Page 169 of Beyond Protection
Sleep tugged at us. I didn't fight it.
We slept wrapped around each other.
I woke to pale dawn filtering through the window. The snow had stopped. The world outside was clean, white, and new.
Footsteps on the basement stairs.
I froze. Eamon still slept.
The footsteps stopped at the bottom.
A soft clink. Then they retreated.
When I was sure they were gone, I looked over.
Two mugs of coffee on the bottom step. Still steaming.
No note. No words.
Ma knew we were down here. Had known all along. And she'd just delivered her blessing.
Eamon still slept. His face peaceful. No tactical assessment. No guilt. My man at rest.
I lay there watching him breathe and thought about The Guardians and all the ways two broken people could build something whole.
Upstairs, Ma moved in the kitchen—coffee gurgling. Christmas morning began the way it always did—with caffeine and family and cinnamon rolls in the oven.
Eamon's eyes opened. Blinked slowly. Focused on me.
"Merry Christmas," I whispered.
"Merry Christmas."
Upstairs, Ma started humming. The smell of coffee drifted down.
We had a future to plan: legal paperwork and a hundred decisions we'd make together.
But first: family. Christmas morning in a house that had decided we both belonged.
It was the right place to start.
Epilogue - Mac
Six Months Later
I beat Eamon to the office by seven minutes.
I knew because I was watching the security feed when his gray Honda pulled in—the same car he refused to upgrade despite my offers. He parked in the corner spot, not his assigned one. Clear exit route. Old habits.
The warehouse we'd converted still smelled like fresh paint: exposed brick, iron beams, and windows facing Elliott Bay. My aesthetic filtered through Eamon's practicality. Clean lines, warm wood, and furniture people actually wanted to sit in.
The sign outside—THE GUARDIANS, brushed steel, simple—had been Eamon's only demand.
"People either trust us or they don't," he'd said. "A fancy sign won't change that."
He'd been right.
He walked through the door, took one look at the coffee pot. "That's not coffee. That's caffeinated hostility."
