7. Face the Fire
Chapter 7
Face the Fire
Liam
C harlie shuffles back into the courtroom, his shoulders hunched and jaw tight. Two bailiffs flank him, their hands hovering near their belts. The chains around his wrists clink with each step, a metallic reminder of what he’s become. What he always was.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it when we were younger. We shared everything back then—baseball cards, comic books, even Grams’s chocolate chip cookies. Every Friday night, he’d crash on my bedroom floor, and we’d stay up talking about girls and cars until Grams yelled at us to quiet down.
His family had money, but he never acted like it mattered. Not until senior year. That’s when things started changing. Little comments here and there about how some people were beneath him. How his dad said certain families weren’t worth associating with.
I shake my head, remembering the day he first asked Hannah out. It was only a few short weeks after Hannah and I broke up. The way he’d smirked when she said yes, like he’d won some kind of prize. I’d brushed off the unease in my gut, told myself I was just jealous because no matter what happened between Hannah and me, I’d always love her.
I foolishly assumed it would be one date, maybe two. That Hannah only said yes to get back at me. But then one date turned into several and the next thing I knew, they were engaged. I lost my best friend and the love of my life within a matter of months.
The signs were there. The way he’d hover too close to Hannah when other guys looked her way. Especially me. How he’d “joke” about how she belonged to him, hinting that she was property. I’d watched from a distance, but never once let myself believe he’d ever actually hurt her.
My hands curl into fists. I’d convinced myself he was just protective, that he had her best interests at heart. Every muscle in my body screams to stand up, to put myself between him and Hannah. To shield her and Cam from those cold eyes that scan the room like a predator seeking prey.
But I stay seated. This isn’t my fight. Not yet .
Hannah sits ramrod straight at the plaintiff’s table, her spine stiff as steel. Even from behind, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremor in her hands as she clasps them in her lap. Cam leans against her arm, his young face set in a mask of determination that mirrors my own.
My son . The thought still hits like a punch to the gut. Every time I look at him, I see pieces of myself—the stubborn set of his jaw, the protective instinct that burns in his eyes. Things I would have recognized years ago had I met him sooner. Charlie was right to hide him if he never wanted me to know.
Judge Matthews clears her throat, commanding attention. “Having reviewed all evidence and testimony presented, I’m prepared to issue my ruling.” She peers over her reading glasses at Charlie. “Mr. Fisher, I trust you can maintain your composure this time?”
Charlie’s lip curls, but he nods stiffly. His lawyer whispers something in his ear.
“Very well.” The judge shuffles her papers. “In the matter of Fisher versus Fisher, regarding petition for divorce, I find clear and convincing evidence of physical abuse and endangerment. The marriage is hereby dissolved.”
A soft gasp escapes Hannah. Her shoulders sag slightly—relief or exhaustion, I can’t tell.
“Regarding custody of the minor child, Cameron Fisher,” Judge Matthews continues, “I award full physical and legal custody to the plaintiff, Hannah Fisher.”
Charlie surges forward in his chair. “You can’t—”
“Mr. Fisher.” The judge’s voice cracks like a whip. “One more outburst and you’ll be held in contempt. Am I clear?”
His father reaches out and pulls at Charlie’s arm. He subsides, but his eyes burn with barely contained rage. I shift forward, ready to move if those chains aren’t enough to hold him.
“The defendant will be granted supervised visitation rights upon completion of his current sentence and mandatory anger management courses.” Judge Matthews adjusts her glasses. “Furthermore, I order monthly child support payments of two thousand three hundred dollars, plus alimony of sixty-five hundred dollars, to commence immediately from Mr. Fisher’s assets.”
“This is bullshit!” Charlie explodes, chains rattling as he lurches to his feet. “She’s lying! She’s nothing but trailer trash who—”
“Mr. Fisher!” The judge pounds her gavel. “You are in contempt, and fined ten thousand dollars. Bailiff, remove the defendant!”
Charlie struggles against the bailiffs, spewing vitriol. “You think you’ve won? This isn’t over! That boy isn’t even mine—tell them, Hannah! Tell them how you spread your legs for—”
Cam bolts from his seat, shoving past Hannah’s reaching hands. He runs for the doors, shoulders heaving with sobs.
My son . This time the thought propels me into action.
I’m on my feet and moving before conscious thought takes hold, shouldering past spectators and ignoring the continued commotion behind me. My dress shoes slip slightly on the polished floor as I burst into the hallway.
Cam stands near a window, forehead pressed against the glass, shoulders shaking. The sight stops me cold. How many times did I stand just like that after Mom died? How many times did I hide my tears, trying to be strong for everyone else?
I approach slowly, giving him time to hear my footsteps. “Hey, kid.”
He stiffens but doesn’t turn around. “Go away.”
“Can’t do that.” I move closer, close enough to see his reflection in the glass. Tears streak his cheeks, but his jaw is set in that stubborn way I know too well. “Not when you’re hurting.”
“Why do you care?” His voice cracks. “You never cared before.”
That hurts but I don’t let it stop me. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He whirls to face me, eyes blazing. “Where were you? All those years, where were you when he—when he—” His voice breaks and fresh tears spill over.
“Cam.” I drop to one knee, bringing us eye to eye. “I didn’t know. About any of it. If I had—”
“Is it true?” He cuts me off. “What he said in there. Are you...” He swallows hard. “Are you my real dad?”
The moment stretches between us, heavy with thirteen years of secrets and lies. I could deny it. Could give him time to process everything else before adding this burden. But I’ve hidden from the truth long enough.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” The words come out rough. I clear my throat and try again. “But Cam, I swear I didn’t know until a few months ago. When I saw you that night, the night your mom almost—” I stop, unable to say the words out loud.
His eyes search my face, looking for lies or excuses. I force myself to meet that gaze, to let him see the raw truth in my eyes.
“You look just like me,” I say softly. “If only I’d met you sooner. Maybe I would’ve seen it. Should have asked questions, should have—”
“You’re just like him.” Cam’s voice is barely a whisper. “Charlie. You both left us.”
The comparison hits like a knife to the gut. Because he’s right. In running away from my fears, in pushing Hannah toward Charlie, I’d abandoned them both. Just like my father abandoned us after Mom died.
“You’re right.” I fight to keep my voice steady. “I screwed up. Made the biggest mistake of my life when I let your mom go. But Cam.” I reach for his shoulder, relieved when he doesn’t pull away. “I’m here now. And I want to make it right, if you’ll let me.”
He stares at me for a long moment, tears still sliding down his cheeks. “I don’t know if I can.”
“That’s okay.” My heart aches, but I force a smile. “We can take it slow. Whatever you need.”
Footsteps approach—Hannah, looking shaken but determined. “Cam? Honey, are you okay?”
He nods, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Can we go home?”
“Of course.” She wraps an arm around his shoulders, then looks at me. Something passes between us—understanding, maybe. Or forgiveness. “I should get him home. It’s been... a lot.”
I stand, my knee protesting the movement. “Yeah, of course.” But I can’t let them walk away, not without asking. “Could I... would it be okay if I saw you both again? Maybe we could talk?”
Hannah’s eyes soften. She looks down at Cam, leaving the decision to him.
He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. I guess that’d be okay.”
Relief floods through me, making my knees weak. “Thank you.”
I watch them walk away, Hannah’s arm still around Cam’s shoulders. They look small against the massive courthouse doors, but strong too. Survivors.
My family . The thought rises unbidden, full of hope and fear and possibility. Maybe this time I can get it right. Maybe this time I can be the man they deserve.
The holding room doors burst open behind me, and Charlie’s voice rings out one last time as the bailiffs drag him past. “This isn’t over! You hear me? This isn’t fucking over!”
I turn slowly, meeting his hate-filled gaze. He sees me and his face contorts with rage. “You! This is your fault Mutter! You think you can take my family? You’ll pay for this! I won’t rest until—”
The bailiffs haul him around a corner, his threats echoing off marble walls. But the look in his eyes lingers in my mind. A promise of violence to come.
Let him try . My hands curl into fists. This time, I won’t run. This time, I’ll protect what’s mine.
I walk out of the courthouse into bright spring sunshine. The world looks different somehow—sharper, more real. Like I’m truly awake for the first time in years.
I slide behind the wheel of my truck, the familiar smell of leather and motor oil filling my lungs. I turn toward home. Toward my family.
Toward whatever comes next.
Charlie’s threats echo in my mind as I drive, mixing with memories of Hannah’s scars and Cam’s tears. The road ahead won’t be easy. There’s so much damage to repair, so many wounds to heal.
But for the first time in thirteen years, I feel hope. Real, tangible hope that blooms in my chest like the spring flowers dotting the roadside.
This time will be different . I promise silently. This time, I’ll get it right .
The sun sits high on the horizon as I pull into the shop’s driveway, painting the world in shades of gold and shadow. A perfect metaphor for the day—light and dark, victory and threat, endings and beginnings all wrapped together.
I step out of the truck, keys jingling in my hand, and look toward Hannah’s parents’ old house just down the road. A light glows in an upstairs window—Cam’s room, probably.
My son . The thought doesn’t hurt quite as much this time. Instead, it fills me with determination.
Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.
This time, I won’t let them down.
And if I do it right, I just might get the family I always wanted.
The door creaks as I step out onto the back porch, beer bottle cold against my palm. Inside, the homestead sits quiet—too quiet for a house usually bursting with the chaos of seven brothers. But after today’s court hearing, I need this stillness.
The spring air holds a hint of summer’s promise, carrying the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and blooming wildflowers from the fields beyond our property. Chase has worked the farm and this year’s crops are already starting to sprout. Before long there’ll be corn stalks for as far as the eye can see.
Stars pierce the darkness overhead, countless pinpricks of light scattered across the velvet sky. My gaze drifts to the old porch swing where a familiar figure sits, her silver hair catching the moonlight.
“Beautiful night,” Grams says, patting the space beside her. Steam rises from the cup of tea cradled in her weathered hands. “Join me?”
I settle onto the swing, the aged wood groaning beneath my weight. The gentle back-and-forth motion soothes something raw inside me, like it did when I was a kid seeking refuge from the world. Back then, Grams would find me here after Dad’s disappointments or the endless fights between my brothers.
We sit in companionable silence, listening to the crickets and watching fireflies dance across the yard. But I know this kind of quiet with Grams. It’s the calm before one of her stories or lectures—the ones that somehow always cut straight to the heart of whatever’s eating at me.
“Your granddad loved nights like this,” she finally says, her southern Ohio accent thickening with memory. “He’d sit right where you are now, plannin’ the next day’s work at the shop.” She takes a sip of tea, her eyes far away. “He would’ve been so proud to see what you’ve done with it.”
I take a long pull from my beer, letting the cold liquid wash down my throat. “The shop was dying when he passed. Couldn’t let that happen.”
“No.” Her voice carries a knowing edge. “You couldn’t. Because that’s who you are, Liam. You’ve carried this family’s weight since you were barely more than a boy.”
The truth of her words settles heavy in my chest. I remember those early days after Mom died. Dad was lost in his grief, leaving—at that time—three boys to raise themselves while he ran and found temporary comfort in other women, creating more boys that he didn’t raise. I was the oldest. Someone had to step up.
I was only three when Mom died. Cancer. She found out she was sick when she was pregnant with Garret. Dad begged her to save her own life, to do whatever it took to survive. He said they could always make more babies. Mom was having none of that. She chose Garret’s life over her own and refused treatment. She died right after he was born.
Within months, Dad started dating Christina, Chase and Christian’s mother. He even went as far as to move her into the house. She wasn’t nice to us, jealous because she knew Dad’s heart would always belong to my mom. She left right after Chase and Christian were born. Said she couldn’t handle twins. But that was a lie. Even at five I saw it. All she wanted was Dad’s heart. And since he wasn’t giving her that, she chose drugs.
Monika, Ash’s mom, came next. She left Ash in favor of finding a better life elsewhere. She later came back, bringing with her a daughter from another relationship, Alvara. We’d taken her in and treated her just like one of us. We may not have shared blood, but she was our sister all the same. She lived with us for several years before Monika showed back up and took her away. Ash still keeps in contact with his half-sister but the rest of us haven’t seen her years.
Then there was Heidi, Mac’s mom. She stuck around the longest before she finally caught on that Dad would never love her. She stuck around until Mac was about five. Just up and left one day, forever scarring my youngest brother.
Four women, seven sons, and Dad didn’t raise any of us. Grams did that with Granddad’s help until he passed.
So, yeah. I had no choice but to step up and take care of my brothers. My family. As the oldest, it was my responsibility.
“Look at it now,” Grams continues, “a thrivin’ business that supports this entire family and then some. The best auto shop in three counties. And let’s not forget about the custom motorcycles and racing. It’s more than your Grandad ever imagined possible.” Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “You can rest now, Liam. You’ve done enough.”
The beer bottle dangles between my fingers as I stare out into the darkness. “Am I a good man, Grams?” The question escapes before I can stop it, raw and honest in the night air. “I don’t feel like one most days. I’ve made so many mistakes.”
She laughs softly, the sound warm and just as familiar as the porch swing’s gentle creak. “We all do, boy. Making mistakes is bein’ human. It’s what we do after those mistakes that matters.”
I think of Hannah in that courtroom today, her voice steady despite the terror in her eyes as she recounted years of abuse. Abuse that might never have happened if I hadn’t pushed her away, convinced myself she’d be better off with Charlie’s money and status than my uncertain future.
“You’ve always assumed you were just like your father,” Grams says, cutting through my dark thoughts. “And you are, in many ways. Kind, caring, sensitive heart—loves hard and forever.” She sets her tea aside, turning to face me fully. “But you’ve got somethin’ your father doesn’t have. Fight. You fight. You don’t give up on those you love or from doin’ what’s right.”
Her words hit me like a slap upside the head, stirring memories of every battle I’ve fought. Keeping the shop alive. Raising my brothers. Never giving up on Christian when he turned to drugs—multiple times. Protecting this family through countless storms.
But I gave up on Hannah. Walked away when she needed me most.
“So fight,” Grams says firmly, as if reading my thoughts. Her eyes, sharp despite her age, pin me in place. “Fight for what matters. Fight for who matters.”
The night air suddenly feels charged with possibility. In the distance, a whip-poor-will calls, its lonely song echoing across the fields. I drain the last of my beer, letting Grams’s words sink deep into my bones.
“I see the way you stare down the road, hopin’ to catch a glimpse of her.” She continues softly. “Always searchin’ for that girl you fell in love with at sixteen. That girl is still there, underneath all that pain. But she’s also somethin’ more now—stronger, fiercer.” A knowing smile touches her lips. “Like steel forged in fire.”
Like steel forged in fire. The phrase resonates through me, perfectly capturing the Hannah I saw today. Standing tall despite her fear, refusing to let Charlie break her spirit.
“And that boy.” Grams shakes her head. “I see how he is with her. So much like you at that age. Trying to carry the world on his shoulders.”
Cam. My son. The thought still hits hard enough to steal my breath every time. Twelve years of his life gone, spent watching his mother suffer while I remained oblivious. The guilt threatens to choke me.
The porch swing rocks slowly as I consider her words. Through the kitchen window, I catch glimpses of movement—Warren washing dishes, Mac slouched at the table with a beer and Sophia beside him laughing at something he said. My brothers—my responsibility for so long.
But maybe Grams is right. Maybe it’s time to fight for something else. Someone else.
“You know what your father’s real weakness was?” Grams asks, breaking into my thoughts. “Not that he loved too much, but that he was afraid to love at all after your mother died. Afraid of the pain, so he never let himself heal.” She reaches up, her palm cool against my cheek. “Don’t make the same mistake.”
The night stretches around us, full of possibility and warning. Just down the road, Hannah and Cam are trying to rebuild their lives in that old house. Trying to find their way forward after everything they’ve endured.
Fight , Grams said. Fight for who matters .
I stand, the porch boards creaking under my feet. The empty beer bottle clinks as I set it aside, decision crystallizing in my mind. Tomorrow, I’ll go to Hannah’s house. Offer to help with repairs, create an opening to spend time with Cam. Take that first step toward whatever future might be possible.
“Grams?” I turn back to her, something loosening in my chest. “Thank you.”
She waves me off with a smile, but I catch the gleam of tears in her eyes. “Go. Be the man I know you are.”
After leaning down and giving her a kiss on the cheek, I leave her on the porch, her presence steady as the stars overhead. Inside, the house feels different somehow—not quite so heavy with responsibility. My brothers’ voices drift from the kitchen where they’ve dug into the cookies Grams baked today, the familiar soundtrack of our shared life.
But for the first time in years, I don’t feel trapped by it. Don’t feel the weight of being their protector pressing down on my shoulders. Instead, I feel the stirring of something new. Something that tastes like hope.
Fight for who matters .
Tomorrow, I will.