9. Nora
NORA
By the time we pull into Black Rock proper, the sun is already starting to disappear behind the mountains.
The town looks exactly the same, and that realization settles strangely in my chest while Blade turns down another quiet residential street lined with small houses and old trucks parked in driveways.
The same faded storefronts. Same dry grass. Same tiny-town stillness that feels almost eerie after years in New York, where everything moves constantly, whether you want it to or not.
Paxton presses his face against the window beside me while signing excitedly toward me.
Small town.
I smile faintly despite myself and sign back, Very small town.
Viper leans slightly closer to watch our conversation. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s judging the population size.”
“That’s fair,” Viper says solemnly. “I judge Black Rock daily for the population size.”
Stryker snorts from the front seat, while Blade shakes his head lightly behind the wheel.
“You live here,” Blade points out, and I sign their exchange for Paxton.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t criticize it.”
Paxton grins immediately. He already seems absurdly comfortable with them, which honestly feels like some kind of betrayal from the universe, considering I’ve spent six years carefully building a life around predictability and caution.
Now, suddenly, my son is charmed by three men I shared one surreal night with half a decade ago.
One of whom is his fathers.
I shove that thought away immediately for what has to be the hundredth time today.
I never let myself dwell on paternity much after I got pregnant. Maybe because there was never any real point. There were three possibilities and none of them knew I existed anymore. By the time I realized I was pregnant, I was already drowning in survivor’s guilt and grief and fear.
Then Paxton came out looking overwhelmingly like me anyway. Blond curls. Blue eyes. Fair skin. A carbon-copy little boy version of me. Honestly, I’ve always been weirdly grateful for that.
It would’ve been harder if he looked exactly like one of them.
Blade finally slows the SUV before pulling toward the curb in front of a pale blue, two-story house with white trim and a deep front porch. Warm evening light stretches across the small yard, while Axel’s tow truck rumbles to a stop behind us with my dead SUV still chained to the back.
For a second, nobody moves. I just stare, because somehow this isn’t the house I remember, and yet exactly the house I remember at the same time.
Apparently, Mrs. Grady painted it blue at some point.
When we were kids it was an ugly beige-yellow color she insisted looked “traditional.” The porch swing is gone now too, probably rotted away years ago.
But the shape of the house remains the same.
The narrow upstairs windows. The flower beds Mrs. Grady forced us to weed every spring.
The side yard where Valentina and I used to sit behind the shed when we wanted privacy.
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
Home never stopped meaning something complicated.
“Recognize it?” Stryker asks quietly.
I nod once.
The only visible difference is the mailbox that sits at the end of the walkway exactly where the lawyer said it would. Sure enough, a large yellow envelope rests inside untouched.
Small towns really don’t have crime.
Blade shifts the SUV into park. “You want us to wait here while you check everything out first?”
“No,” I answer automatically, before climbing out too quickly.
Cold evening air hits immediately. Gravel crunches beneath my sneakers, while Paxton scrambles out after me clutching his stuffed dinosaur under one arm.
Is this our new house? he signs excitedly.
I force myself to smile. Yes, this is the new house.
He beams instantly.
The yellow envelope contains exactly what the lawyer promised. Keys. Property documents. A handwritten note with instructions to expect a video call tomorrow afternoon regarding final paperwork and legal transfer information.
Everything feels bizarrely casual considering the situation. Like Mrs. Grady simply stepped out temporarily instead of dying. I unlock the front door slowly. The smell hits first. Dust. Closed-up air. Old wood.
Paxton peers around me curiously, while I step inside carefully and reach for the light switch beside the door. Warm yellow light flickers on revealing a living room frozen almost completely in time.
Same floral couch. Same dark wooden coffee table. Same ugly cross stitched Bible verse above the fireplace.
A thin layer of dust coats everything now though. Cobwebs gather in corners. The house feels abandoned in a way that makes my chest ache unexpectedly despite everything.
Behind me, Axel whistles low. “Damn.”
“It’s not that bad,” I mutter automatically.
“It absolutely is.”
Viper shoulders one of our duffel bags easily before stepping inside beside me. “At least it’s structurally standing. That puts it ahead of some rentals I’ve seen.”
Stryker follows carrying two more bags, while Blade helps Paxton wrestle his dinosaur backpack onto his shoulders properly.
Nobody leaves. Even though I’m very clearly waiting for them to.
“You guys really don’t have to?—”
“We know,” Blade says calmly.
Then he starts opening curtains to let more light in, while Stryker heads toward the kitchen with our bags like he’s done this before.
I stare after them. “You’re all very bad at taking hints.”
“True,” Viper agrees cheerfully.
Axel disappears back outside, muttering something about checking whether my SUV can be salvaged “without divine intervention,” leaving the four of us inside the suddenly not-so-empty house.
Paxton immediately wanders into the living room looking fascinated by everything.
This place is so big, he signs.
“Yeah,” I murmur, before giving him a nod and a smile that I know doesn’t reach my eyes.
The house feels enormous after our apartment. Fourteen hundred square feet probably shouldn’t feel life-changing, but after years of living practically on top of each other in a studio, this place might as well be a mansion.
Stryker reappears from the kitchen wiping dust from his hands onto his jeans. “Power’s still on.”
“That’s good at least.,”
Viper glances toward the staircase. “Want help checking upstairs?”
“No.”
Three heads turn toward me immediately.
I sigh quietly. “I mean…you don’t need to.”
“We’re already here,” Blade says.
And somehow twenty minutes later all three of them are helping clear cobwebs and carry bags, while Paxton follows everyone around like an overly curious shadow. The domesticity of feels so surreal I almost can’t process it properly.
Especially because none of these men belong in this house.
They’re too large somehow. Too masculine. Too alive against old floral wallpaper and faded family photographs Mrs. Grady never bothered removing, even after foster kids cycled endlessly through the rooms upstairs.
I climb the stairs slowly, eventually, because I know I need to face it sooner or later. The hallway upstairs looks untouched. My stomach twists immediately.
Mrs. Grady’s room sits at the end near the bathroom door still cracked slightly open. Across from it is my bedroom door and Valentina’s beside it.
I push my old bedroom open slowly, and nothing has changed.
The pale green walls. The tiny twin bed shoved beneath the window.
The cheap white dresser missing one drawer handle.
Even the faded constellation stickers still cling crookedly across the ceiling from when I was thirteen and briefly obsessed with astronomy, because the library books made me feel like the universe stretched beyond Black Rock.
My throat burns suddenly.
Then I open Valentina’s room too. That one hurts worse.
Purple comforter still tossed carelessly across the bed, exactly the way she always left it. Magazine clippings taped to the mirror. One old hoop earring still sitting beside the windowsill.
Like she might walk back in at any second. I close the door fast. Nope.
Absolutely not dealing with that emotionally right now. Especially not with three men downstairs and Paxton still awake.
I inhale slowly before forcing myself farther down the hallway toward the master bedroom instead. At least that room feels emotionally neutral.
The mattress is old, but huge. California king-sized maybe. Dust covers the dark wood furniture, but otherwise it’s clean enough. The attached bathroom even looks recently maintained from the nursing home caretakers probably checking the property after Mrs. Grady got moved out.
Behind me, Paxton appears in the doorway clutching his dinosaur.
Big bed too, he signs immediately.
That’s what you notice?
Yes.
I laugh quietly before pulling him into my side briefly and kissing the top of his curls. Truthfully, the bed matters to me too.
Paxton’s slept beside me since he turned one. Originally because our apartments were tiny and because he woke frequently after nightmares when he was younger. Then, eventually, because somewhere along the way, sleeping beside him became the only time my nervous system fully relaxed.
I know I need to start transitioning him into his own room eventually, especially now that we finally have space. But not tonight. Tonight already feels like too much change at once.
“This room okay?” Blade asks from behind me, hands moving as he talks.
I turn too quickly. He stands in the hallway holding another duffel bag, watching me carefully enough that I instantly know he noticed my expression earlier upstairs.
“Yeah,” I answer shortly.
He nods once without pushing. God, that somehow makes it worse. Stryker and Viper appear behind him a second later carrying the last of our bags, while Paxton immediately brightens again at the sight of them.
Viper points toward the bed dramatically. “That thing’s bigger than my first apartment.”
“That explains a lot about you,” Stryker mutters.
“Jealousy isn’t attractive.”
“You aren’t attractive.”
Paxton laughs silently at the obvious bickering, while Blade translates enough for him to follow along.
I lean against the dresser briefly watching all four of them interact and feel something strange settle low in my chest. Something dangerously adjacent to comfort, because this looks absurdly natural.
Like they belong orbiting around Paxton somehow. I hate how much my body wants to trust that feeling.
Axel eventually stomps back upstairs, smelling like motor oil and cold air.
“Good news,” he announces.
I blink hopefully. “Really?”
“No.”
My hope dies immediately.
“The car’s super dead,” he continues. “But I know a guy selling an old Subaru cheap. Safer than that rolling crime scene anyway.”
I sigh. “How cheap?”
He grimaces slightly. “We’ll discuss tomorrow.”
Translation: probably not cheap enough.
Stryker glances toward the darkening windows outside. “We should probably head out.”
Paxton visibly deflates. The reaction hits all three men instantly.
Viper crouches slightly beside him. “Hey, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
Promise? Paxton signs immediately.
Blade translates automatically, even though I’m pretty sure Viper already understands enough from context alone.
“Promise.”
I open my mouth to object because absolutely nobody invited them back tomorrow. Unfortunately, Paxton beams before I can.
Traitor.
I cross my arms. “You really don’t need to keep checking on us.”
Stryker looks at me steadily. “We know.”
Same answer as before. Infuriating.
Paxton yawns suddenly, hard enough his entire little body curls around it. The poor kid has been awake since before sunrise back in Utah this morning, and spent the entire day driving across states, before getting stranded roadside in Nevada.
Exhaustion finally wins.
Blade notices immediately. “We should let you get him settled.”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “You should.”
Viper clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Harsh.”
“You’re still strangers technically.”
“That feels rude after we rescued you from roadside despair.”
“You insulted my car repeatedly.”
“Because it deserved it.”
Despite myself, another laugh slips out. Stryker watches the interaction quietly enough that I pretend not to notice.
Then, suddenly, all three men are standing too close again in the doorway, while the room feels smaller than it did five minutes ago. Older now. Broader. Rougher around the edges than six years ago, but still painfully familiar.
Blade breaks the moment first.
“Lock the doors tonight,” he says calmly.
“Okay.”
“And text if you need anything,” Viper adds.
I blink. “You really shouldn’t even have my number.”
He smiles slowly. “Too late for that.”
“Viper will send you our numbers too,” Stryker says. “You need something, you call.”
I stare at him for a long moment because again my brain just can’t get over the fact that none of this should feel normal or safe.
And yet somehow standing here watching them reluctantly prepare to leave my childhood house with my son already attached to them emotionally, I can’t summon the fear I probably should.
Only confusion and exhaustion.
“Thank you,” I finally say quietly.
They don’t respond to my thanks, but do give Paxton and me their good byes. Viper flashes Paxton another grin, Blade signs goodnight carefully toward him, and Stryker gives me one last long look before all three men finally head downstairs.
A minute later, headlights disappear back down the street, through the front windows. Silence settles over the house immediately afterward. Paxton crawls onto the massive bed, while I lock the bedroom door automatically.
This place is really different, he signs sleepily.
“Yeah,” I whisper back because he’s already fallen asleep.
Different feels too small for what today became.