Page 69 of Beyond Protection
He was good at it. Competent and calm, the person you'd want between you and danger.
He'd stripped down to a henley sometime around eleven, sleeves pushed up, forearms showing. I let myself look. Let myself want. After everything—after the fog reunion and his thumb on my knuckles and the way he'd said "always"—I was done pretending I didn't.
Around one, my mother, Claire, arrived.
She moved through the chaos like water around stones and found me in the living room watching Marcus program camera feeds. She pressed a mug of tea into my hands.
It was Genmaicha. Roasted rice and green tea. The smell of childhood.
We sat on Ma's couch while contractors drilled and hammered around us.
"I put everyone in danger," I said finally. "Ma. You. The whole family."
"You brought someone dangerous into our orbit," she corrected. "That's not the same thing as creating the danger."
I turned the mug in my hands, feeling the warmth seep through the ceramic. It was one of hers—thrown and glazed in her studio, slightly lopsided, lovely. "Feels the same."
"It's not." She sipped her tea, watching the organized chaos around us. "I know what I taught you. Gaman. Endurance. Showing the world only your best, most disciplined self." She set down her mug. Folded her hands in her lap. "I thought I was protecting you. Teaching you strength."
"You did."
"I taught you to hide." Her voice stayed soft, but the words cut clean. "To compress yourself into something manageable. Something that wouldn't burden anyone else." She looked at me. "I'm watching you learn something different now. With him."
She meant Eamon. Obviously. The man currently mounting a camera in the hallway, professional, focused, and fooling absolutely no one in the family.
"I don't know how to do this," I admitted. "Stop pretending. Just... be."
"Neither do I." Something shifted in her expression. Understanding. "But you're braver than I was at your age. Than I am now."
She stood. Collected both mugs. Pressed a kiss to my hair like I was ten again and small enough to protect.
"Go help him," she said. "He needs you, even if he doesn't know how to say it yet."
By five, the contractors were packing up, and Eamon was teaching me the camera system. I followed him through the house, phone in hand, learning how to check feeds and adjust angles.
"This one covers the back gate," he said, pointing to the screen. "Motion-activated. You'll get alerts, but it'll catch animals too. Don't panic over a raccoon."
"How do I tell the difference?"
"Raccoons don't pause to test door handles." He moved to the next camera. I followed close enough to catch the cedar smell of his jacket and coffee on his breath. "This one covers the driveway. You'll know when anyone pulls in."
"Including you."
He glanced at me. "Including me."
In the upstairs hallway, Eamon checked the last camera mount. I held the ladder steady while he made final adjustments, his weight shifting above me.
"There." He climbed down, stopped on the second-to-last step, so we were almost eye level. "That should do it."
He braced himself with his hand on my shoulder. My hand steadied the ladder.
I reached up. Covered his hand with mine.
We stayed like that—him on the ladder, me below, hands touching, both of us breathing too carefully. Outside, the last contractor's truck pulled away. Somewhere downstairs, Marcus was showing Ma how to use her phone to check the feeds.
For the first time all day, we were alone.
His thumb moved against my collarbone. Small motion. Deliberate.
