Page 161 of Beyond Protection
"Shoulder aches. Head's fuzzy, but I'm here." He closed his eyes. "Going home for Christmas."
Snow swirled in the headlights. Lake Union materialized through the white—dark water, with Christmas ship lights strung between moored boats.
We'd been on one of those ships and kissed under the lights.
A couple of weeks ago. Felt like another lifetime.
"Thank you," Eamon said. "Being there. Every day. I didn't know how to let someone—"
"I know. Me neither."
The traffic crawled. The entire city moved in slow motion.
"Your family knows we're coming?" Eamon asked.
"Ma's been texting hourly." I glanced at him. "You nervous?"
"Terrified."
"They love you."
"They barely know me."
"They know enough." I reached out and squeezed his hand. "Ma embroidered your stocking two weeks ago. Before the shooting."
His breath caught. "She what?"
"Your name. Red thread. It's hanging next to mine on the mantle."
He stared out at the snow.
We turned onto Ma's street. Every house blazed with lights. The McCabe house was modest—lights around the living room window, a wreath, and every interior light burning.
Cars packed the curbs. I parked two houses down.
"Ready?" I asked.
He looked at the house. Light spilling from every window.
"For what?"
"Family. All of it. They're claiming you whether you're ready or not."
Snow caught in his hair. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear.
"I'm ready."
We got out. The snow fell harder. I took his elbow. We strolled slowly, crunching up the sidewalk.
The porch steps creaked. I reached for the door.
Eamon caught my wrist.
He kissed me. Soft. Quick. Tasting like snow and hospital coffee.
I opened the door.
Warmth and noise hit like a wall of chaos.
