Page 28

HARRY

Dean fell asleep in my arms, a slumber so deep it was like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

His body curled into mine, breath slow and deep against my chest, fingers still tangled lightly in the fabric of my T-shirt like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, even in sleep. But the tightness had gone out of him. The panic, the guilt, the shaking—it had all ebbed away as exhaustion took over.

I held him close, one hand stroking slowly down his back, the other brushing through his soft blond hair.

My heart still felt like it was breaking in half.

God, the weight that kid had been carrying. Alone. Hurting. Wrapped up in fear and shame so deep he hadn’t seen any other way out.

I kissed the top of his head gently, careful not to wake him.

“You’re safe now, babe,” I whispered. “I got you.”

The night was still and quiet, serene after such a night of panic and pain. All I could hear was the faint sound of the crickets outside the window, the slow rise and fall of Dean’s breathing.

Then came a soft knock at the door.

Careful not to wake Dean, I slid out from under his weight, eased him down onto the pillow, tucked the blanket around him. He didn’t stir.

I crossed the room as quietly as I could and inched the door open.

There, standing in the shadows of the shed, was Andy.

His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his eyes no longer angry but soft.

“Figured I might find you here,” he said quietly.

My throat tightened. I stepped outside, closing the door most of the way behind me to keep the house quiet.

“He’s asleep,” I told him, voice low. “Out cold. He’s… safe.”

Andy nodded slowly, eyes down, scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground like he didn’t quite know where to start.

“I ain’t here to fight,” he muttered after a moment.

I exhaled hard, leaning back against the doorframe, the tension bleeding out of my shoulders.

Andy looked up, his eyes tired but clearer now. “Can we… talk? Back at the house?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

I glanced back inside one more time—Dean still sound asleep, peaceful at last—then pulled the door shut behind me and followed Andy up to the house.

* * *

We sat across from each other at Andy’s poker table. Andy slid a bottle of beer across to me, twisted the cap off his own, and leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the arms like he was holding himself steady.

The silence sat heavy between us for a while.

Finally, Andy let out a slow breath and looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry about the fight. The punch. For all of it.”

I nodded, fingers wrapped around the cool neck of the bottle. “Yeah… well. I probably deserved it.”

Andy gave a small, sad smile. “You didn’t. I was just… confused. Shocked. Hell, it was the last thing I ever expected. But that’s no excuse for lashing out like I did. I always promised myself I’d never turn out like my father. I vowed never to hit anyone like my dad hit me. I wanted to be a better man than that. I wanted to be the best father I could possibly be. Will you forgive me?”

“Andy, of course.” I leaned forward, my eyes fixed on his. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean for you to find out like that. The whole thing’s been a surprise to me and Dean too.” I gave him a soft smile, shrugged. “A wonderful surprise. But yeah… I should’ve told you how I felt. I just didn’t know how.”

Andy nodded slowly, tapping his bottle against the table once, twice, like he was feeling out the right words.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “Dean… he’s stressed, Andy. Overworked. The city, the scene, the noise—it’s too much for him sometimes. LA hasn’t been good for him.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “But he’s finding his way. He’s figuring out what he wants, what makes him happy.”

I stopped there.

Because there were some things Andy didn’t need to know.

There were things nobody needed to know.

I wasn’t going to tell him about the letters. About the truth of the so-called stalker. That wasn’t my story to tell. And it wasn’t something Andy needed on his shoulders. He’d worry himself sick.

So I kept it locked down, tucked away, right where it belonged.

Andy took a long drink, wiped his mouth, then met my eyes again.

“I gotta tell you,” he said. “When I saw you out there tonight, running into all that chaos… the way you pushed through that crowd, the way you fought to get to him…” He shook his head slowly. “I realized then… you really do love my boy.”

The words hit deep in my chest.

“And Dean…” Andy went on, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. “He must love you right back. I saw it in his face when you reached him. I saw it clear as day.”

He gave a little laugh, shook his head again like he still couldn’t believe it. “And hell… who am I to stand in the way of that?”

I felt the smile pull at my lips; I couldn’t stop it even if I wanted to as the wave of relief washed over me.

“Andy…” I said, but my voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me.”

He waved a hand like he was brushing the air. “Harry, c’mon. You’ve always been more than my best friend. You’re family. You always have been.”

I reached across the table and gripped his forearm, hard. He grabbed my wrist right back, then stood up, rounding the table to pull me into a rough, tight hug.

This time there was no slap on the back.

Just a tight, loving embrace.

“Keep him safe. Make him happy,” Andy muttered into my shoulder. “That’s all I ask.”

I nodded against him. “I will. I swear.”

We pulled apart, both of us blinking a little faster than we needed to, and clinked our beer bottles together.

“To family,” I said.

Andy smiled widely this time, nodding. “To family.”