs. Even if another part of me is already longing for a man I have no right to want.
***Max***
I stand there long after the van disappears, the taillights swallowed by the street. My arms still remember the weight of her brother, solid but fragile all at once. My chest remembers the press of her body against mine. And my heart remembers the way her little girl clung to me like she’d known me forever.
Lila. Bree. Micah.
I don’t even know why I’m standing here replaying every second. But something shifted the moment I met them. Something I don’t have time for.
I scrub a hand down my face, scowling at myself. I’ve got no business thinking about a woman like her. A woman who juggles two lives on her shoulders and still manages to smile. She doesn’t need my baggage on top of it. She doesn’t need a man whose club just let him back in. A man who still doesn’t know where he belongs.
But my mind won’t let it go.
I see Micah’s eyes, sharp and alive even when his body is frozen. The flicker of humor when his niece said something that he found comical. The quiet strength it must take to keep fighting when the world’s locked you inside your own skin.
I hear Bree’s laugh, wild and free as Tank lifts her high. And then…her hug. She wrapped around me with everything she had, no hesitation, no fear. Just trust. I didn’t realize how much I needed that until her little arms squeezed the fight right out of me.
And Lila… she’s the one who lingers most. The way she bent over her brother with such gentleness, every touch saying you’re not a burden, you’re mine to protect. The way her eyes lit with pride when Bree spoke. And the way she melted…just for a second…when I held her. Like she wanted it as badly as I did.
I shove my hands into my pockets and turn toward my house, boots grinding against the gravel path. The park stretches quietly beside me, its pond glowing with the last of the sun. I keep walking until I hit the strip of grass that runs along my fence line.
My house sits right against the park property, close enough that on weekends I hear kids screaming with laughter and smell burgers grilling across the way. I thought I wanted distance. Solitude. Space to breathe. That’s why I moved out of the compound.
But tonight, the silence feels heavier than usual. And no matter how many times I tell myself to let it go, I can’t stop thinking about them.
That girl with too much fire in her heart.
That boy trapped in his own body, but still stronger than most men I know.
That woman… carrying all of it on her shoulders and still standing tall.
I don’t have room in my life for this. Not now. Not when my own world is still a mess.
And yet, I already know. I’m not forgetting them. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.