Page 53 of Tick Tock, Boom!

Hart had relocated to Cali with his Quiver, and Virgil followed, said he was done with death, left the demons behind. Passed the Chaplain cut over to Hellsing. The kid was a strange one to say the last. A wiseass with eyes like fire and a silence that unsettled most. He had another calling, but hell if I knew what it was. All I knew was he had better stop raiding my fridge or we were gonna have words.

Saddle stood like a statue behind Jameson, his presence as firm as the steel in his spine. Said he'd never leave that kid alone again, and he hadn't. He wasn’t back full-time as VP, had a horse ranch down South in Lafayette, and was living quietly, mostly cause if not, his Old Lady would have his head. But the respect for him was carried among the members, and it was thicker than blood. Just his presence alone reminded everyone who we were before Rancid fucked it all up.

As we sat around that table I had no idea what was in store for the Royal Bastards, let alone for me. After all these years I still thought of her. Still saw her in my dreams. There was nothing I could do to make life easier, I just lived with the burden every day. I had nothing to live for until Jameson arrived. Then I vowed to protect what he was building with my life. A life that honestly meant nothing. The faster I could get to hell, the better.

At least that's what I had fixated on. But I had no idea how wrong I was.

NATALIA

New Orleans was humid and thick with memories. It clung to my skin, to every breath I took as I stepped off the Greyhound with Gabriel. He was ten now, all limbs and stubborn curls, his eyes the same deep, haunted brown as his father’s. We didn’t speak much on the ride over. He'd been upset with me for taking him away from his friends and from the people he knew. And I was a mess of nerves and silent promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. But we were here. I had come home.

Scarlett had helped us in more ways than I could ever repay her. That woman had saved my life more than once. I didn’t think I’d ever get this far, but she pulled strings, made calls, and within a week, I had an interview at a local clinic. Nothing fancy, just a simple nursing job in the city. Long hours, but steady pay and decent benefits. And with Gabriel starting fifth grade, it was perfect timing.

I had saved quite a bit of money throughout the years, enough to give us a fresh start. So when we arrived in New Orleans, I was ready to find a home. For the first few nights, we stayed in a rundown motel off Claiborne Avenue. It was small and noisy, but safe. It gave us a place to rest while I began the hunt for something permanent.

On a Sunday morning, I nudged Gabriel awake with a soft hand on his back. "Come on, baby. Let’s go take a walk around the neighborhood. Maybe we’ll find a place that doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke."

He groaned into the pillow, rolling away from me. "I liked our old house better." He meant the small apartment above Scarlett and Wolf's garage.

"I know you did," I said gently. "But we’re not there anymore. We have to start over, and I need your help."

He finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Are we gonna stay here forever?"

I paused, brushing a curl from his forehead. "That’s what I’m hoping for."

He didn’t speak as we walked through the neighborhood later that afternoon, his little hand gripping mine just a bit too tight. The sun was high and heavy, casting golden light on weathered porches and rusting mailboxes. The streets were lined with oak trees, their moss-covered branches hanging low over the broken sidewalks.

Gabriel was quiet, his lips set in a stubborn line, but I saw the way he glanced at the houses, curious despite himself.

"What about this one?" I asked, pointing to a pale, yellow bungalow with blue shutters and a wraparound porch.

He shrugged. "Looks old."

"Old can be good," I said with a smile. "Like me."

That made him smirk, just a little. "You’re not old. Just bossy."

I laughed and ruffled his curls. "Takes one to know one."

We kept walking, and I let him lead the way for a while, letting his small feet choose the turns. He didn’t know it, but he led us exactly where we needed to go.

Back to the place that still haunted me. I needed to see it.

The street was almost unrecognizable. New pavement, new houses, new faces. But I knew the way like the palm of my hand. My heart beat in rhythm with every memory as I approached the end of the block.

And then I saw it. The house was different. Taller, cleaner, fresh paint and sturdy windows. It looked brand new, like someone had recently renovated it from top to bottom. But there was something familiar about the layout. The walkway, although cleaner and freshly paved, still followed the same path up to the front door. The one where he used to kiss me until my knees nearly gave out. And when I stepped through the gate, it hit me. That spot beneath the porch awning where he used to park his bike. That hadn’t changed. Not really.

He used to sit there shirtless, his long legs spread wide, oil-stained fingers holding a beer as he watched me with that slow, sinful smirk.

My whole chest squeezed with the ache of him.

I stepped up onto the porch, hands trembling. There was a sign staked in the yard.

FOR SALE.

It hit me like a punch to the gut. Maybe it was a brand-new build. Maybe someone had torn the old one down and started fresh. It didn’t look like the same house, but the bones of it felt familiar. As if whoever had designed it had followed the same path without even knowing why. I wondered who had bought it. Who had chosen to live here? Was it a couple? A family? Did they know the memories soaked into this ground, this porch, that front door?

I reached for the doorknob, expecting it to be locked, but to my surprise, it wasn’t. The real estate agent must’ve forgotten to lock it after a showing. I hesitated, heart thudding in my chest, then pushed the door open.

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