Page 96 of Falcon’s Forever

Good.

Cara:

Very good.

That's it. There’s no conversation about us, no request to see each other, and my chest still doesn't feel as tight as it did this morning. I don't need more than that tonight.

Rook's truck rolls through the gates. Harrier gets out complaining about something before it's even fully stopped. Digger's carrying exactly one cup of coffee toward the garage, having apparently taken me literally. Zip and Condor are arguing over camera placement on their way out of the clubhouse. Vulture stands on the porch watching all of it.

My brothers. My family.

For too long I thought carrying the weight meant standing in front of them, taking the first hit, making every decision alone. I don't get to do that right now even if I wanted to, and some ugly, honest part of me is starting to understand that not being allowed to is its own kind of relief. I walk toward the clubhouse instead of the tree line, no title attached to the walking, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, that feels like exactly enough for one day.

Chapter 14

Cara

Emily has been awake for about three hours when she informs us that she’s leaving the hospital. Not tomorrow. Not when the doctor clears her. Now.

I stare at her from the chair beside the bed. “You were shot yesterday.”

“I know,” Emily says.

“You had surgery.”

“I was there.”

I gesture toward her hand. “You’ve still got an IV.”

She looks at the line taped to her hand as if she’s only just noticed it. “That can come out.”

“The doctor might have opinions about that,” I point out.

“He already has too many opinions,” she mutters.

Frankie laughs from her place beside the window.

I glance over at her. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Frankie protests.

“Your face did.”

She widens her eyes. “My face is innocent.”

“Your face has never once been innocent,” I tell her.

Emily shifts against the pillows and winces. Neither Frankie nor I comment on it, but we both see it.

“Stop,” Emily says, catching us anyway.

I turn back to her. “Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I’m going to break.”

“Nobody thinks you’re going to break,” I assure her.

Emily folds her arms, careful of the IV. “Everyone keeps watching me.”