Page 75 of Penalty Kiss
"I'm a firefighter, not a cop," Scott points out.
"Details," Mrs. Henderson waves dismissively. "You're official enough.”
The laughter that follows feels like medicine—warm and healing and exactly what both Tara and I needed after the stress of the day.
And just like that, the conversation shifts — not prying deeper, but circling Tara in the only way this town knows how.
"You know what?" Tara says, looking around the room at these people who showed up without being asked, who brought food and comfort and unwavering support. "This is exactly what I needed tonight."
"Good," Mrs. Henderson says, unscrewing the cap on her thermos. "Because now you're stuck with us."
"The terrible fate of all Cedar Falls residents," Levi says solemnly. "Forced belonging."
"Could be worse," Tara murmurs, but she's smiling.
"How?" Vicky asks.
"I could be facing this alone."
The words hang in the air, simple but profound. Because that's what this is really about—not the scarf or the threats or even the complicated family drama. It's about the fact that for the first time in her life, Tara doesn't have to handle everything by herself.
I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back.
"Never alone," I say quietly, meant just for her but loud enough that everyone hears.
"Never," Mrs. Henderson agrees firmly. "Cedar Falls takes care of its own."
And looking around this room—at Lily and Levi with their unshakeable partnership, at Scott trying to pretend he's notthinking about Jamie, at Vicky and Mrs. Henderson treating Tara like family they've known for years—I realize something.
This isn't just about protection or loyalty or small-town values. This is about love. Messy, complicated, unconditional love that doesn't require blood or legal documents or perfect understanding.
This is what family actually looks like.
After everyone leaves—pizza boxes emptied, Mrs. Henderson's "medicinal" tea significantly depleted, promises extracted that Tara will call if anything else happens—we're finally alone.
Tara kicks off her shoes and curls up on the couch, looking more relaxed than she has all day.
"That was nice," she says.
"Nice?" I settle beside her, pulling her feet into my lap for an impromptu massage. "That was a full-scale invasion of privacy disguised as emotional support."
"Exactly," she sighs contentedly as my thumbs work at a pressure point. "I've never had people just... show up like that. With food and terrible advice and genuine caring."
"I’m starting to realize that," I murmur, working at a particularly tense spot that makes her melt deeper into the cushions. "Population: however many busybodies it takes to fix your problems."
"Is that what they were doing? Fixing my problems?"
I pause in my massage, considering. "No. They were letting you know you don't have to fix them alone."
Her eyes go soft, that expression I'm learning to love—the one that means I've managed to say exactly the right thing without trying.
"This is what you're protecting," I say quietly, gesturing around the room that still smells like pizza and friendship. "This life you've built. These people who chose you."
She nods, her voice barely above a whisper. "And now they could get hurt because of me."
"Hey." I abandon her feet to cup her face, making her look at me. "Nobody's getting hurt on my watch. And if your father or your cousin want to come for you, they'll have to go through all of us."
"Cam—"
