Chapter 14

They did not make it for French toast.

In fact, they didn't manage doing much of anything outside the bedroom for most of Sunday, and Angelo couldn't have been happier. His ribs didn't allow for anything more vigorous than how they'd woken up, and that was okay because he was in no hurry. They lived together for convenience, were dating out of necessity, and were now fucking regularly because they both enjoyed the hell out of it—and each other.

Over the course of a very lazy day, they took turns making food (mostly snacks), fetching drinks or washcloths (depending on who was more thirsty or sticky) and streaming things on their various devices. Angelo preferred his laptop because of the larger screen and ease of propping on his lap, but when the battery died, he wouldn't let Bryan out of bed long enough to get the cord from downstairs. So they used Bryan's phone.

They really needed to get a TV for their bedroom.

And in between videos of people crash-and-burning doing stupid stunts and cat videos set to modern pop songs, they talked. A lot of it was the simple stuff that boyfriends should know about each other, partly in case Darrow decided to quiz them about the veracity of their relationship, and partly because Angelo wanted to know these things about Bryan. Despite being in each other's orbit for the better part of four months, they still knew very little beyond the basic floor plans.

Time to fill in the colors and details.

Bryan talked more about his early life being raised by uber-religious, musically-focused parents who heaped all their expectations on him; a little brother who worshiped him; having his choice of both girls his age and women far too old who were willing to sleep with him from the onset of puberty; and on discovering his first chin whiskers.

"You lost your virginity at thirteen?" Angelo asked. They were lounging on the bed in gym shorts, sharing a bowl of popcorn and the last of a two-liter bottle of soda from yesterday's party. He'd considered sipping from the bourbon he'd hidden beneath his own bed the other day but didn't want to drink in front of Bryan. But the sex bomb had refocused Angelo's attention from contemplating booze to hardcore secret sharing.

"Yeah." Bryan held up an unusually large piece of popcorn and eyeballed the puffy, abstract shape. "She started going to the same church as us and we were in the choir together. She drove me home after practice one night and we ended up doing it in the backseat of her car." He popped the snack into his mouth and chewed. "I thought she was sixteen or seventeen but found out later she was twenty-two. Kind of fucked up, huh?"

"Twenty-two? It's not just fucked up, dude, that statut?—"

"I know what it was. Believe it or not, Tracy was the first person I told about it who actually called it what it was. Made it easier to talk about later in therapy. To figure out that's where my reckless streak started, and how I learned to justify everything I did, especially when it hurt someone else."

"Like your brother."

"Yep. Especially my brother. I feel sick sometimes when I think of all the ways I justified stealing from him and breaking his trust. Breaking his confidence and ruining his dreams. Honestly, sometimes I don't know why he still gives a damn about me."

Angelo sipped his nearly-flat soda. "He loves you. It's who he is. Him and Russell, they're the generous types who gravitate toward each other, and who get the happily ever after they worked hard for, because karma or Mother Nature or God or whoever decides they've had enough bullshit. They've earned it. Selfish pricks like you and me? We get the brief glimpses of joy. We're little islands surrounded by oceans of shark-infested disappointments."

"Wow, that's perky." Bryan sat up straighter, expression bland again. "So this is an island of temporary bliss?"

"Temporary is what you signed up for."

"Yeah." He shrugged and reached for more popcorn. "So how old were you? First time you had sex?"

"Fifteen. He was a neighborhood kid my age named Nicky. His older brother went to college with my cousin Tommaso, and one day Nicky comes over and asks if I want to play Gay Chicken. Tells me it's what all the guys are doing in college, especially freshmen like our brothers."

Bryan's eyes danced. "Let me guess. You didn't know what Gay Chicken was?"

"I didn't have a fucking clue. All I knew was that I was no chicken and I hated to lose."

"And?"

Angelo chuckled over fond memories of the battle of wills he and Nicky had engaged in twenty-five years ago. "After we stole his mother's baby oil and took turns sticking our dicks in each other's ass? We called the game a draw, and then spent the rest of tenth grade and part of the following summer sneaking in quickies whenever we could get time alone. I guess you could say he was my first boyfriend."

"So what happened? You two drift apart in eleventh grade?"

Long-buried anger burbled in Angelo's gut, and he shoved it away. "I ended things between us and kept a pretty low profile, dating-wise, until college."

"You? Low profile? Bullshit." Bryan sat up straighter and scooted so their knees nearly touched. "He do something to you?"

"No. My younger cousin Lorenzo found out about me and Nicky. He took pictures of us fucking around, and he used them to blackmail me for three years, until I turned eighteen and told him to fuck off."

"Blackmailed you into doing what?" Bryan's voice carried a sharper, angry edge.

The instant protectiveness was sweet and unexpected. "Down boy. Nothing sexual, it wasn't like that. Lorenzo was huge into soccer, a big star in junior high and he wanted to make the high school team, but he sucked at anything English Lit related and was failing. So he made me write his essays for every class he needed at least a B-average in, and I did his homework a lot. The only thing I couldn't do for him was take his exams."

"For three years? Did he threaten to tell your parents or something?"

"No, Aunt Rita. She was my guardian and remember how hopeless I am in the kitchen? Being gay would have been another reason for her to be disappointed in me. And Lorenzo made it sound like she'd kick me out if she knew, or worse, find a way to ship me back to Italy to live with distant relatives I didn't know who spoke a language I'd mostly forgotten. But that fear made me work my ass off for Lorenzo's grades and my own grades, so I got scholarships to Reynolds College. As soon as I was a self-sufficient adult, I stopped hiding who I was."

"How'd your aunt take it?"

Angelo snorted. "She didn't care. I mean, yes, she cared and she wept, and I got the whole hellfire and damnation speech, told me to ask God for forgiveness, and then kissed me on the cheek and served Sunday supper."

"So you did your cousin's homework for three years for nothing?"

"Nah, not for nothing. I put myself through college, got a degree I wanted and went into a profession I love. I met my best friend on the planet. I've been living my life by my terms since I was eighteen. I don't regret any of that."

"I'm glad."

"Plus, Lorenzo never went on to be a soccer star, because as soon as I stopped writing his papers, he began flunking his assignments, and he never made the varsity team."

"Sounds like karma won there."

"I mean, he's been working for his mother in some capacity since he was in high school, so yeah, karma definitely kicked his ass good and hard. He seems happy enough, though. Not everyone gets to achieve big dreams or wealth and fame. There will always be someone out there running food trucks and keeping people fed for cheap. For every Lydia Bastianich, there will always be another Rita Fratelli."

"And what about Angelo Voltini? Are you the next Property Brothers franchise, or just another guy with a business card and a website?"

"Hard to be a brother when you're an only child."

"You know what I mean."

"I do, and I guess that's what we're going to find out, isn't it? If my inheritance from Joe is enough to keep my business afloat and maybe give it the kick in the ass it needs to break through from regional to the entire state, and then beyond."

Would Angelo love to host his own TV show, get a bunch of endorsement deals, and never have to worry about money ever again? Absolutely. Would Angelo also love to have the quiet, happy life that Russell woke up to every single day and that made him smile with the force of a thousand suns? Absolutely. But very, very few people ever got both, and Angelo had no illusions he was ever going to be that lucky. But he did want one of them.

Question of the day was which future did he want more?

The second, scarier question, was how involved would Bryan be in that future?

Only time and patience would show him the way.

"Okay, new topic," Bryan said with a mischievous smile. "How old were you the first time you got sent to the principal's office?"

Angelo laughed, and pretty sure he was going to win this one, launched into a brand-new story involving a goat, a misplaced convertible, and inspiration from more than one 80's screwball comedy.

Angelo left three messages with Dennis Darrow over the course of the week, curious how they were going to go about establishing Angelo was, in fact, in a committed relationship. Darrow called back on Thursday, citing a huge court case this week, and that he'd get back to Angelo next week but to continue living his normal life. Nothing about Angelo's life had been normal for the last ten days, so he wasn't sure what to keep doing other than worrying over his unsold properties, managing his current projects, and fucking around with Bryan as often as physically possible.

His side was healing well, he was less black-and-blue, less generally sore, and was discovering how much he actually liked cohabitating with a partner. He and Bryan got along stupidly well, enjoyed the same movies and TV programs, liked similar foods, and even both preferred unscented laundry detergents.

The bubble was too good not to burst one day, so Angelo enjoyed it while it existed.

Two weeks after the explosion at Tim's, Angelo got his stitches removed and an all-clear from his GP about physical activity. He hoped this would progress his and Bryan's physical relationship beyond blow jobs and frotting, and into the aerobic fucking they both teased each other about. He'd turned his phone to silent for the appointment and when he got back to his car and checked, he had two voicemails from two different people.

The first was from Aunt Rita, asking why she had to hear from two people who worked at Neighborhood Shindig that he was dating someone seriously for a change, instead of directly from him, and also inviting them both for Sunday supper this week. They were closing the truck early for it, so be at the house at seven sharp.

Angelo deleted the message, unwilling to commit to anything without asking Bryan first. He was also more curious about the second voicemail, which was from Nat.

"Hey, hon, so I don't know if you heard but the insurance company isn't paying for everything the Mahers need to rebuild Tim's, something to do with the lease and previous issues with the boiler? I'm not sure. Anyway, we want to do some kind of fundraiser for the rest so the place can open again before summer, which seems like a long time but it's almost March now, and you know construction takes time. Sasha is taking charge on this, but I said I'd reach out to people I thought might be able to help. Maybe your friend Russell could paint something? I don't know.

"Um, anyway, that's it. I hope you're feeling better. Rumor has it you're dating someone new. Hope he's good to you."He rattled off Sasha's phone number and Insta handle. "That's it. Uh, take care. Bye."

More than the generous idea of doing a fundraiser for Tim's, Angelo was struck by the brittleness in Nat's voice. He'd always been a tad high-strung and flighty, and those had been charming personality quirks, but this was different. Nat sounded hesitant, furtive, almost apologetic, all his confidence gone. Angelo replayed the message to confirm his thoughts—this wasn't the Nat he remembered from their time together, or all the flirting from before they even hooked up. But it did sound like the Nat he'd encountered at the convenience store two weeks ago.

He called without thinking, but it went straight to his mailbox. Weird and worrisome, so he sent a text: Got your message about the fundraiser. I'll give Sasha a call. Let me know if you need anything, Natty Dog.

The Natty Dog reference should be enough to let Nat know he was sincere without tipping off anyone who might be monitoring his phone. Nat was a huge fan of hot dogs, and Angelo had started calling him Natty Dog after the brand Nathan's Famous hot dogs, and it had become an endearment during the last two weeks of their relationship. Angelo just wanted to know his friend was okay and safe.

On the drive back home, Angelo called Sasha, and she was thrilled to hear from him. "It's so great Nat reached out, I haven't heard much from him since the accident," she said. Her voice boomed over what sounded like a lot of voices in the background. "I actually just had a meeting with Clancy Jons, the manager over at Neighborhood Shindig, and he's cool with us doing a fundraiser there like they did last fall for that Joel guy. The one with Lyme disease?"

"Yeah, we've met a few times. Me and Clancy, not me and Joel. I mean, I've met Joel but only briefly when I ate at his food truck." His cousin Antoni had introduced Angelo to Clancy last November, while Angelo and Patrick were plotting a way for Patrick to overcome his stage fright and sing semi-publicly for Russell. They'd used the small stage and sound setup at Neighborhood Shindig for the private performance, which had been a spectacular success. Well, romantically, anyway. Patrick still wasn't performing his own original music at open-mike nights, but he'd regained the confidence he needed to compose again, and to begin accumulating a new repertoire of songs.

Clancy was a great guy and very into helping the community. And with Tim's bar being so close to Shindig, and a favorite hangout of many of Clancy's tenants, it was easy to see why Clancy wanted to help get Tim's back on its feet.

"So what is Clancy thinking?" Angelo asked. "Another concert like for Joel? Or a book fair/drag story hour like they did with Jack's bookstore?" Fundraising wasn't his forte, but he did know how to plan and throw a party so he was more than willing to offer ideas.

"He isn't sure yet, only that we can use the pavilion space for whatever we need," Sasha replied. "And he said he'd get the food truck vendors on-board with doing an event special and donating the profits."

"Great, that's a great start." Aunt Rita had only participated in those event specials after Antoni talked her into it. Mostly, he'd stroked her ego and said the pizza truck didn't need the bad publicity of not supporting the community. Aunt Rita was about helping family, certainly, but for her, family stopped at marriage and bloodlines. Friends didn't count.

One more thing in which she and Angelo did not agree.

"So do you have a date in mind?" Angelo asked.

"We aren't sure yet. Clancy already has every Saturday booked up through October, so it would have to be a Sunday benefit, or maybe Friday night. Music is always a good draw, but he also doesn't want to overdo Shindig as a music venue, you know?"

"Sure." Shindig consistently had music and comedy acts play on Saturday as additional draws to customers, beyond just stopping by for lunch or a haircut, or browsing at the secondhand bookstore. It used the same logic as a bar or restaurant with live music: the longer the customer hung around, the more food/drinks they'd order and the more money they'd spend. "Plus, if Clancy has the Saturdays scheduled all through the summer, there really isn't a special new draw, is there?"

"Not really, unless he can coax Off Beat back, or find someone else who's more than locally famous to play."

Something niggled at the back of Angelo's mind, but he didn't focus on it or indicate that he had a nebulous thought. It was too soon to mention it. Angelo never talked about his design inspirations for a new space until he'd spent time nurturing them and doing a lot of sketches, most of which ended up in the recycle bin.

"I was thinking of a silent auction-type thing," Sasha continued. "Which is why I asked Nat to call you. He showed me a picture of a mural your artist friend painted. Maybe your friend could donate something to the auction."

"I can definitely ask Russell about doing something for a silent auction." Russell would probably agree to do a custom puppet or painting for the winner, knowing the proceeds from the auction would go toward helping a local business. "I'm not sure I have anything to offer, personally, except perhaps a private design consultation for someone looking to update their home."

"Hey, considering the age of some of the houses around Reynolds and its suburbs, that might be a pretty sweet deal for someone. Keep it in your back pocket. And if you're feeling super-generous, I know we aren't really friends outside the bar, and you were just a patron and not an employee, but I could use a co-chair for this fundraiser. Whatever it ends up being."

Angelo nearly missed making his left turn. "Um, I'll think about it, Sasha. I've got a bit going on in my personal life right now, plus some business drama I need to deal with."

"Of course, no pressure, honest. It was a thought I let fly out of my mouth. You've always been a great customer, and I appreciate any help you can give me."

"Sure. I can't promise you a co-chair but I'll do what I can."

"Thanks again." Someone spoke loudly in the background. "I gotta go. Talk to you soon, Angelo. Bye." The call dropped off.

When he got home, Angelo didn't even wait until Russell took his late-afternoon break to meet Frog at the bus stop. He marched into the house and upstairs to Russell's studio, where he was working on a new puppet for his online store, something that vaguely resembled a fluffy, winged Bruno. He'd made something similar as a Christmas gift for Frog.

"Hey, friend, everything go okay at the doctor's?" Russell asked, pausing with a piece of faux fur in one hand and scissors in the other.

"Yes, fine. There are shenanigans afoot."

"Huh?"

Angelo filled him in on the fundraiser in all its nebulous glory and the possible silent auction. "Are you okay with being volunteered as a contributing party?"

Russell shrugged. "Sure, it's a good cause, right? Might even ask Patrick to offer up some piano or voice lessons, a couple hours at least. Could drum up a new client or two."

"Good idea."

"It's great to see the community comin' together to help Tim's out. Especially if we can get ‘em back open in time for Pride Month in June."

"Definitely. I'm just glad the explosion was due to a faulty boiler and not some homophobic asshole's idea of destroying a safe space, and maybe killing a couple of queers in the process."

"Me too. Especially the not killing anyone part." Russell gave him a pointed look, then resumed cutting his fur. "You and Bryan eating dinner with us tonight?"

"Depends. Cooking or takeout?"

"I've got a pork roast in the slow cooker just waitin' for us to slather it in barbecue sauce and toss it onto burger buns. Mixed up the coleslaw at lunch."

"Yum. Eating with you, definitely." Angelo was a sucker for Russell's version of a pulled pork sandwich.

"Great. And your checkup was really fine?"

"Yes, Dad, it was fine. Other than a slight aversion to drinking at the bar and dislike of smoke smells, I'm fine."

"It'll get better with time."

"I know. Everything does." Well, most things. Other things that didn't get better simply ran their course and either disappeared or got exponentially worse. "Anyway, see you around six?"

"Yeah, six."

Six was usually when Bryan made it home and had become their de facto dinnertime, no matter where they ate. Sometimes Patrick had to miss a meal because of a tutoring client, but he usually made it home for at least an hour to eat and see Frog before bedtime. Angelo had only been living here for about two weeks, and their quintet had already established a routine that…well, worked for all of them. Their unique, five-man family.

Plus one bearded dragon.

It had only been two weeks but damn it, Angelo was content in this new life. Settled.

Happy.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been truly, simply happy—if ever at all.

Bryan arrived home at five-forty-seven on the nose, and Angelo greeted him at the door with a long kiss. Bryan tasted like mint gum and smelled like plaster and sweat, and those three things turned him on like crazy. But Angelo wanted more than thirteen minutes, and Bryan preferred a quick shower before dinner.

So Angelo released his fake-but-not-fake boyfriend and put an icepack on his crotch until they were ready to walk over for dinner. Frog filled them in on today's school antics, and as usual, finished eating before anyone else. The kid inhaled food like he never got a square meal, and then asked to be excused.

Once it was just the grownups at the table, Russell brought up the fundraiser and silent auction contributions.

"Raising money for Tim's is a great idea," Patrick said. "I'm not sure how many people would actually put tickets in a bag for my tutoring, but I can offer, like, four one-hour lessons in piano. It's a great way for someone to see if it's something they'd actually enjoy and want to pay money to learn."

"I bet you'd make more money if you offered up a chance to write someone their own personal song," Russell replied. "Or a thirty-second radio jingle for a local business."

"No, no one would want that."

"Are you kidding? You know how talented you are."

Patrick frowned at his plate. "Maybe, but no one else does, and they aren't going to take my word for it."

"So tell people you wrote half of Lyons Den's songs," Angelo blurted out. "You wrote them and you're the dad of the lead singer's kid. Can you imagine the publicity that would generate for the fundraiser?"

Instead of angry or even intrigued, Patrick paled and looked kind of panicked. "No, we are not doing that. I can't. It would open up that entire nightmare can of worms again, and I won't do it. Not to Frog or to Bryan."

"Think of the money, though, for?—"

"No." Patrick stood, face blazing red now, and shoved his chair back. "I'll offer piano lessons, Angelo, but I will not profit off my family's pain. I won't put Frog through that kind of public scrutiny. He deserves to live a quiet, private life, the kind Bryan and I never had, and that's what I'm going to give him."

Patrick had spoken quietly, but with enough force in those soft words that Angelo still felt as if he'd been bitch-slapped and put in his place. He didn't say a word as Patrick walked away from the table and headed for the hallway. A moment later, the staircase creaked.

"Okay, point taken," Angelo said. "Past life fame is a very sore subject best not broached. Got it." He glanced at Bryan, whose attention was fixed on Patrick's empty chair. "Are you pissed at me, too, for bringing it up?"

Bryan shook his head. "It was a good idea in theory. But I think we would both prefer to stay as anonymous as possible here in Reynolds. Leave the worst of our pasts back there, you know?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm sorry. No using your previous brushes with fame to help us out in the present. I got it." Angelo didn't completely understand not using every tool in his arsenal to improve their present situation, but these were not his tools to use. This was Patrick and Bryan's very complicated, painful shared past, and if they said it was off limits? Angelo could respect that.

He cared too much about his new little family to risk losing it over a fundraiser for someone else's business. He was already risking a lot by presenting him and Bryan as an in-love, committed couple to the rest of the world—especially if they were ever exposed as a fraud.

Bryan had come home tonight with big plans to celebrate Stitches Removal Day in private, naked with Angelo for several hours. But the whole fundraiser conversation and Patrick's abrupt departure from dinner had shifted those plans. After helping Russell and Angelo clear the table, he'd excused himself to find his brother.

Robbie was engrossed in some sort of adventure in Bruno's room with the lizard and a few other toys, with no sign of his dad. Patrick wasn't in the master bedroom or in Russell's studio, which left the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. One corner of the dim room had a large leather armchair angled toward a window with a view of the street. Patrick was curled up in the chair, knees to his chest, staring out the window, his face half in shadow, the other half silvery from the streetlights.

"He wasn't trying to be a dick," Bryan said softly. "Angelo wasn't."

"I know. I think I overreacted and was the dick."

"You're entitled to any feelings you want to have over your music, Patrick. You don't owe him an explanation deeper than you signed NDAs and can't talk about it. And honestly? Angelo seems shallow, I know, but he's been through some stuff and, deep down, I know he gets it."

Patrick swiveled his head and frowned at him. "You guys talk about the past? Yours and mine?"

"A little bit. I know our relationship is kind of a smokescreen for the sake of his lawyer, but our friendship is real. We do talk, about a lot of things, and sometimes it gets personal." Bryan couldn't admit how much he genuinely cared about Angelo, and how much more real their smokescreen became every day—at least it did to Bryan. "You said no. He won't ask again."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. And in case you're worried Angelo will try to use my name and notoriety to sell silent auction tickets, I won't let him. He knows I'm trying to be someone new here, to create a different life for myself. To leave that Bryan behind with the risky sex, drugs and alcohol."

"Not to mention the NDA you signed."

Bryan couldn't hide a flinch. "He doesn't know about that."

"What?" Patrick glanced at the open door behind Bryan, then stood and strode across the room. He stopped within touching distance and put both hands on his hips. "You didn't tell Angelo the truth about Frog?"

"What truth? He's your son and my nephew. That's the truth."

"Not biologically."

"Which doesn't matter anymore, Patrick. The minute I signed those papers giving you full custody, you became Robbie's sole living parent. He is your son in every way that counts. Telling Angelo any different won't change anything about the reality of our lives now. I've always said that you can tell anyone you want to tell, but it's your decision. You told Russell because you love him and thought he should know. So unless you're in love with Angelo, too, and things are about to get extra-kinky around here, there's no reason to tell him."

"Because Angelo is just a family friend?"

"Yes." Maybe he was more than that to Bryan, but Bryan wasn't ready to say so. Not out loud and not to his baby brother. "Look, we both gave up any claim to that music in order to give Robbie the very best, safest, Tracy-free life possible. No reunion tours are in our future. You're a teacher. I'm a construction worker and a felon. You're a dad and I'm an uncle. It doesn't need to be any more complicated than that."

Patrick sank onto the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping. "You're right. But you know, Bryan, if you ever do meet someone you get serious about, and you want to tell them about the names on Robbie's birth certificate, I won't be mad. Promise."

"Thanks. Maybe someday, huh?"

"Better be someday, because you deserve someone who loves you the way you should be loved. For all that you are, talents and flaws and everything in between."

"Hey, I'm just glad you've got that kind of love. I'm really happy you and Robbie have Russell. If I have anything close to that with somebody? Bonus feature."

"You're never going to find that bonus feature while you're pretending to date Angelo."

He forced back a smile over what happiness he had found with Angelo. "I can sacrifice a few months of looking for my perfect guy or girl to help out a friend." A friend who might just be that perfect guy…no, they hadn't known each other long enough to make any sort of grand romantic declarations.

All Bryan knew for sure was that Angelo was the right guy right now. And for someone who'd vowed to live his life one day at a time, and not dream too far into the future, right now was good enough.

"So any updates on that front?" Patrick asked. "With Angelo's lawyer?"

"Nothing new so far. Darrow is supposed to get in touch with us this week about, well, something."

"Think he'll want to double-date just to make sure you and Angelo are actually together?"

"Maybe. It won't be the weirdest double-date I've ever been on."

"I believe you. Just…I don't know, brother, don't lose yourself trying to be someone else for Angelo's sake."

"I won't." He held Patrick's gaze for several long, silent seconds, unsure what else, if anything, he should admit. That Bryan was still learning who he was now, post-fame and post-prison, and that the man he was becoming had a lot to do with knowing Angelo. With caring about Angelo and being with him, not only physically but also emotionally. That he wasn't losing any part of himself; he was discovering brand new ones.

All thanks to his brother's boyfriend's best friend.

"Thanks, Patrick," Bryan said. "I should go. And for what it's worth, I think you offering four hours of tutoring sessions is a huge win for anyone. You're a great teacher and an even better musician. You always had the talent. I just lucked into the spotlight."

"Old news, old lives. I'm tired of digging up the past, Bryan, I mean it. New lives, new us. Okay?"

"Definitely." Bryan opened his arms, and he smiled as Patrick stood and fell against his chest in a rare, necessary hug. He held his little brother for a long moment, soaking in the comfort and love, and treasuring every single second for how precious they were. For how close he'd come to losing it all, more than once. And now he'd do anything to protect his family.

Absolutely anything.