Page 34 of Huck Frasier
“You’re nothing like her, Marley.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Because she walked away from her daughters.” I squeezed her hand. “And you walk into fucking hell to save kids you’ve never even met.”
Her throat worked. “I wanted you to know. In case you ever saw me crack.”
“I already have,” I said. “And you still shine through it.”
Her breath hitched.
“I used to think love was supposed to be earned,” she said. “Like if I did enough, stayed strong enough, people would stick around. But you don’t make me earn it. You just… show up.”
“Every time,” I said.
She turned toward me, legs pulled under her, that fire coming back into her eyes.
“What about you?” she asked quietly. “What made you the guy who carries everyone else’s weight?”
I gazed into her eyes for a long time.
Then: “My mom was sick, too. Not the same way. Depression. Deep. Dark. Some days she couldn’t get out of bed. Others she’d clean the whole house three times and cry if a picture frame was crooked.”
Marley didn’t speak. Just listened.
“I learned to be steady because someone had to be. My dad bailed when I was twelve. I handled school, bills, and made sure she ate. Plus, my grandfather helped me. When she finally got help, it was too late for me to be a kid. So I joined the military.”
“Because you already knew how to survive,” Marley said.
I gave a slow nod.
She leaned into me, her head on my shoulder, and whispered, “We’re two kids who never got to be kids.”
“Yeah.”
“But we’re still here.”
“Still fighting.”
“Still choosing.”
I looked down at her. “So choose this. Stay. No more running.”
She tilted her chin up. “And only if you’re coming with me.”
I brushed my lips across her forehead. “Always.”
24
Marley
Ihad just gotten dressed when the knock came.
Three sharp raps. A pause. Then the door swung open.
“Hope you’re decent,” Lark called out, stepping inside like she owned the place. “Because I brought muffins and judgment.”
She froze when she saw me holding a mug and moving like I’d been hit by a truck.
