Page 21 of Tinsel & Chrome

A one-eyed teddy bear

A photo of the older guys in Santa hats flipping off the camera

And a folded note

I reach for it, heart thumping a little. My fingers are cold, but the paper feels warm.

To the Little Few—don’t ever forget who you are.

Nobody says anything. Even Logan shuts up. I fold it carefully and tuck it into my hoodie pocket. “We gotta leave something behind.”

We dig through our stuff. Jesse offers a bent key. Bayou gives up her favorite bottle cap after five minutes of arguing with herself. Daisy ties her newest friendship bracelet around the bear’s neck. Emma sticks one of her pink gator stickers inside the lid.

We close it up, set it back in the hole, and bury it again like it’s a sacred thing. I pat the dirt down and stand.

“One day, our kids’ll dig this up,” I say.

Bayou looks at me like she’s really thinking about that. “Guess we better not suck then.”

I nod once. “Yeah. Guess we better not.”

I brush the dirt off my hands and glance over my shoulder toward the house. The sun’s coming up now, painting everything gold and pink, like the world knows we just did something important.

The others are already heading inside, arguing over who gets the last pancake if there are any left. Bayou says she’s calling dibs on syrup and a biscuit, but I’m not listening. I feel eyes on me.

I turn and spot him leaning against the back porch—Daddy. Grizzly. Big, silent, and already holding a mug of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him from yelling at the sun.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his chin and gives me that look. The one that says he saw everything, even if he didn’t move a muscle. Like he always does.

I smile and give him a little wave. He raises his mug in return. And that’s it. That’s all I need.

I turn and run back to the house, heart full, the note still safe in my pocket.

We won’t forget who we are. Not ever.

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Totally Worth It

Forge

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The first thing I register is the pounding in my skull. Second’s the scent of stale whiskey, charred meat, and someone’s cheap-ass perfume clinging to my shirt. Third? The fact that I woke up on the damn couch in my own living room, one boot still on, and a stuffed reindeer wedged under my back.

I shove it aside, muttering under my breath. “Damn deer’s got it out for me.”

Voices drift in from the kitchen—kids. The little hellions are already up, loud and laughing like they didn’t spend all day yesterday running around like feral gators.

I sit up slowly, every joint in my body protesting, and glance around. Blankets and sleeping bags are everywhere. Bayou’s purple stuffed octopus hangs from the ceiling fan like someone tried to sacrifice it. One of the Hayes boys is curled up in an armchair with a half-eaten cookie still in his hand.

I drag myself into the kitchen to find Titan, Boone, and Grizzly all in various states of regret. Boone’s got on sunglasses inside, nursing a bottle of water like it’s holy. Titan’s leaning over the counter, shirtless and cursing softly as he scrolls through his phone. Grizzly looks the same as he always does—half-asleep, mildly pissed off, and unmoved by the chaos around him.

Bayou’s at the table, hair a mess, face sticky with syrup, and laughing her head off with Daisy and Wynn about something I’m not awake enough to process. Logan walks in with a blanketwrapped around him like a cape and a look on his face that says he’s reconsidering this whole “cool biker kid” lifestyle.

I reach for the coffee pot like a man on a mission, pouring a full cup and taking a long sip before I speak.

“Y’all ever think maybe we’re gettin’ too old for this shit?”