Page 93 of Colt
A door handle, cold under my palm. The sound of my own footsteps. Voices somewhere. I was thinking aboutthem. Abouthim.
Colt.
He’s going to be so—
And then nothing.
Not darkness with edges. Not pain. The memory just ended. A wall so complete it didn’t even present itself as a wall.
I sat with it. Long enough for the coffee to go cold. Long enough for the light outside the window to shift from gray to pale gold.
I never got to tell him.
Seven years ago, I had walked into that clubhouse carrying the best news of my life, and I never got to say it out loud. Not to him. I never got to see his face when I told him.
I knew that but now I had seen snatches of that day. Of that memory.
I heard a car door. Two. Then Handful’s laugh carrying across the parking lot—loud, unhurried. Boots on gravel. Multiple sets. And underneath all of that, just barely distinguishable: my boys.
The clubhouse shifted in an instant—from still to loud, from empty to full.
Luca came in first, still in his helmet, talking fast about something involving a ramp and the technical specifics of what Handful had done wrong. Knox was right behind him, cheeks red, one knee of his jeans grass-stained, holding a small rock like it was important. Handful appeared in the doorway behind them with his arms spread wide, appealing to some invisible jury. A couple of brothers filed in after him, still arguing about whatever the boys had talked them into watching.
Knox saw me first. He held up the rock.
“I found this for you,” he said, completely serious. “It’s got sparkles in it.”
I crouched down and took it with both hands, turned it over, found the tiny flecks of mica catching the light. “It’s perfect,” I said. “Where’d you find it?”
“By the second fence post.” He studied my face for a moment the way he sometimes did, quiet and careful, measuring something he didn’t have a name for yet. Then he stepped forward and put his arms around my neck.
I held him. Over his shoulder I could see Luca still arguing his case to Handful, who was shaking his head with enormous theatrical patience. I could feel Knox’s heartbeat against mine, fast from the ride and settling down now, slowing to match the quiet between us.
The grief from this morning was still there. I didn’t expect it to be gone. But it had settled into something that could be held alongside everything else—the rock in my hand, the weight of my son, the noise of people who loved us filling every room.
I stood up when Knox finally let go.
Luca looked over at me, mid-sentence. He stopped. He went still—some quick private assessment he’d been making without knowing it. Then he looked at me. “Is Dad here?”
The question landed simply. No accusation in it, no held breath. Just Luca, cutting to the thing that mattered.
“He’s here,” I said. “He got in last night. He’s still sleeping.”
Luca’s face settled. He nodded once, the way Colt nodded when information landed right—filed, confirmed, accounted for. Then he switched gears. “Hi, mama.”
“Hi, baby.” I opened my arm. “Come here.”
He threw himself into it—full weight, no hesitation, the way only Luca could, like he’d been waiting the whole ride home for exactly this.
Chapter 37
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— Colt —
Lilac was different after I came back. Quieter, more settled, like she’d decided something and made her peace with it. I didn’t ask about it. Some things didn’t need to be explained to be understood.
The next few weeks were the happiest of my life.
