Page 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T he door swung shut behind Birdy with a soft, final click. Paul stood frozen outside the courthouse steps. The cold air bit at his cheeks, but it didn’t even register over the raw ache blooming in his chest.

He'd let her go.

Again.

Because he thought it was the right thing to do. Because he thought protecting her meant choosing the harder path. But watching her walk away—head high, shoulders squared even as hurt shimmered in her eyes—felt like tearing out his own heart with his bare hands.

A sharp gust of wind whipped through the street, carrying the scent of fresh snow and something sweeter—vanilla from the coffee shop across the square, laughter from a nearby bench where a group of teenagers threw snowballs at each other.

Life went on. But inside him, everything felt... still. Wrong.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul caught movement.

It was Zeke. The kid stood near the corner of the building, half-hidden in the shadow of a column, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Had he seen it all? The conversation with his mother—the threats, the tension that still thrummed under Paul’s skin like a taut wire?

Or worse, had he seen the scene between Paul and Birdy?

Her stepping back from him like he’d burned her?

The way his whole future had tilted on its axis in the space of a heartbeat?

Zeke’s shoulders were hunched, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He looked smaller somehow. Younger. Like a boy trying to wear the armor of a man and realizing it didn’t quite fit.

Paul exhaled slowly. He’d been so focused on protecting everyone else—Beverly, the baby, Birdy—that he hadn’t spared much thought for Zeke. Not since that disastrous day at the mayor’s house, when the kid had shown every red flag Paul had ever been trained to spot.

But standing here now, watching him… Paul saw something else. A kid so used to conflict he mistook it for connection. A kid raised on manipulation and silence. A kid who had probably never been listened to without judgment.

With a mother like his, Zeke didn’t need punishment—he needed help.

Unfortunately, Paul was up to his eyeballs. He was drowning. But that didn’t mean Zeke should be left to sink too.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Zeke was already turning, walking away with stiff, fast strides like he’d seen too much and regretted it.

“There he is!”

Paul turned just as his father clapped a big, callused hand on his shoulder, nearly spinning him around.

“Still solid as ever,” his dad said with a grin, pulling him in for a brief, back-thumping hug.

His father hadn’t shrunk with age. The man was still broad through the chest, still moving with the confidence of a man who knew his way around both a toolbox and a barbecue pit.

The only real difference now was his hair.

What had once been a deep black trim cut had now gone completely silver.

Not white. Silver. Like a knight from one of those old bedtime stories he'd read to his children. Weathered, yes, but unshakable.

His mother’s arms were already wrapping him into a hug.

Her honey perfume enveloped him like a warm blanket folded straight from the dryer.

She was wearing a dress. Every time she was out of fatigues, it surprised him.

The structured sheath was navy blue, of course, as crisp as a uniform but distinctly… soft.

It always jarred Paul, seeing her like this—out of her command boots, her military insignias, her sharply creased slacks.

The woman who used to bark orders and hold platoons in line now wore flats and pearl earrings.

And yet she still looked like she could straighten a spine just by arching an eyebrow.

“Mom,” he murmured against her shoulder.

“You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?” she said, pulling back to study his face with sharp, assessing eyes. “My son getting married? I’d show up in a snowstorm on crutches.”

Paul smiled, overwhelmed and oddly steadied by the weight of their presence. This was what love looked like. Solid, capable, enduring. This was what he wanted to build with Birdy.

“Are we too late?” his dad asked, beaming so wide his cheeks practically creased shut. “We dropped everything. We weren’t going to miss this.”

“We’re so proud of you, baby.”

Paul swallowed hard, blinking against the sudden burn in his eyes. He hugged his parents tighter, gratitude pressing so hard against his ribs he could barely breathe.

He'd grown up so lucky—so loved. Even when he made mistakes. Even when he didn't know the right words.

He wanted that for Birdy. For Beverly. For the baby. For all of them. Even for Zeke. That kid's mother was awful, and she shouldn't have contact with her grandbaby, maybe not even with her son.

Paul wanted to be the kind of man his father had been—steady, loyal, always standing in the corner of the woman he loved, no matter what storms came.

He wanted to marry Birdy Chou. Not because they had to. Not because of guardianship or appearances. But because he loved her. And he wasn't about to lose her without a fight.

Paul pulled back from the hug, grinning a little as he ruffled his dad’s thinning hair.

“No,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “You’re not too late.”