Chapter Thirteen #3
Liam’s free hand was splayed across the baby’s back, fingers spread wide enough that it almost covered the whole of him.
His face was composed, set in a neutral that could have been either calm or crisis depending on how you read the lines.
But I knew that face; it was the one he wore when he’d already done the math, already assembled the contingencies, and was now just waiting for confirmation.
I shut the mudroom door behind me, peeled off my jacket, and hung it up by the loop. The SIG went back in the lockbox without ceremony, the snap of the latch loud in the empty house.
I stood there for a second, letting the last of the cold seep out of me, and then said, “We had visitors.”
Liam didn’t flinch. He just nodded once, and waited.
“Eleanor sent three guys,” I said. “Two cars on the county road, one suit who made it up the drive. They wanted to talk about keeping things ‘amicable.’” I made a face at the word, and Emilio, catching my tone, did his best impression of a sneer.
“Rawley and the rest of the crew flushed them back out past the fence. Nobody tried to force it. This time.”
Liam’s jaw set. His thumb moved in slow, hypnotic arcs across Emilio’s back, not fast, just steady, like he was winding a clock.
“The marriage certificate did what it was supposed to,” I went on. “But if I had to guess, we’ll get another round before the week’s up. Maybe with actual law enforcement, maybe with more than just a folder and a bad attitude.”
He absorbed it all, then asked, “You think they’ll come inside next time?”
I thought about it, the way the man in the drive had watched me, the way the sedan’s passenger had held his phone like a lifeline. “If they do, they’ll bring numbers. Or they’ll try for a surprise. But we’ll be ready.”
He took this in, then said, “What do you need me to do?”
It was the first time anyone had asked me that question without an agenda or a string attached. Just the pure, clear willingness to be useful, to help.
I looked at him, really looked, and saw not the man who’d run a thousand miles to protect his kid, but the one who was ready to stay and fight for something that finally mattered.
“First thing,” I said, “stay inside with the kid. If Rawley calls, you answer. If there’s any sign of trouble, you lock down and don’t open the door unless you hear my voice.”
He nodded, like he’d already gamed that out.
“Second,” I said, “help me make a list of everything in this house you’d hate to lose, and pack a go-bag for each of us and Emilio. Doesn’t mean we’ll need it, but it’s better to have it ready.”
Another nod.
“Third, and most important,” I said, “keep doing what you’re doing right now.”
He blinked, puzzled. “Which is?”
I gestured at him, at the kid, at the table set for breakfast, the half-empty mug of coffee gone cold on the counter. “This. You keep the house a home. You make sure that when they come, they see what it is they’re fucking with.”
He gave me a look, half amusement and half exhaustion. “You think that matters?”
“It’s the only thing that does,” I said.
We stood there for a minute, the three of us, not moving. Emilio, sensing the vibe, let out a soft coo and reached for the collar of Liam’s shirt, got a fistful, and yanked it to his mouth. Liam let him, then tilted his head, brushing his cheek over the downy patch on top of the baby’s skull.
There was no more drama to it than that. The world outside could come apart at the seams, but in here, this was the center.
The sound of the front door opening and closing announced Burke and Macon, followed by the not-quite-whispered “God, it’s colder than a snowman’s balls out there,” and the clatter of boots on the entry tile.
Burke poked his head into the kitchen, wind-chapped and grinning. “You get the letter, Hoop?”
I held it up, then dropped it on the table. “You want to do the honors?”
Burke snorted, but he picked up the envelope, tore it open, and scanned the top page. “Cease and desist, allegations, custodial interference… Jesus, this is wordy. Are we supposed to be scared by the footnotes?” He handed it to Liam, who took it with a steady hand.
Liam sucked in a breath. “They know about Emilio.”
I nodded. “Probably always have.”
Macon came in behind Burke, unscrewing the cap on a thermos. “They gone?”
“For now,” I said.
Macon nodded, unscrewed the cap, and poured two fingers’ worth of black coffee into a mug. He set it on the table in front of me, then did the same for himself, and finally for Burke, who immediately dumped two spoonfuls of sugar in his and stirred.
Nobody said anything for a minute. We just stood, the four of us, in a triangle of kitchen and quiet and mutual respect.
Emilio started to fuss, but Liam bounced him twice on his hip and he subsided, cheek pressed against Liam’s collarbone.
After a while, Burke said, “What’s the play, boss?”
I looked at Rawley, who’d come in with the others and was now bracing his shoulders against the kitchen arch, watching us all like a chessboard.
“We keep the same shifts,” I said. “Double up on nights. No solo runs to town. And if any of them show up again, we call the lawyer before we call the sheriff.”
Rawley grunted his approval. “And after?”
I shrugged. “After, we make sure they know we’re not leaving. Not now, not ever.”
Burke raised his mug. “To not leaving,” he said.
We all drank, even Emilio, who got a bottle from the fridge and seemed content to gnaw at it while watching the proceedings.
After the others drifted out, Rawley lingered, eyes on Liam.
“You good?” he asked.
Liam nodded, but his voice was small. “I think so.”
Rawley gave him a long, hard look, then glanced at me. There was nothing said, but I felt the weight of it all the same: Watch him. Don’t let him drift. Keep him here, even when it gets ugly.
After Rawley left, I put my hand on Liam’s shoulder, squeezed.
He looked at me, tired but awake.
“We’re okay,” I said.
He nodded, and for the first time all morning, he looked like he believed it.
He made tea, the real kind, with the leaves and the steeping and all the fuss. I sat at the table, watched him pour the water, watched Emilio’s hands waving in the steam, watched the way the two of them moved together, orbiting the same invisible center.
Outside, the sun climbed, the air going sharp and clear and so cold it could have sliced you in half. But in here, the kitchen was warm, the smell of tea and toast filling the space, and for the first time in months, maybe years, I didn’t feel like I had to keep moving.
There was still a threat. There always would be.
But we were here, together, and the house felt like a place worth defending.
I finished my coffee, watched the steam rise, and let myself believe in it.
At least for now.