But underneath it is something heavier.
Perspective.
Fear.
The realization that she has been living in a hospital chair while I was pacing a cell, and we were both trapped in different kinds of helplessness.
“Jesus,” I mutter. My eyes find hers again. “You should’ve told me,” I say, quieter now.
“I know... but we couldn’t.”
Silence stretches between us, full of things neither of us has the energy to unpack right now. Then I notice the way she’s swaying slightly. The way her shoulders are set too rigid. The way her hands are trembling just enough that she’s hiding them in the sleeves of her sweater.
“How long since you slept?” I ask.
She gives a small, humorless huff. “I don’t actually remember.”
That does it.
Everything else falls away.
I step forward and pull her into me before she can protest, one arm firm around her back, the other cradling the back of her head. She stiffens for half a second, then melts, and it tells me exactly how close she is to the edge.
“I’m here,” I murmur into her hair. “You don’t have to hold it by yourself anymore.”
Her breath shudders against my chest. “I’m so tired, Will.”
“I know, Brightside. I know.” My hand moves up and down her spine in slow, grounding strokes. The club fades into background noise, and the world narrows to the fragile reality of her weight against me.
“We’ll go see him,” I say. “Right now. Together.” She nods against my shirt. “And you…” I add, tipping her chin up so she has to look at me, “… are going to eat something and sit down before you fall over. That’snotnegotiable.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. “Yes, sir.”
I huff a breath that almost passes for a laugh. “Don’t push it.” I take her hand, and this time, I don’t let go. We’re both trying not to smile, and we’re both doing a terrible job of it. The March air is cool, with the promise of heat still beneath it. The parking lot smells of exhaust, and the club is all around us in every direction. These people who showed up, who stood here, who did not go home and wait for the phone to ring.
I tuck her against my side and hold her there.
“Come on,” Sin says eventually, giving everyone a beat to collect themselves. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t move immediately. I stay exactly where I am, in the soft warmth of the day, the noise and the welcome weight of all of it, with Millie’s shoulder pressed under my arm, my father three feet away, my brothers around me, and I breathe in until my lungs are completely full.
Three days.
Charged, held, and cleared.
The case against me was dismantled by a man who followed the evidence the way it’s supposed to be followed, and by Ghost, who went somewhere beyond evidence into whatever dark architecture exists beneath it, pulling the truth up by its roots.
I owe them all a debt I’m not going to insult by counting.
For now, there is this.
The parking lot.
The club.
The weight of Millie’s hand finding mine and holding it without fanfare, without announcement, right here in front of everyone, where it has always belonged.
Deek appears at my other shoulder. “For the record,” he says, his voice dropping to something that is, not entirely, but almost sincere, “I was going to come in there and get you myself. I had a plan.” I look at him. “It was a very bad plan,” he acknowledges. “Dad talked me out of it.”
