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A shiver ran down Lincoln’s spine, a visceral response he couldn’t quite suppress.

He leaned into Henry’s touch, drawn in like a tide shifting toward shore.

Henry’s grip on his shoulder tightened—not rough, not restrictive, but firm.

Grounding. Like a rope securing him in place, the kind of tether that kept him safe rather than restrained.

Henry tilted his head slightly, watching, waiting. Not pushing, just there. Holding steady until Lincoln was ready to meet him in the space he’d carved between them.

Lincoln exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his muscles as he leaned into the touch. Henry didn’t speak right away, but when he did, his voice had the same effect as his hands—firm, steady, patient. A quiet tether, holding him in place without force.

The familiar cadence of Henry’s presence chip away at the tension coiled in his chest.

“The DA wanted to try a twelve-year-old as an adult.”

“Douglas?”

Lincoln nodded. “Yeah. Kid’s been through hell.

Derek and I went to bat for him. We’re pushing for self-defense, and Derek found a foster couple—Helen and Jacob.

Strict, but they’ll give him structure. Stability.

” He paused, and his jaw ached before he released the tension on the muscles there. “If the DA takes the deal.”

Henry hummed, the sound vibrating where their bodies pressed together. “And you think he will?”

“If he’s smart, he will.” Lincoln hesitated, then admitted, “Derek told me to remind the DA exactly what kind of hell I’d rain down in court if he didn’t.”

Henry let out a quiet chuckle. “Smart man.”

Lincoln huffed a breath, something loosening in his chest. The warmth of Henry’s fingers, the steady weight of his body—it was the safest he’d felt in weeks. He tipped his head back slightly, just enough to catch Henry’s gaze. “How was yours?”

“Not too bad, cuddle-bug,” Henry murmured. His fingers never stopped moving, slow and deliberate. “But if the case went well, why are you still this tense?”

Lincoln hesitated before answering. “Jeff has been calling.” He swallowed. “A lot.”

Henry’s fingers traced down to his wrist, a firm squeeze grounding him. “Have you spoken with him?”

“No,” Lincoln admitted. “I let the calls go to voicemail.”

“Have you listened to your voicemail?”

Another pause. “No, Sir.”

Henry exhaled through his nose, his fingers pressing slightly deeper into Lincoln’s skin before softening. “What do you need?”

Lincoln’s throat tightened. He hated how small his voice felt when he finally spoke. “Can we listen together?”

“Of course, my boy.” Henry pressed a kiss to the top of Lincoln’s head before moving to stand. “Go get your phone while I clear away the leftovers.”

Lincoln retrieved his phone from the entryway table, his fingers hovering over the screen for a fraction of a second before he swallowed down the hesitation and brought it back to the couch. Henry returned, settling in beside him, warm and steady.

“Play them,” Henry said, voice firm but gentle.

Lincoln pressed play on the first voicemail.

“Linc, hey, it’s me. Just call me back when you can, all right?”

Lincoln swallowed and let the next message play.

“Linc, seriously, pick up your damn phone.” A long pause. A sigh. “Look, just—call me. It’s important.”

The messages continued, each one sharper, more urgent, until finally?—

“It’s Dad. He’s in the hospital. Doctors don’t think he’s going to make it long. Can you visit?”

Silence.

Henry reached out, took the phone from Lincoln’s limp grip, and dialed.

“Linc, finally,” Jefferson’s voice came through the speaker.

“Not your brother,” Henry said, his voice smooth and authoritative. “This is Henry. Lincoln is with me. You’re on speakerphone.”

A pause. “Uhm. Hey, Jeff.” Lincoln winced at how weak his own voice sounded.

Jefferson exhaled audibly.

“What’s the matter, Jeff?” Henry asked.

“It’s Dad,” Jefferson said, tone weary. “He’s had a heart attack. They don’t think he has long.” A hesitation. “Can you come?”

Lincoln’s stomach twisted. His fingers curled into the couch. “Did he ask for me?”

His brother hesitated. “Not really.”

Lincoln exhaled sharply through his nose. “Can I bring Henry?”

A longer pause. “I think that would be… unwise.”

Of course it would be.

Henry didn’t speak. He let the silence settle, let Lincoln take control.

I don’t want control, damn it.

But he knew he was being unfair.

“Thanks for letting me know.” Lincoln rubbed his forehead, like that would ease the tension. “But if he still can’t accept that I’m with Henry…” The words got stuck in his throat.

“I figured you might say that.” Jefferson’s voice was softer now. “I just didn’t want to take away what might be your last chance to see him.”

Lincoln squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them open. “Thanks for that, Jeff.”

The silence stretched again.

“So… how’s work?” Lincoln asked. He winced at the awkward shift in conversation, but his brother rolled with it.

Lincoln let out a slow breath, shifting deeper into Henry’s warmth as the tension in his shoulders began to ease.

His free hand found Henry’s chest, fingers idly tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

He let his fingertips skim over the faint indent of his pecs, pressing lightly against the steady rise and fall of Henry’s breath.

Jefferson kept talking, filling the silence with something familiar and easy. “Lisa’s been on my ass about taking her on a real vacation,” he was saying, his voice carrying a tired fondness. “Says I’m using work as an excuse to avoid sitting still.”

Lincoln huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers stilling for just a moment before moving again. “She’s right. You’ve always been shit at relaxing.”

Jefferson chuckled. “Takes one to know one, little brother.”

Henry slid his fingers up to the nape of Lincoln’s neck, massaging slow circles against the tense muscle there. Lincoln swallowed, his throat tight, but he let his body relax further into the touch. Basking in the comfort of leaning against his Master and knowing he wasn’t alone.

His brother sighed on the other end. “And work’s a mess. The firm’s been on edge ever since the last merger talks fell through. Partner meetings are a goddamn war zone.”

“Sounds like corporate law is still as cutthroat as ever,” Lincoln murmured, pressing his palm flat against Henry’s chest, feeling the slow, solid thump of his heartbeat beneath his skin.

Jefferson snorted. “Tell me about it. But enough about me. What about you? How’s work?”

Lincoln hesitated. He could talk about Douglas’s case, about the fight with the DA, about the way every bone-deep instinct in him demanded he see this kid protected—but not tonight. Not with his brother.

So instead, he exhaled and went for something safer. “Busy as hell, but what else is new?”

Jefferson made a sound of agreement. “And Kansas City? You still happy there?”

Henry’s hand tightened ever so slightly on the back of his neck. Lincoln tipped his chin, just enough to catch Henry’s eyes—dark, steady, filled with something unreadable but certain.

Lincoln let his fingers drift lower, tracing a slow path over Henry’s sternum. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a total lie.