Page 61 of Borrowed Pain
"Then hear this: it's been four years since I let anyone in. I've chosen you."
Matthew called from the living room. "Miles, Rowan, we need you in here."
We settled back into our chairs, and Miles reached for my hand. The day wore on with tactical planning. Marcus had filled three pages with organizational charts, and Michael's phone buzzed with responses from federal contacts. James cross-referenced jurisdictional authorities, while Alex mapped digital security requirements.
They assigned me roles I'd never expected—liaison with surviving Bureau contacts, consultant on federal bureaucracy, and the resource person who understood how investigative agencies actually functioned versus how they claimed to function.
Ma McCabe, quietly observing while tactical planning accelerated, finally spoke again. "James, what's the legal framework for civilian consultation with federal agencies?"
"Depends on the agency and nature of consultation," James replied. "If they classify it as witness protection with expert advisory roles, there's significant precedent. Especially if the consultants have relevant professional credentials."
"Which we do," I said. "Miles's therapeutic expertise and my federal background."
Ma McCabe nodded as if it confirmed something she'd been calculating. "So officially, Miles and Rowan are consulting experts under federal protection. Unofficially, they continue investigating with family support and resources."
"That's the framework," Marcus agreed. "Legitimate cover and professional oversight, but operational independence within defined parameters."
I caught the phrasewithin defined parametersand recognized the compromise—not unlimited freedom, but not restrictive custody either. Negotiated autonomy that acknowledged both professional necessity and personal safety.
"Parameters such as?" Miles asked.
"No solo operations," Michael said immediately. "No contact with sources without backup. Regular check-ins."
"And family notification of operational plans," Ma McCabe said with maternal authority. "I need to know my son isn't planning anything stupid without telling someone."
Miles looked around the table at faces united by affection and professional concern. "Those parameters are acceptable."
"And Rowan?" Ma McCabe turned to me. "You understand what you're agreeing to?"
"I understand that I'm not working alone anymore," I said. "That means I'm accountable to the team."
"Good." Ma McCabe smiled. "My boys don't do anything halfway. If you're standing with Miles, you're standing with all of us."
They were adopting me—not only as Miles's chosen investigative partner, but into a family that solved problems together.
"What about Miles's practice?" Matthew asked quietly. "He can't see clients while this is active."
Miles spoke up. "I've already cancelled this week's appointments. I told everyone I had a family emergency, but I won't hide the truth. When this resolves, I have to tell them someone monitored their sessions, and some of them will never forgive me."
"You didn't know," Alex said.
"Doesn't matter. I promised them confidentiality. I failed to protect it." He stared at his hands. "The state licensing board will probably open an investigation."
Marcus looked up from his legal pad. "We'll handle the licensing issues when they arise. Right now, your safety is the priority."
Charlie chose that moment to wake from his post-meal nap, stretching luxuriously before padding over to investigate whether the afternoon's conversations had produced any dropped food. He made the rounds of everyone's legs, tail wagging.
Ma McCabe spoke up again. "There's one more thing I have to say. Dinner. Sunday dinner, next week. All of you."
"Ma," Miles started, "if the situation is still active—"
"Then we'll have Sunday dinner with enhanced security protocols," she said firmly. "Crisis or no crisis, our family eats together."
I thought about my own family—scattered across continents, connected by obligation rather than affection, gathering only for funerals and milestone birthdays. The idea of weekly dinners and choosing to maintain connections despite busy schedules and competing priorities was both foreign and intensely appealing.
"You'll come?" Ma McCabe asked me directly.
"If you want me there."
