15. Stairway to Heaven
Chapter fifteen
Stairway to Heaven
Melina
The past few days have been a blur—that kitchen rendezvous still aching low in me every time I replay it, Steele cracking jokes while they turned my house into a fortress, Matt handling each detail like it was second nature.
Through it all, the kids have carried the weight in their own ways.
Harper’s strength isn’t surprising; she’s always been one to square her shoulders and stare down what scares her.
Spencer tries, but the fear clings to him.
He doesn’t say much, but I see it in the way he lingers close, in the questions he’s too afraid to ask.
My phone buzzes on the counter, pulling me from my thoughts. Matt’s name flashes across the screen.
Got off early. You up for a training session with Arrow?
Yeah, definitely. Give me ten minutes.
See you soon.
The afternoon sun dips lower as I cross into Matt’s yard, Arrow trotting at my side. He's already waiting, arms crossed, a teasing edge in his gaze. “You’re late.”
“By two minutes,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.
His presence is calm but commanding, every cue precise. Arrow doesn’t just listen—he lives for Matt’s direction. And maybe I do too, because even from the sidelines it’s impossible to look away.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, and I turn as Matt lifts his chin toward the other side of the street.“Spencer!” he calls.
My son glances up from his soccer ball, curiosity flashing across his face.“You wanna give it a try?”
Spencer hesitates, wiping his hands on his shorts before jogging over. “Really?”
Matt nods. “Yeah. Arrow’s got the basics down, but he needs to learn to listen to more than just your mom and me. Think you can handle it?”
Spencer shoots me a questioning look, like he’s not sure if this is some kind of test.
I smile. “Go for it.”
Matt crouches, resting a hand on Arrow’s back. “Dogs read energy, Spence. If you act like you don’t know what you’re doing, he won’t listen. Stand tall, keep your voice steady, and mean it when you give a command.”
Spencer straightens, determination flickering across his face. Matt hands him a treat and nods toward Arrow.“Start with ‘sit.’”
“Sit.” Spencer’s voice wavers, but Arrow obeys after a quick glance at Matt.“Good. Now pay him.”
Spencer fumbles the first treat, dropping it on the ground.
Matt chuckles. “Slow down. Palm up, fingers flat. Let him take it from you.”
He tries again. This time, Arrow takes the treat gently from his hand. Spencer’s grin blooms wide.
For the next several minutes, Matt guides him through the basics—stance, timing, minor corrections that click into place one by one. With every command Arrow follows. Spencer’s confidence grows, pride shining brighter each time.
I press a hand to my chest, warmth spreading through me at the sight.
Spencer isn’t just following instructions—he’s thriving. And Matt… he has a way of making him feel capable, important. He never talks down or takes over when Spencer struggles. He guides, reassures, lets him find his footing on his own.
“Not bad, kid. You might have a future in this.”
Spencer beams, scratching behind Arrow’s ears. “That was awesome.”
Matt checks his watch, then flashes me a smile that makes my pulse skip. “Go home, woman. Feed your kids.”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m hungry. Can we order a pizza?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I suppose. Go tell Harper. The number’s on the fridge.”
Spencer jogs across the street toward our house, and I linger at the edge of Matt’s driveway.
“Be careful walking back,” he teases, low and warm, meant only for me.
Before I can stop myself, I lean in and press my lips to his. His hand finds my waist, fingers flexing at my hip before he withdraws, voice rougher now. “See you tomorrow, babe.”
I step onto my porch, his taste still lingering, the smile tugging at my mouth impossible to fight.
By the time dinner’s over, Spencer’s at the sink rinsing plates and shoving them into the dishwasher when his words ring out—sharp with urgency but not panic. “Something’s wrong with the dishwasher! It won’t drain!”
I sigh and walk over to investigate. Spencer stands by the open appliance, peering inside like he can will it to fix itself. Sure enough, water pools at the bottom, murky and unmoving.
I press the start button. The motor groans in protest, then dies.
Shit. I pull out my phone and dial Matt. He answers on the first ring.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is sharp—alert—ready to jump into action.
“Not stalker related,” I rush to assure him. “Just… it’s my dishwasher.”
Silence. Then a low chuckle. “Jesus, Melina. You trying to put me in an early grave? What’s it doing?”
“Sorry.” I wince, hating that I worried him over something so stupid. “It won’t drain, and the motor made this awful groaning sound like it was dying a slow, painful death.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“You don’t have to—”
The line goes dead. I sigh and set the phone down.
“Is Matt coming?” Spencer asks.
“Yep.”
He grins. “Cool.”
Of course he is.
Fifteen minutes later, Matt is on his knees, sleeves rolled up, flashlight in hand, assessing the situation like a classified mission.
Spencer sits cross-legged on the floor next to him. “What do you think’s wrong with it?”
Matt tilts his head, inspecting the inside. “If it won’t drain, there’s a good chance the filter or pump is clogged. Ever get a bunch of food stuck down here?”
Spencer gives me a look. “Mom doesn’t let us put our dishes in there if they still have food on them.”
Matt smirks. “Smart woman.”
I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “Glad someone thinks so.”
He slides the bottom rack out and twists open a panel.
“Here’s the filter. Seems like some buildup. And—” He reaches in and pulls out a waterlogged piece of plastic. “There’s your culprit.”
Spencer’s eyes widen. “No way. That’s from my cup!”
Matt chuckles. “Yeah? Part of the straw must’ve snapped off and blocked the filter. That’ll keep it from draining.”
Spencer scoots closer, fascinated. “So now what?”
“Now.” Matt shifts a piece aside and reaches deeper. “We check the pump, just to be safe. If something slipped past, it could still be jammed in there.”
“Can I help?”
Matt doesn’t hesitate. He passes Spencer the flashlight. “Hold this steady so I can see.”
Spencer’s chest puffs up as he angles the beam exactly where Matt points. He works with easy efficiency, explaining each step like a puzzle instead of a chore. Spencer peppers him with questions, and Matt answers them all, never brushing him off.
I watch from the counter, my heart swelling at the way they fall in step. A few minutes later, Matt sits back on his heels, wiping his hands on a towel. “Alright. Should be good now. Let’s test it.”
I hit the button, and finally, the motor hums, water draining clean.
Spencer stares like Matt just pulled off a magic trick. “Whoa. That was awesome.”
Matt claps a hand on his shoulder. “Next time, I’ll let you fix it.”
“Really?” Spencer asks, eyes shining.
“Sure. A guy ought to know how to take care of things.”
Spencer nods solemnly, as if Matt just imparted sacred wisdom.
I press a palm to my chest, teasing. “My hero.”
Matt smirks as he tosses the rag onto the counter and pushes to his feet. “Damn right.”
His gaze catches on Harper’s guitar, propped against the couch, and he drifts into the living room for a closer look.“That yours?”
Harper glances up from her phone. “Yeah.”“You any good?” The corner of his mouth pulls into a
grin.
She huffs. “I’m getting there.”
“She sings like a bird and plays piano, but guitar’s new,” I call from the kitchen, rinsing a dish.
Matt tilts his head, intrigued. “May I?”Harper hesitates for a beat, then nods.
He sinks onto the couch, settling the guitar across his lap. His fingers brush the strings, twisting the tuning pegs, coaxing the sound into place. Then he begins to play.
The air is stripped from my lungs—the floor shifts under my feet.
Stairway to Heaven. Jake.
The first few notes ring through the room, familiar and effortless. For a moment, Matt doesn’t notice. He’s lost in the music, fingers moving with the kind of muscle memory that says he’s played this song a hundred times before.
But I’m not watching him. I’m watching them. Harper’s face stills, her throat working as she swallows. Spencer leans forward, his usual carefree energy flickering like a candle in the wind.
I grip the counter, heart pounding against my ribs. Breathe, Mel.
Matt finally looks up, fingers stilling. His brows pull together as his gaze sweeps over us, registering the weight that’s settled over the room. His shoulders tense.
“What?” His voice is quieter now, careful.
I swallow hard. “You didn’t tell me you played.”
His expression turns wary. “Yeah, but… I can stop.”
“No,” Harper says quickly.
Matt hesitates, then looks to me for permission. I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
So, he finishes the song. Every note burrows deep, carving itself into the place where I keep Jack—the grief I’ve carried, but never laid down.
When Matt finally puts the guitar down, he glances at me first. “Someone want to tell me why I feel like I just stepped on a landmine?”
I sink onto the couch beside him, my hands twisting in my lap. I should be the one to answer, but the words won’t come.
Harper breaks the silence. “My uncle Jack—he used to play that.”
Matt’s face softens.
“We played it at his memorial,” Spencer adds, his voice barely above a whisper.
Recognition sparks in his expression. His eyes catch on the tattoo winding my forearm, and I see the moment it clicks.
He reaches out, tracing the ink—the delicate strings of the guitar, the flowers woven around it. His hand stills on the name and date etched into my skin. “This is for him?” he murmurs.
I nod, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.
Matt exhales, his voice low. “It’s beautiful.”
Silence settles, heavy but not suffocating. Just present.
“I know this is raw,” he says carefully. “But someday, if you want, I’d love to hear more about him.”
I blink back the tears threatening to spill and curl my fingers around his.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Someday.”
Then Harper clears her throat, shifting in her seat. “That was really good.” Her voice is softer than usual, like she isn’t ready to break the moment but needs to fill the silence. “Do you know anything I can sing?”
Matt blinks, caught off guard. “Yeah?”
She nods, eyes flicking to the guitar, then back to him. “I mean, if you want to play something.”
He studies her for a second, then reaches for it again, fingers gliding over the strings in thought. “What do you know?”
Harper bites her lip, thinking. After a while, she says, “What about Hallelujah?”
Matt’s lips twitch, though his tone stays soft. “You don’t pull any punches.”
She smirks. “It’s a classic.”
Matt exhales through his nose, adjusting the guitar on his lap before his fingers settle into the opening chords. The aching melody fills the room, deep and rich, sinking into my skin.
Harper leans forward, listening, then closes her eyes and starts to sing. Her voice is clear and steady, wrapping around the lyrics like they were written for her.
Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord…
Matt falters, his fingers slipping half a beat before he recovers. His head snaps up, eyes fixed on her in disbelief. She doesn’t notice. His hands move instinctively, not thinking, just playing. He glances at me, lips parting, and mouths wow .
Her voice rises, haunting and effortless, as she lets the notes linger. Matt follows seamlessly, falling into rhythm like they’ve played together for years.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah…
Spencer sits frozen, eyes wide. My breath catches as I watch Matt weave himself into our space—into us. Harper looks at him with something close to trust. Like she’s letting him in. Like maybe he belongs here.
The last note fades, silence pressing down in its wake. For a long moment, no one speaks. Matt stares at Harper as if he isn’t entirely sure she’s real.
“Damn, girl,” he finally says, his voice rough with awe. “I’m speechless.” He leans back against the couch, shaking his head. “That was… otherworldly. You truly have a gift.”
Harper flushes. “Thanks.”
“No, seriously.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, still trying to process what just happened. “You ever thought about doing something with that voice?”
She shrugs, playing it cool. “I love to sing, but I don’t know if I’d ever go… professional.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “If you do, I’ll be first in line for the album.”
She smirks. “I’ll keep that in consideration.”
He studies her for a beat, then tilts his head. “Alright, since you just blew my mind—fair’s fair. Hit me with your questions.”
Harper narrows her eyes in thought before sitting up straighter. “Where’d you learn to play?”
Matt sets the guitar aside, stretching his arm over the back of the couch. “Taught myself, mostly. My mom had this old acoustic she barely touched. I started messing around with it when I was a kid.”
“How long have you been playing?”
He thinks. “Since I was ten or eleven? So—” He winces. “Damn. Couple decades now. That’s depressing.”
Harper snickers. “Do you sing too?”
Matt barks out a guffaw. “Only if you want your ears to bleed.”
She cracks up, throwing her head back, and the sound is so unexpected I nearly drop the glass in my hand. God, it’s been forever since I’ve heard her laugh like that.
Things have been difficult for her since Declan left. They were always close, in sync like twins. She’s had Spencer and me, but Declan was hers in a way neither of us could replace.
Matt’s grin widens, eyes flicking between us. “What? It’s true. I make a dying cat sound good.”
Harper clutches her stomach. “Oh my God, stop.”
Matt lifts his hands. “Hey, you asked.”
I shake my head, hiding my smile. “Now I kind of want to hear it.”
He points at me. “Absolutely not. I care too much to put you through that.”
She giggles again, softer this time, something unguarded in her face. And just like that, Matt has slipped past one of those invisible barriers she guards so tightly.