Chapter 41
BUCK
When I walk Elena out to the bay, T.J.’s sitting cross-legged on an old blanket. There’s a plate of cookies on one side of him and a container of LEGO bricks on the other. Weston and Calder are both kneeling beside him.
“Hey, Mom. Look what I made.” The boy holds up a multi-colored creation that might be a spaceship or part of a fire engine.
“What’ve you got there?” I ask.
He glances up at me with a serious expression. “Mobile rescue unit.”
“Looks fast.”
“It is.” After he takes a bite of a cookie, he snaps on another piece. “And it has armor.”
I lean against the engine’s bumper and fold my arms. “Useful feature.”
T.J. nods, like I confirmed something important.
“What’s with all the cookies?” Elena asks him.
Before he can answer, Calder says, “We gave him some pizza before the cookies.”
Elena lifts a brow at Calder, then looks back at her son. “I guess this is your dinner?”
As T.J. shrugs innocently, the men get to their feet, and Weston takes Elena’s arm.
“Don’t worry. We saved some pizza for you.”
“We’ll even warm it up,” Calder says, as they lead her off toward the kitchen.
T.J. keeps building for another minute, then looks up at me. “Mom said we’re practicing safety stuff at school tomorrow?”
“That’s right.” I push off the engine and come closer, crouching down so I’m not towering over him.
“Just like a fire drill, except a little more specific. You stay with the adult you’re told to stay with, and you move when we tell you.
You don’t go back for anything, even if you forgot your backpack or a project. ”
He makes a face. “Even if it’s my volcano? I built another one.”
“Even then. And if Weston or Calder tells you something, you listen to them exactly like you’d listen to me. Understand?”
“Yeah.” He snaps two bricks together, then pulls them back apart again and repositions them. “Are you gonna be there the whole time?”
“Yeah, buddy. I’ll be there.”
“With Mom, too?”
I reach for a couple of LEGO pieces from the container. “Yes.”
T.J.’s quiet for a full minute, then, still focused on his rescue unit, he asks, “Are you gonna be my new dad?”
I freeze just as I’m adding another piece to the clump of blocks in my hand, then force myself back into motion when T.J. looks over at me. His expression is both hopeful and cautious, letting me know it wasn’t a casual question.
“And Weston and Calder, too?” he adds. “Like all of you?”
I’ve faced gunfire with less of a reaction.
I brace a forearm on my knee as I think of Tyler and how proud he was to be a father. Of promises unspoken. Of the way grief and love could keep cutting from the same blade.
I think about Elena and the impossible, beautiful thing that grew between us, even while we resisted it.
And I think about this boy, waiting for an answer like the rest of his life might be built on it.
“If your mom decides that’s what we get to be,” I say carefully, because he deserves truth as much as anyone else. “Then yeah, I’d be honored.”
His eyes flash with light. “All of you?”
I smile, even with my throat burning. “Yeah, kid. All of us.”
He studies me for a few seconds, checking for cracks the way children do, but apparently, I pass the test.
“Okay.” He nods, then focuses on his build. “Good. Because three dads are probably better for protection.”
A laugh breaks out of me, rough and helpless. “Probably.”
He adds another piece to the top of the rescue unit. “And if one’s busy, there’s still two.”
Jesus. I stare out toward the open bay door to gather myself. He already lost one dad, and now he’s hoping to have backups.
When I look back at T.J., he’s still building, like he didn’t just crack me open with a handful of words and absolute trust.
I sit down across from him. “Listen to me.”
He sets his toy aside and looks up.
“No matter what happens, you hear me? No matter what gets scary or loud or confusing, you are not doing this alone. Me, Weston, Calder, your mom—we’re all here for you. We’re all going to protect you.”
His small face turns solemn. “Promise?”
I hold his gaze. On a battlefield, promises are dangerous. You can’t control every variable or swear on outcomes. You can’t make war obey what your heart wants.
But this isn’t a battlefield yet. This is a little boy asking me who I intend to be, so I give him the only answer I can live with.
“Promise,” I say.
He accepts it as easily as he accepts the existence of mountains, then pushes his rescue unit across the blanket toward me. “You can help with the armor.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice finally steady. “I can do that.”
As I snap a brick into place, I realize every map in my office, every fallback route, radio call, and contingency plan has suddenly come into sharper focus.
This isn’t just about winning anymore. It’s about making damn sure all of us are still here when the fight is over.