Page 90 of Till Orc Do Us Part
I rest one palm against the central beam—old, scarred, still standing.
As am I.
But now, not alone.
In the quiet, my brother’s voice returns:
“Some things are worth bleeding for.”
I close my eyes.
Rowan’s gaze flickers beneath my lids—fierce, aching, filled with truths neither of us dared speak aloud.
Jamie’s small hand in mine.
Trust.
Chosen, not forced.
Earned.
I let the breath shudder free.
Slow. Full.
I press my brow to the beam, let the cool wood steady me.
And in that moment, beneath the salt and the dark, I know:
This is what I was meant to build.
Not towers.
Not legacies.
A life.
And I will.
The next morning dawns cool and bright—sharp-edged sunlight cutting through sea mist.
I arrive early, shoulders still aching from the prior day’s work. The boardwalk hums with new energy already—crews gathering, tools clinking, coffee steaming in battered thermoses.
Jamie finds me before I make it to the fish shack.
He barrels toward me at full speed, curls flying, clutching something tight in his small fist.
“Mr. Drokhaz!” he calls.
I kneel to meet him. “Good morning, Jamie.”
He beams. “I made you something.”
From his hand, he produces a small round pin—metal, a bit lopsided, bright green paint scrawled over white.
HONORARY GREEN GIANT,the words read, shaky but bold.
My throat tightens.
