Chapter 16
Cleo POV
As soon as I parked at the clubhouse, Tommy was already struggling with his seatbelt.
“Is Chains here?”
I laughed and turned off the engine. “We just got here.”
“But is he?”
“Tommy.”
Before I could answer, the clubhouse door opened. Tommy’s entire face lit up.
“Chains!”
He barely got his seatbelt off before jumping out of the car. I shook my head and followed him.
“One day he’s going to learn how to walk.”
Mom laughed beside me. “Not today.”
Across the yard, Chains barely had time to react before Tommy crashed into him. He caught him without thinking, like he’d done it a hundred times before. Maybe he really had.
Tommy started talking right away, fast and excited. Whatever was happening in his six-year-old world couldn’t wait. Chains listened patiently, nodding now and then while Tommy spoke at a speed most adults would struggle to follow. I caught myself watching them.
Again. The truth was, Tommy had always been cautious around men. He wasn’t scared, just cautious. Wade had been his hero, the center of his world. After the accident, he became quieter and more withdrawn.
For months, he held on to Skylar and me, as if he was afraid we might leave too. Now he ran to Chains without hesitation, trusting him completely, that meant more to me than I could ever explain.
“You’re doing it again.” Mom’s voice snapped me out of it. I looked over and saw her watching me, clearly amused.
“Doing what?”
She smiled even wider. “You know exactly what.”
I groaned. “Mom.”
Luckily, Skylar showed up before Mom could say more. My daughter walked across the yard with her sketchbook under her arm, by now, it felt like it was part of her. She went straight to Chains without stopping.
Not me.
Not Dad.
Not Roman.
Chains.
She stopped beside him and opened her sketchbook. Even from where I stood, I could see he gave her his full attention, whatever she showed him became his top priority. That’s what I noticed about Chains. When he listened, he truly listened, whether it was Tommy talking about superheroes or Skylar sharing her art.
He made them feel heard.
I watched Skylar smile at something he said. It was a real smile, one that reached her eyes. I felt that familiar warmth in my chest because, somewhere along the way, my kids had begun to trust him. Not because anyone told them to, not because he tried. It just happened.
Naturally.
----
A week later, Skylar came home from school with a flyer. I was at the kitchen table grading papers when she set it down in front of me.
“Our school is having an art display next Thursday.”
I looked up. “Oh?”
She tried not to smile, but one corner of her mouth lifted. “One of my drawings got chosen.”
My heart swelled right away. “Skylar Hart.”
Her cheeks flushed. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is absolutely a big deal.”
She couldn’t hide her smile anymore. I stood up and hugged her. “I’m proud of you.”
She hugged me back, and for a moment, she looked ten again instead of acting so grown up. When she stepped back, she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I invited Grandpa and Grandma.”
I nodded. “Good.”
“Uncle Roman and Lola, too.” She paused for a moment "and Chains.”
I blinked, and she got defensive right away.
“You said I could invite people I wanted there.”
My heart swelled again. I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you invited him.”
The tension left her shoulders right away, which showed me how much his answer mattered to her.
----
The school gym was packed on the night of the display, parents, families, teachers, and children running in every direction.
Tommy and Lola were excited all day, dad looked like he might burst with pride, mom had already taken pictures before we even got inside, and Roman managed to cause trouble just by standing there. Some things never changed.
Then Chains walked in, and my stomach flipped. I hated that feeling, because five months ago, I wouldn’t have noticed. Now I noticed every time he entered a room, and every time he wasn’t there. Skylar saw him first, and her face lit up.
“Chains.”
He walked over carrying a takeaway cup. “Hey, kid.”
She smiled. It was easier for her to smile around him these days. He handed her the drink.
“Hot chocolate.”
Her eyes widened. “You remembered.”
“Course I did.”
I shouldn’t have been so moved by the exchange, but I was. It wasn’t really about the hot chocolate. It was about how he remembered the little things, the important things most people forgot.
Eventually, we found Skylar’s display. I stopped, and so did everyone else, because it was beautiful.
The drawing was a detailed pencil sketch of a bike. It was Chains’ bike. Every line was deliberate, every shadow carefully drawn.
The small plaque beneath it read: Skylar Hart – 5th Grade.
Next to me, Chains stared at the drawing in complete silence. Skylar shifted nervously.
“You don’t have to like it.”
His head turned immediately. “I love it.”
The certainty in his voice made her whole face light up, and I couldn’t look away, because he meant every word.
----
Later that evening, Skylar received a small ribbon for her work. It wasn’t anything huge or life-changing, but to her, it meant everything.
Tommy and Lola cheered louder than anyone, Roman joked that the judges had great taste, Dad took enough pictures to fill an album, Mom cried, and Chains looked just as proud as the rest of us. He seemed especially happy for Skylar. Maybe even more.
By the time we reached the parking lot, Tommy was asleep on Dad’s shoulder. Roman had already taken a sleeping Lola home, and the excitement had finally caught up with them. Skylar held her ribbon tight and then stopped walking.
“Chains?”
He turned immediately. “Yeah?”
She held up the ribbon. “I’m glad you came.”
Her words were simple and honest. The smile he gave her was small but real. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
My chest tightened because I knew he meant it. That’s what got to me: the way he gave her that kind of certainty.
----
Later that night, after the kids were asleep, I sat alone at the kitchen table. The house was quiet, too quiet. Without thinking much about it, I pulled out the box I rarely opened.
Photographs. Memories.
Pieces of another life. My fingers found Wade’s photograph almost right away. He was eighteen, standing beside me with his arm around my shoulders.
We were young, happy, and sure we had forever.
It had been nine months since I lost him, and five months since Creek Wood changed everything. A tear slid down my cheek.
“I still love you.”
My voice sounded small in the empty room, but it was true. I always would. Wade was my first love, my husband, and my children’s father.
Nothing would ever change that.
I looked at the photograph for another long moment, then I smiled sadly.
“But I think it’s time I stop living as if I died with you.”
The words settled around me, not with guilt or shame, but with peace for the first time in a long while. Maybe healing isn’t about letting go. Maybe it’s about carrying the people we love forward with us. For the first time since Wade died, I thought I might finally be ready to do that.