Page 59 of Borrowed Pain
"It's called staying alive," Michael said bluntly.
The debate spiraled, each side entrenched in valid but incompatible positions. I recognized the dynamic from failed FBI operations—good people with reasonable concerns, working at cross-purposes because they couldn't reconcile individual safety with systemic needs.
Ma McCabe stood, and the room went quiet. She walked to the tall windows, looking out at Georgetown's industrial landscape.
"You know," she said without turning around, "when the boys' father died, I had a choice. I could have insisted on keeping them safe at home, never letting them follow in his footsteps, and making sure they never faced the dangers that killed him." She paused. "Or trust that I'd raised them to make good choices about the battles worth fighting."
She turned back to the room, her gaze settling on each of her sons. "Marcus joined the fire department anyway. Michael chose SWAT. Matthew became a paramedic. All of you ran toward danger because that's who you are."
Her attention shifted to me. "And you left federal service because institutional politics were more dangerous to your soul than physical threats were to your body."
Her assessment was uncomfortably accurate. I nodded.
"So tell me," Ma McCabe continued, returning to her chair, "how is this different? How is asking Miles to step back from something that matters to his professional identity any different from me trying to keep my other sons away from the work that defines them?"
Her question silenced the room. Around the table, I watched four grown men process their mother's logic.
Marcus was the first to respond. "It's different because Miles didn't train for this kind of danger."
"Neither was I when I started investigating Lucia's death," I said quietly. "Training helps, but it's not everything. Sometimes conviction and desperation are more valuable than tactical expertise."
"Sometimes they get you killed," Michael countered.
Miles spoke in a steady voice. "And sometimes hiding from danger gets other people killed while you stay safely uninvolved. I've been carrying guilt about Iris for eighteen months because I didn't act on what I knew. I won't carry guilt about Patricia Hendricks and Tobias Rook for the rest of my life because I chose safety over justice."
The room was silent except for Charlie's soft snoring and distant freight traffic.
James spoke first. "What if we compromise? Federal resources for protection and official investigation, but Miles and Rowan stay here for now—under Matthew and Dorian's roof. Let thingscool down a few days before either of you step back into the field."
"Consultants with bodyguards," Dorian said dryly.
Alex added, "And digital security on every line. Michael's contacts can have a team here in minutes if anything shifts."
The dynamic shifted: not isolation, but protection through overwhelming support.
Marcus folded his arms, thinking it through. "That could work. Coordinated oversight, a pause to lower the temperature, and a hybrid plan where Miles stays involved in his area of expertise."
Michael still frowned. "It's dangerous."
"So is triage on a highway pileup," Matthew countered. "So is SWAT. So is running into a burning building."
Marcus gave a slow nod. "We all chose our risks. Maybe it's time to trust Miles to choose his. After we give the situation a little breathing room."
Ma McCabe smiled. "Then we're agreed," she said. "Family resources, federal support, and professional security. Miles gets to do what he needs to do to sleep at night."
"Thank you," I said. "All of you."
"Don't thank us yet," Michael said. "Thank us when we're all alive at the end of this."
The conversation splintered into tactical fragments. Overlapping voices of people who solved problems for a living filled the loft while they built a protective infrastructure around Miles.
I sat watching a family machine I'd never learned to operate. Miles belonged in the middle of it. Miles fit in like a missing puzzle piece. It was all natural and seamless, the kind of belonging I'd forgotten existed.
They were everything I'd never had. Everything I'd convinced myself I didn't need.
What happened when this crisis was over? When the immediate threat passed, and Miles no longer needed a partner for a dangerous investigation? Would I fade back into warehouse isolation while he returned to family dinners and therapeutic practice?
Miles had a life and a family. He had a professional identity that existed independently of whatever brief alliance we'd formed. I had evidence walls and podcast equipment and chronic hypervigilance that made long-term relationships nearly impossible.
