55. Kate
Kate
Fifteen months later…
Late spring in Bayview always feels like a promise kept.
The sun was soft, the breeze warm, the earth rich with that green smell that only comes after rain. Amber bounded ahead of us up the hill, tail wagging like she’d been waiting all year for this exact morning.
We weren’t the same people who walked this trail last time.
I wasn’t pregnant and terrified.
Michael wasn’t divided between two worlds.
Brett wasn’t half-feral with stress and caffeine.
Claire was either trying to murder him or kiss him, depending on the hour.
But today?
Michael and Brett had baby backpacks strapped to their backs.
Two tiny boys lounged inside—chubby cheeks, sun hats, binkies bobbing in their mouths as they babbled at each other in complete gibberish, like they were plotting world domination in toddler code.
I slowed beside them, hands on my hips.
“Oh, look how the mighty have fallen,” I teased. “Big bad mafia men carrying diaper bags and baby bottles. I should take pictures and frame them.”
Brett shot me a look over his shoulder.
“Angel, don’t make me remind your sons who taught them their first swear word.”
Michael snorted. “That was you.”
“Allegedly,” Brett said, smug.
I nudged Michael. “Last time we hiked up this hill, you thought Brett was going to throw you off the side.”
Michael smirked at Brett. “Honestly, I still do.”
“Try me, boss man,” Brett muttered, adjusting his baby’s hat. “My godson bites. Hard.”
Claire caught up to us, sliding her arm through mine. “Are the boys still conspiring against us?”
“They’re definitely talking smack about us in their own baby babble. I’m sure of it.”
Amber barked in agreement.
When we reached the top of the hill, everything opened up—Bayview stretching beneath us like a painting. The river glinted. The casino towers shimmered. The music school construction site, visible from here, was nearly complete.
Life.
Real, beautiful, ordinary life.
Brett unbuckled his godsons from their carriers and hoisted one under each arm. The boys squealed, kicking their legs.
“Okay, tiny kings,” Brett said, turning them toward the world. “Listen up. Because this”—he gestured grandly—“is all yours.”
“Oh God,” I murmured, rubbing my forehead. “Here he goes?—”
He pointed toward the river.
“This is where your parents almost died fifty times but somehow didn’t.”
“NOT the version we agreed on telling them,” Michael warned.
Brett ignored him.
He swung to face the coastline.
“And over there? That’s where your mama used to outrun the cops on her bike like a badass?—”
“brETT.”
Claire folded her arms. “Sweetheart, they are one year old.”
“They gotta know their origins,” Brett insisted.
Then he turned dramatically, like some bargain-bin Shakespeare actor, “And once upon a time—years before you two were even twinkles—your dad met this crazy blonde… trouble in heels… wanted criminal vibes…”
I groaned. Claire groaned harder.
Michael buried his face in his hands. “Please stop.”
But Brett was unstoppable.
“And that, my little monsters, is when everything went to hell. Your parents blew up half the mob, ran across the country, faked a wedding, had a real wedding, made all of us cry?—”
Claire threw a pinecone at him.
It bounced off his shoulder.
“OW! Assault!”
“Keep running your mouth, storytelling prince,” she snapped.
He grinned at her.
The boys giggled.
Brett wasn’t finished—not even close.
Before we could strap the boys back into their carriers, he swooped them both up again, one under each arm like sacks of potatoes, and marched toward the rocky overlook on the opposite side of the ridge.
“Come on, tiny heirs,” he announced. “Your godfather’s gotta show you Phase Two of your destiny.”
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Oh God…”
Claire snorted. “Just let him get it out of his system.”
We followed Brett as he stopped at the cliff’s edge, where the valley spread out in a breathtaking sweep of green and silver. Rivers cut like veins. Pines stood like ancient kings. The land was wild, unclaimed—beautiful.
“That,” Brett said dramatically, pointing with a flourish, “is Guerrero territory.”
The boys gurgled like this was the greatest revelation of their infant lives.
“One day,” Brett continued, “you’re either going to burn it down or take it. Either-or. Up to you. My job,” he tapped his own chest, “is managing what we already have. Your job—someday—is gonna be conquering what we don’t.”
I put both hands on my hips.
“Brett.”
He froze like a kid caught drawing on the walls.
“Oh shit,” he whispered, looking down at the boys. “Guys… we’re in trouble with your mom.”
Michael laughed so hard he nearly choked.
Claire adjusted her ponytail. “Speaking of trouble… I hear Drew has a new woman.”
My breath caught for a moment—Drew. Gone but never forgotten.
Claire went on, “And rumor is he might be getting married.”
Brett’s spine locked up like someone hit pause on him.
“What?”
Claire smirked. “Uh-huh. Word gets around.”
Brett’s jaw dropped open. “Nope. Nope. Absolutely fucking not. Fine. If he’s got a new queen, then I guess that means we’ll just take their kid’s kingdom too. Steal it right out from under their freaking noses.”
The boys squealed, thrilled by his outrage.
“These two little gremlins?” Brett tapped their noses. “Oh, they’ll take it. Trust me. They’ll take everything.”
Michael muttered under his breath, “Please stop planning coups with one-year-olds.”
Brett turned back to the valley with a proud, dangerous grin.
“That’ll be your battles someday, boys.”
I slid in beside him and said as gently as possible, “What if Drew ends up having a girl? A princess?”
Everyone groaned at once.
Michael— “Oh hell.”
Claire— “Nope. Absolutely not.”
Brett—“Damn it!”
He clutched both toddlers tighter.
“If Drew has a girl,” he declared, “then these two are grounded until they’re thirty. I am NOT letting the next generation reenact the same bullshit.”
Claire folded her arms. “You act like you weren’t the problem, Mr. Heartbreaker.”
“I’m reformed,” Brett said, offended. “Mostly.”
“Barely,” I corrected.
He glared playfully. “Okay, okay, fine. But seriously—if Drew has a girl? We are installing steel bars on every window. Armed guards. Emotional support therapists. Medieval chastity belts hand delivered?—”
“brETT!” we all yelled.
He sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Next-gen war’s gonna be all kisses and heartbreak. Just like this one.”
He looked over at me then, something softened in his eyes.
“But at least,” he said quietly, “they’ll have something we never did.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“A world we didn’t have to bleed out for,” he replied. “A world that started with love instead of war.”
I felt Michael’s hand slip into mine.
Claire leaned her head on Brett’s shoulder.
The boys babbled, reaching for each other, chubby fingers intertwining.
And for a moment—just one perfect moment—everything felt right.
We’d survived.
We’d built something new.
And the future, wild and untamed and full of possibilities, stretched out before us like that valley below.
A kingdom waiting for our children to grow into it.
A legacy made not from violence…
but from love.
Michael kissed the top of my head. “Happy almost–Fourth of July, baby.”
I leaned into him. “The best one yet.”
Below us, Bayview shimmered.
Ahead of us, our future waited.
Behind us, the past finally slept.
And around us?
Family.
A strange one.
A messy one.
A loud, chaotic, bullet-dodging, fate-defying one.
But still—family.