Page 143

Story: King of Power

As if summoned by the magic word, Lydia’s daughters materialize around us, tiny hands grabbing at my pants legs.

“Cake!” Harper chirps, her sister Nora echoing the demand. Even little Elise joins in, though at two her version sounds more like “tate!”

“Alright, alright,” I concede to my small army of cake demanders. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

Eve takes the cue, heading into the kitchen to prep the cake we picked up. Three tiers of chocolate and vanilla swirl, decorated with his favorite superheroes. Cost a small fortune, but the look on his face when we unveiled it made every penny worth it.

I carry Leo to the designated cake table, his friends trailing behind like eager ducklings. The adults gather too—Seb with his arm casually draped over Olivia’s shoulders, Micah hovering protectively near Naomi, Eli pretending he’s not watching the whole scene with poorly concealed fondness.

Family. The word still feels foreign sometimes, like a language I’m not quite fluent in. Seb and I never had this growing up—no birthday parties, no casual touches, no easylaughter. Just a series of foster homes and the constant knowledge that we only had each other.

Now look at us.

Eve emerges with the cake, eight candles blazing merrily. The flames dance in Leo’s wide eyes as we start singing, slightly off-key but enthusiastic. He’s bursting with excitement by the time we finish, barely waiting for the final “happy birthday” before sucking in a huge breath.

“Make a wish,” Eve reminds him, and my heart clenches at the way he screws his eyes shut in concentration before blowing out every candle in one go.

The kids cheer, the adults clap, and Leo beams like he just won Olympic gold. Eve starts cutting slices while I help distribute them, making sure the birthday boy gets the biggest piece with the most frosting.

“You’re good with them.”

I glance down to find Lydia watching me hand Harper her cake, her expression thoughtful.

“They make it easy,” I deflect, but she shakes her head.

“No, they don’t. Kids are the hardest audience—they see right through bullshit. But they trust you.” She nods toward where her youngest is smearing frosting across her face. “Elise usually hides from men she doesn’t know well. But she reached for you earlier like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. To the implication that I—with my blood-stained hands and dark past—could be worthy of such innocent trust.

Before I can respond, Leo calls for me to watch him do a trick with his fork. I turn away from Lydia’s knowing look, letting myself be drawn back into the chaos of sugar-high children and chocolate-smeared grins.

The party continues as the afternoon slides into evening. Kids run off their cake-fueled energy while adults gather insmall groups, conversation flowing as easily as the wine. I drift between them, soaking in the casual intimacy of it all.

Seb and Olivia argue playfully about something by the couch, her laugh carrying across the room. They both pretend it’s just casual fun between them, but I see the way my brother’s eyes follow her, the softness that creeps into his expression when he thinks no one’s looking.

Naomi has emerged from her shell enough to join Eve and Lydia’s conversation, her smile more genuine than I’ve seen since Micah first brought her to us. The bruises her husband left have faded, but the wariness in her eyes lingers. Her ex has vanished and no one knows where he is. It worries her, but Micah is keeping her safe.

Even Eli seems more relaxed than usual, though he still maintains his position near the gate where he can monitor approaching vehicles. Old habits die hard in our line of work.

I’m retrieving more napkins from the kitchen when Eve finds me. Her arms slip around my waist from behind, chin resting against my shoulder blade.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?”

“This.” She gestures vaguely toward the living room where laughter drifts through the entryway. “All of it. Leo’s never had a birthday like this before.”

I turn in her embrace, studying her upturned face. There’s frosting smudged near her ear, probably from one of the kids’ enthusiastic hugs. Without thinking, I reach out to wipe it away.

“Neither have I,” I admit quietly.

Understanding floods her expression. She knows about my childhood—the foster homes, the hunger, the desperate need to protect Seb when no one else would. Knows how we ended up in Nicolo’s orbit, seeking the family we never had.

“Well,” she rises on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my jaw, “guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

The simple acceptance in her voice threatens to undo me. I capture her lips in a proper kiss, pouring all my tangled emotions into the connection. She meets me eagerly, hands fisting in my shirt as I back her against the counter.

“Uncle Zeke! Aunt Evie! Come see what I can do.”