Chapter 6
Still Standing
The house was quiet when they got home.
Colin stood in the driveway for a long moment, keys in hand, gazing at the house. The porch they’d rebuilt. The new siding. Joshua’s wind chimes from Killarney hanging beside the door—its soft music drifting on the evening breeze.
Ten months since the fire. Ten months of rebuilding—not just walls and floors, but themselves. Who they were.
It appeared the same now. Almost. But if he looked hard enough, Colin could still see the faint discoloration near the dining room window. The place on the porch where the wood had once splintered.
“You coming?” Joshua called from the front door.
Colin blinked, realizing he’d been standing there, frozen.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, babe.”
He climbed the porch steps and followed Joshua inside.
The entryway smelled like lemon polish and Joshua’s lavender diffuser—the one he’d bought last month because “the house needs to smell like us again—not just fresh paint.”
“Tea?” Joshua offered.
“Yeah. Barry’s.”
Joshua’s mouth curved. “Of course, Barry’s.”
Colin moved into the living room while Joshua headed for the kitchen. He sank onto the couch and let his head fall back.
The meeting at Rainier replayed behind his eyelids.
Alex’s excitement when they’d asked him to be part of the team.
Sharon and Paul’s careful questions about logistics and safety—safety, the word that had hung in the air like smoke.
The tour taking shape: six towns, sixteen days, a used bus full of people he loved, heading into places where being visible meant being vulnerable.
“You’re thinking loud,” Joshua said from the doorway.
Colin opened his eyes. Joshua stood there with two mugs, steam rising, backlit by the kitchen light. Beautiful. Safe. Here.
“Just processing,” Colin said.
“The meeting?” Joshua crossed the room and handed him a mug, then settled beside him, close enough that their thighs touched.
“Yeah.” Colin wrapped both hands around the mug, anchoring himself in its warmth. “Alex’s face when we asked him. Like he couldn’t believe we actually wanted him there.”
“Nobody’s ever wanted him to be part of something important before,” Joshua said.
Colin nodded. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the house settling around them.
“What else?” Joshua asked.
Colin glanced at him. “What?”
“You’re not just processing Alex.” Joshua’s hand found his, fingers lacing tight. “What else is running through that prosecutor’s brain of yours?”
Colin’s jaw worked. He set his mug down carefully. “Just… thinking about the tour. Six towns. Sixteen days. All of us.”
Joshua’s eyes softened. “You’re worried.”
“Always—especially about you. But now it’s not just you. It’s Alex, Sharon, Paul, Nate… everyone. I know this matters. But that doesn’t stop me from…”
He trailed off, unable to finish.
Joshua set his own mug down and shifted closer, both hands coming up to frame Colin’s face. “From wanting to keep us safe,” he said gently. “From wanting to wrap me up somewhere the world can’t touch me.”
Colin’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”
“I know.” Joshua’s thumbs traced along his cheekbones, slow and deliberate. “I know you, my darling love. I know how your mind works. You’re already running scenarios.”
“Someone has to.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t.” Joshua leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m just saying I see you. I see what this cost you—saying yes to something that scares you because you know it’s right.”
Colin closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Joshua’s skin—soap and lavender and something uniquely him. “I want you close, mo chroí,” he murmured. “Right now. So close nothing can get between us.”
“I’m right here.”
“I know. I just—” Colin’s hands found Joshua’s waist, gripping tight.
“In three weeks, we get on that bus and everything changes. We’re visible.
We’re exposed. We’re out there where I can’t control what happens.
” His voice dropped. “But right now? Right now, you’re here with me and we’re safe and I—I just want to hold onto this. ”
Joshua pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes soft and understanding. “Then hold on,” he said simply.
The kiss was different this time—not about anticipation or planning or the future. This was about now. About the two of them in this room, with nothing between them but love and breath and skin.
Colin kissed him like he was memorizing everything about it: The taste of Barry’s tea on Joshua’s lips. The soft sound he made when Colin’s hand slid into his hair. The way he yielded and pressed closer simultaneously, giving and taking in equal measure.
Joshua shifted, straddling Colin’s lap, knees bracketing his hips. His fingers carded through Colin’s hair. “I’m right here,” he whispered against Colin’s mouth. “Not going anywhere.”
“I know.” Colin’s hands mapped the planes of Joshua’s back through his shirt—solid, real, his. “I just need to feel you. Need to know we have this. That whatever happens out there, we come back to each other.”
“Always,” Joshua breathed. His fingers worked at Colin’s shirt buttons, not urgent but purposeful. “We always come back to each other.”
They undressed slowly, carefully. Not performing or proving anything—just revealing themselves to each other in the dim light. Each piece of clothing removed felt significant somehow. Intimate.
Colin’s hands traced familiar paths: the curve of Joshua’s shoulder, the knobs of his spine, the soft skin at his hip. He wasn’t cataloging scars this time. He was just touching. Feeling the warmth of him. The life in him.
Joshua’s fingers ghosted across Colin’s chest, down his ribs, learning him again like it was the first time. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Have I said that lately?”
“You show me,” Colin said, catching his hand and pressing it flat against his heart. “Every day.”
Joshua leaned in, kissing him deep and slow. “I love you,” he said against Colin’s lips. “More than I have words for.”
“I know.” Colin pulled him closer, needing the weight of him, the realness of him. “Show me, my beautiful boy. Show me.”
They moved together with exquisite care—unhurried, thorough, paying attention to every gasp and shiver and whispered plea. This wasn’t about destination. It was about connection.
When they finally joined—careful and close and achingly tender—Colin felt something settle in his chest. This. This was what mattered. Not the plans or the fears or the what-ifs. Just this: Joshua in his arms, moving with him, breathing his air, looking at him like he hung the moon.
They rocked together gently, foreheads pressed close, breathing each other’s names like prayers.
“Love you,” Joshua gasped, fingers digging into Colin’s shoulders. “Love you so much.”
“Love you too,” Colin breathed, one hand cradling the back of Joshua’s neck, holding him close. “Always. No matter what.”
When they crested—together, trembling, holding each other like lifelines—it was quiet and profound. Not dramatic or earth-shattering. Just right.
Later, cleaned up and wrapped in the soft throw blanket from the back of the couch, they lay tangled together in the dim light. Colin’s fingers traced lazy patterns on Joshua’s shoulder while Joshua’s head rested against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“Thank you,” Joshua murmured.
“For what?”
“For letting me see it. The worry. The fear.” He pressed a kiss to Colin’s collarbone. “You don’t always let me in when you’re scared.”
Colin’s arm tightened around him and he gave a soft laugh. “I’m trying to be better about that.”
“I know.” Joshua was quiet for a moment. “You think we’ll be okay out there, right?” he asked finally.
“I know I’ll do everything I can to keep us okay,” Colin said carefully. “But that’s not quite the same thing.”
“No,” Joshua agreed. “But it’s what we have.” He tilted his head back to look at Colin. “And we have this: This home. This love. This foundation we’ve built together.” His hand came up to cup Colin’s jaw. “That doesn’t disappear when we get on the bus. We carry it with us.”
Colin caught his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm. “I know. I just—sometimes I need to remember what we’re protecting. Why it matters.”
“We’re not just protecting it,” Joshua said gently. “We’re sharing it. Showing other people what’s possible when you refuse to let the world make you smaller than you are.”
Colin looked at him for a long moment—this man who’d chosen him, who saw past his walls and his fears and loved him anyway. “How did I get this lucky?” he asked quietly.
Joshua’s expression softened. “We got lucky with each other,” he said. “And now we get to pass some of that luck along to kids who need it.”
They fell quiet, comfortable in the silence. Outside, the wind chime sang. Upstairs, the house settled with familiar creaks. Everything felt solid. Real. Theirs.
“We should probably move to the actual bed at some point,” Joshua murmured eventually.
“Probably,” Colin agreed. But neither of them moved.
Because this was perfect. This moment. This connection. This quiet space where they could just be together, without the weight of everything else pressing down.
“Colin?” Joshua said drowsily.
“Mm?”
“Whatever happens out there—whatever we face—we face it together. You know that, right?”
Colin kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. “I know.”
“And we come home to this,” Joshua continued, voice fading toward sleep. “To each other. Always to each other.”
“Always,” Colin echoed.
He lay there holding Joshua, hearing his breathing deepen and even out. The house settled around them. Through the window, he could see the faint outline of their yard, the rebuilt porch, the wind chime swaying gently.
In three weeks, they’d load up that bus.
They’d head into uncertain territory with people they loved.
And yes, there would be risks. There would be moments that scared him.
There would be times when his prosecutor brain would run worst-case scenarios, and his hands would itch to pull everyone back to safety.
But they’d also reach kids who needed reaching. They’d show up in places that needed them. And every night, he’d have this: Joshua in his arms, solid and warm and his.
He tightened his hold slightly, careful not to wake him.
They were building something good. Something that mattered.
But first—and always—they had this. This love. This foundation.
Everything else could wait.