Page 85 of The Storm
“Yes.” Peter frowned. “Ivo was my best friend.”
Of course he was. The two men had loved twin sisters. They had been family. They had worked the same farm in Vilnius and written blessings for each other’s children. Peter and Ivo had probably been nearly as close as Leo and Max.
In that moment, Max understood—truly understood—the magnitude of Peter’s loss.
Mate. Sister. Brother. Children.
Peter had lost everything that day. The fact that he wasn’t a raving monster was a miracle.
His uncle was overdue for grace. What good did it do to hold on to resentment? Nothing new or better could come from it.
Grace.
“I would like to hear more about my father when we come next summer.” Max reached out his hand. “If you would be willing, Uncle.”
Peter hesitated, but he took Max’s outstretched hand and nodded.
“Perhaps, if you would rather not speak of it, you could write it down.”
“That would be better,” Peter said. “I can do that.”
“Be well.” Max carefully slid his father’s sword back in the scabbard, brushing a hand over the protective magic bound into the sheath. He could see from the workmanship that the scabbard had taken many hours to create. “I’ll… send letters about the baby when I can.”
“And about yourself,” Peter said. “And Renata.”
“If you wish.”
“Yes.” Peter nodded again. “I would like that.”
They loaded the rest of the truck and pulled away just after the midday meal. Max slid behind the driver’s seat and reached a hand out for Renata. Kyra was already sleeping in the back seat, and Leo was listening to music on his headphones.
“Ready to go home?” Renata asked.
Max kissed her knuckles before he put the truck in gear and pulled away from the place that had been his home. A place that he hoped might become a home again.
“I’m with my family,” he said. “I’m always home.”
THE END
* * *
