He gave me a look, half amusement and half exhaustion. “You think that matters?”
“It’s the only thing that does,” I said.
We stood there for a minute, the three of us, not moving. Emilio, sensing the vibe, let out a soft coo and reached for the collar of Liam’s shirt, got a fistful, and yanked it to his mouth. Liam let him, then tilted his head, brushing his cheek over the downy patch on top of the baby’s skull.
There was no more drama to it than that. The world outside could come apart at the seams, but in here, this was the center.
The sound of the front door opening and closing announced Burke and Macon, followed by the not-quite-whispered “God, it’s colder than a snowman’s balls out there,” and the clatter of boots on the entry tile. Burke poked his head into the kitchen, wind-chapped and grinning. “You get the letter, Hoop?”
I held it up, then dropped it on the table. “You want to do the honors?”
Burke snorted, but he picked up the envelope, tore it open, and scanned the top page. “Cease and desist, allegations, custodial interference… Jesus, this is wordy. Are we supposed to be scared by the footnotes?” He handed it to Liam, who took it with a steady hand.
Liam sucked in a breath. “They know about Emilio.”
I nodded. “Probably always have.”
Macon came in behind Burke, unscrewing the cap on a thermos. “They gone?”
“For now,” I said.
Macon nodded, unscrewed the cap, and poured two fingers’ worth of black coffee into a mug. He set it on the table in front of me, then did the same for himself, and finally for Burke, who immediately dumped two spoonfuls of sugar in his and stirred.
Nobody said anything for a minute. We just stood, the four of us, in a triangle of kitchen and quiet and mutual respect.
Emilio started to fuss, but Liam bounced him twice on his hip and he subsided, cheek pressed against Liam’s collarbone.
After a while, Burke said, “What’s the play, boss?”
I looked at Rawley, who’d come in with the others and was now bracing his shoulders against the kitchen arch, watching us all like a chessboard.
“We keep the same shifts,” I said. “Double up on nights. No solo runs to town. And if any of them show up again, we call the lawyer before we call the sheriff.”
Rawley grunted his approval. “And after?”
I shrugged. “After, we make sure they know we’re not leaving. Not now, not ever.”
Burke raised his mug. “To not leaving,” he said.
We all drank, even Emilio, who got a bottle from the fridge and seemed content to gnaw at it while watching the proceedings.
After the others drifted out, Rawley lingered, eyes on Liam.
“You good?” he asked.
Liam nodded, but his voice was small. “I think so.”
Rawley gave him a long, hard look, then glanced at me. There was nothing said, but I felt the weight of it all the same: Watch him. Don’t let him drift. Keep him here, even when it gets ugly.
After Rawley left, I put my hand on Liam’s shoulder, squeezed.
He looked at me, tired but awake.
“We’re okay,” I said.
He nodded, and for the first time all morning, he looked like he believed it.
He made tea, the real kind, with the leaves and the steeping and all the fuss. I sat at the table, watched him pour the water, watched Emilio’s hands waving in the steam, watched the way the two of them moved together, orbiting the same invisible center.
