Page 122 of Wells

Reeves nods slowly, then pushes his chair back.

"Next time, don't wait six months to tell me."

"Noted."

The brothers start to leave. Rhodes claps Ridge on the shoulder as he passes. Keller pauses at the door, glancing back at me.

"Three months. That's real, Wells."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod.

Cain is the last to leave. He stops next to my chair, his voice low.

"You did the right thing. Bringing it to us."

"We're family. I was always going to tell y'all."

He leaves without another word.

The door closes. Ridge and I sit in the quiet. I pull the cigarette from my pocket again and set it on the table between us.

Ridge looks at it, then at me.

"You good?"

I think about Cera, about the mornings I wake up and reach for my phone before I remember I don't get to call her anymore. I wonder if she would be proud of me. She always hated my smoking.

"Getting there."

Ridge nods, then stands and buttons his jacket. "The Tchoupitoulas center opening's still Sunday?"

"Yep. A few setbacks getting the final CO, but it came through this afternoon, as a matter of fact. Party is Sunday and open for the kids to come after school on Monday."

"And you're really going to stand up in front of everyone to speak on behalf of Argentum? I still can't believe it."

"I am. I'm proud of this and excited that it has all come together."

He shakes his head, close to a smile. "You've come a long way, bro. I'm really happy for you. I can tell you're working hard, and it's paying off. Mom would love what you're doing."

The mat is in its usual spot, second row from the back, close to the window. None of my brothers know I've been coming to yoga for three months since I quit smoking. It's probably the single thing that helped me kick the habit.

The studio smells like lavender and wood polish. It's become familiar now. I settle into an easy pose, palms resting on my knees, and let my shoulders drop.

Every Tuesday evening, the same room, the same routine. It has done more for me than a decade of screens and silence ever did.

I close my eyes and let the breath move. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The tightness in my chest loosens. The press conference sits somewhere in the back of my mind. If anyone had asked me a year ago if I would have spearheaded a charity, much less put myself front and center to promote it, I would have laughed in their face.

Around me, the room fills, mats unroll and water bottles hit the floor with soft thuds. Someone laughs near the door. The air shifts as more bodies settle into the space.

"Good evening." The voice cuts through me like a blade.

It's not the normal instructor's voice or any voice I expected to hear again.

My breath stops. My hands tighten against my knees, fingers pressing hard into bone. The air in the room doesn't move. The sound around me fades to nothing.

I know that voice. I know the cadence of it. The warmth underneath the instruction. I know it from calls that ran until three in the morning and from an office where I sat across from her and pretended I didn't want to touch her.

I lift my head. It's Cera.