Page 25 of My Orc Package Deal

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Jay had a future there with the hockey complex. Kardok is hot shit, playing for the Teal Terrors. We had roots there.” I rubbed my thumb along the condensation on my can. “But Abydos offered me a good job here. Steady work. Good pay.” I shrugged. “Couldn’t find that back in Bramblewood after the mine closed.”

Kesha nodded, her gaze distant. “Sometimes the practical choice is the right one.”

There was something in her voice—a tightness, a weight. I turned to study her. “What did you leave behind?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “When you moved here, I mean.”

She snorted, but it lacked her usual humor. “Debt, mostly. And the gnawing sense that I was always one bad month away from failing Milo, no matter how hard I tried.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I knew that feeling. The way it sat in your chest like a stone, heavy and unmovable. The way it made you second-guess every decision, every breath.

Before I could stop myself, my hand twitched toward hers.

I caught myself at the last second, my fingers brushing the back of her hand instead of taking it. The contact was electric, a spark that made my Kteer snarl in approval.

Kesha startled, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, without looking at me, she turned her hand palm-up and laced her fingers through mine.

My chest went tight.

“You’re not failing him,” I said, my voice rough. “Not here. Not anymore.”

She swallowed, her thumb tracing a slow circle over my knuckles. “I know.”

I squeezed her hand, just once. “I’m glad you’re here, Kesha. That we can…” I searched for the words. “Help each other.”

Her lips curved, soft and real. “Me too.”

For a moment, we just sat there, our hands tangled together, the sound of the ocean filling the space between us.

And for the first time in years, the weight in my chest felt lighter.

Like maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t just about survival.

Like maybe it could be about living.

We sat like that for a while longer, my hand still tangled with hers. The conversation drifted—easy, comfortable. She told me about the disastrous road trip here, the way Milo had insisted on narrating every historical marker they passed. I told her about the time Jay had convinced me to let him “help” frame a house and nearly nailed his own shoe to the subfloor.

Her laugh was bright and unguarded, and I found myself memorizing the sound.

I pointed out people from the wedding. Sylvik and his Mate, Brooke, setting up what looked like a full buffet under a canopy. Nikki and Sakkara and their daughter Emmy building a sand fortress with military precision while little Tova from Aswan’s family directed operations.

“Is there anyone on this island you don’t know?” Kesha asked, amused.

“Plenty—we’ve only been here since last autumn. But give it time. Small community.” I squeezed her hand once before letting go, reaching for the cooler. “Want another?”

“Please.”

Our fingers brushed again as I handed her the can, and this time neither of us pretended it was accidental.

Then the boys crashed back into our orbit like a pair of class-three hurricanes.

They were hot, sticky, covered in a fine layer of salt and sand that seemed to have worked its way into every crevice. Jay flopped onto the blanket with zero regard for the destruction he was causing. Milo followed, slightly more careful but just as sweaty, sand in his tight curls.

“I’m starving,” Jay announced to the sky.

“Juice,” Milo added, breathless. “Please.”

Kesha laughed, already reaching into the cooler. “Alright, alright. Let me get organized here.”