Page 24 of Friar
“And you found us,” Friar said, tracing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb.“Found me.”
“I did.”I turned to look at him, taking in his profile against the darkening sky.The strong line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, the way his hair caught the last light of day.“I never expected it to lead here.To this porch.To you.”
He lifted our joined hands, pressing his lips to my knuckles in a gesture so gentle it made my heart stutter.“Regrets?”
“No,” I said without hesitation.“I’ve spent my whole life living by other people’s rules, fitting into the box they made for me.My parents weren’t as strict as my aunt and uncle, but they did have a lot of rules I needed to follow.For the first time, I’m making my own choices.”
“Even though Beast gave us a deadline and made you feel unwelcome?”Friar asked, his voice dropping lower.“Even with all the uncertainty?”
I rested my free hand on my stomach.“This baby is the most certain thing in my life right now.Everything else…” I shrugged.“We’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Friar said, his eyes following the movement of my hand.“We will.”
The word hung between us -- we.Not you, not I.We.As Friar watched me, I noticed a softening, a clarity I hadn’t seen before.In the gathering darkness, with the first stars appearing overhead and the chorus of crickets rising around us, I saw his resolution that I would be his no matter what came our way -- saw it in the set of his shoulders, the steadiness of his gaze, the way his hand tightened protectively around mine.A lot of things might still be uncertain, but at least we would figure it out together.
* * *
I jerked awake with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs.The unfamiliar shadows of the spare bedroom swirled around me, momentarily disorienting in their strangeness.Sweat dampened my hairline and chilled against my skin as the nightmare’s grip slowly loosened.Uncle Pete’s face, contorted with rage, still lingered behind my eyelids when I blinked.In the dream, he’d been standing over me, Bible in hand, reading verses about the wages of sin while Aunt June packed away all the baby supplies Friar had bought.I’d tried to stop them, but my voice had disappeared, my body frozen as they dismantled the future I’d begun to imagine.
I pushed myself up against the headboard, drawing my knees to my chest as I tried to steady my breathing.The digital clock on the nightstand cast a red glow across the room -- 3:49 AM.Too early to be awake, too late to easily fall back asleep.I rubbed my hands over my face, wiping away the lingering dampness of fear-sweat.
A soft glow spilled from beneath the door, a strip of warm light against the dark floor.Friar was still up.The realization brought both relief and concern.I slipped from the bed, the wooden floor cool beneath my bare feet, and pulled on the oversized flannel shirt I’d taken to wearing over my pajamas.It was Friar’s, though he hadn’t commented when I’d started borrowing it.Something about wearing it made me feel safer, more grounded.
I padded down the hallway, following the light to the living room.The door was partially open, and through the gap, I could see Friar sitting on the couch, hunched over the coffee table.A single lamp cast his shadow large against the far wall, stretching and warping his familiar silhouette into something almost mythic.
I pushed the door open wider, the hinges creaking softly.Friar looked up, his hands never pausing in their work.Spread across the coffee table were the disassembled pieces of a handgun, gleaming with oil in the lamplight.His fingers moved over them with practiced ease, cleaning, inspecting, reassembling with methodical precision.
“Hey,” he said, his voice rough, as if he hadn’t used it in hours.“Everything okay?”
I leaned against the doorframe, suddenly self-conscious in my sleep-rumpled state.“Nightmare,” I admitted.“Saw the light on.”
Friar nodded, returning his attention to the gun parts.His fingers moved deftly, each piece of the weapon finding its proper place with a soft click.“Want to talk about it?”
I stepped fully into the room, drawn by the quiet intimacy of the moment -- just us, awake in the small hours when the rest of the world slept.“It was about my uncle and aunt,” I said, sinking onto the far end of the couch.“They were taking everything away.All the baby things.Quoting scripture about sin while they did it.”
Friar’s jaw tightened.The smell of gun oil hung in the air, sharp and distinctive.“They can’t hurt you anymore,” he said.“Not while I’m around.”
I drew my knees up, wrapping my arms around them.“I know.It’s just… hard to shake the feeling that all of this could disappear.That I could end up alone again.”
The spring mechanism clicked into place beneath Friar’s fingers.He reached for a small brush, running it along the barrel with precise strokes.“You’re not alone,” he said simply.
“Why are you cleaning your gun at three in the morning?”I asked, changing the subject before my emotions could get the better of me.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.“Couldn’t sleep.This helps me think.”He gestured to the disassembled weapon.“Always found it calming.The order of it.Everything has its place, its purpose.No gray areas.”
I watched his hands -- strong, capable hands that worked with such certainty.The same hands that had held mine on the porch earlier, that had rested protectively over my stomach more than once.“What were you thinking about?”
He was quiet for a long moment, his focus seemingly on the piece he was cleaning.When he finally spoke, his voice was pitched lower than usual.“Fatherhood.What kind of father I’d be.”
The admission hung in the air between us, weighted with vulnerability I hadn’t expected.I studied his profile in the dim light -- the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows as he concentrated.“You’re worried about that?”
“My own father wasn’t exactly a shining example,” he said, the words measured, careful.“And the club life… it’s complicated.Dangerous sometimes.”He continued working, the metal components coming together piece by piece.“Not exactly the stable environment kids are supposed to have.”
“I think children need love more than stability,” I said softly.“Safety more than perfection.”
“You say that now.Might feel different once the baby’s here.”
The implication was clear -- once the baby was here, I might change my mind about him, about us.About the life he could offer.“Do you regret it?”I asked, echoing the question he’d asked me on the porch.“Letting me stay?Claiming us?”
