Page 138 of Beyond Protection
"I've let plenty of things go wrong," Michael said.
"Name one."
"The chandelier incident."
"That was Marcus."
"Was not."
"Was too. I have photographic evidence."
The table dissolved into argument—good-natured, familiar, the kind of bickering that came from decades of shared history.
This was what I was fighting for. This table. These people. I wanted to come back to this.
Dinner wound down. Ma brought out Marcus's bourbon pie and served portions that could've fed twice as many people. I ate mine and tasted nothing except the shape of fear.
Eighteen thirty. Michael checked his watch. Caught my eye.
Time.
"We should head out," Michael said quietly. "Give ourselves some buffer time."
I stood. Mac stood with me. He reached for my hand again—this time in full view of everyone.
"I'll walk you out," he said.
We headed for the front door, and the family followed.
Ma intercepted us in the hallway. She looked at Michael first. Cupped his face. "Careful."
"Always."
Then me. Her hands were smaller than I expected. Rough from years of work. "You too. Both of you. Careful and quick and home."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And hungry. Come back hungry."
She released me. Stepped back. Her eyes were dry, but she swallowed hard.
Outside, snow had started. Not the wet Seattle rain-snow hybrid but actual snow—big flakes drifting down, lazy and determined. The street was already dusted white. Michael's truck sat running, exhaust drifting as puffy clouds into the cold air.
Mac pulled me aside. Away from the door. Into the small space between Ma's porch and the neighbor's fence, where the Christmas lights couldn't reach.
"I need to say something," he said.
"Okay."
"I love you."
The word came up before, but this was the first time it was part of a direct statement.
"I know—wrong timing. But if I don't say it now and something goes wrong—" His voice cracked. "I need you to know. I love you. The real you. The one who spirals, overthinks, and teaches me how to fall apart. I love you."
I kissed him. Right there in the snow with his family watching, and Michael waiting in the truck.
When I pulled back, snowflakes had caught in his hair.
