Page 46 of Beyond Redemption

“Hi,” Bodhi said, seeming a bit overwhelmed.

Before anyone spoke again, Olive moved fast, arms open wide.

Once her daughter was safely in her grasp, Falyn made a sound into Olive’s hair. Not a cry. Not a scream. A noise that, as quiet as it was, rivaled her wails in my father’s yard the moment Olive took what we all thought was her last breath.

Trenton stepped forward to hug them both, arms trembling. He shook like he was freezing, holding his breath with so much restraint his ribs shuddered. An ear shattering sob wanted to claw its way out of his body, but he held himself rigid, his emotions caged behind clenched muscle and sheer will.

No one cared about order. They’d formed into a pile of arms and tears and apologies with no language, only a few quiet whimpers. Camille joined them. Then Taylor and finally Tyler and Ellison. Abby and Travis stayed back with the kids, their cheeks wet with tears.

Bodhi stepped back but stayed close. His attention moved from Liis to me, then down to Stella for a fraction of a second, before returning to supervise. His eyes were calm but cautious. Once he looked back at me, I met his gaze and gave a small nod. He returned it. An understanding passed without words. It was going better than we expected, but it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a sofa in the back room,” Liis said. “If we could all move that way, you can all sit down and catch up.”

Falyn sniffed and shot her a look of pure hatred, but her expression softened as she glanced back to Olive and guided her to the far end of the Longhouse.

Olive sat between Trenton and Falyn, with Taylor and Camille sitting as bookends against each arm of the sofa. The kids were allowed to greet her, but it was mostly the twins crying into her arms with Hadley, Hollis, and Gavin watching with curiosity. I was sure their parents had explained to them the best they could, but they were still relatively little when Olive disappeared from their lives. It was obvious this was an emotional moment, but they couldn’t quite process what it meant.

For the first time, Olive held her namesake in her arms. Oliver gnawed happily at her hair while Camille made her laugh and cry in the same breath, recounting the miscarriage, the pregnancy that followed, and Oliver’s birth—stories Olive had heard before in fragments, passed along during our updates, but never like this. When we’d told her that Trenton and Camille were finally expecting and planned to name their son after her, she’d shed the same quiet tears. But now, hearing it from Camille, tears traced her cheeks again, each detail landing as if for the first time.

The conversation naturally progressed to Olive’s account of the last two and a half years, healing from the bullet wound, settling into the new house in Falls Church, the first day of college at Marymount, therapy, meeting Sunny and then Bodhi, and the shooting on campus. She talked about getting used to her new, made-up name and making new friends and the guilt that came with lying to them and Bodhi while falling in love with him at the same time.

As Bodhi watched, obviously surprised, his face was strained in some parts, but more from holding back the reassurance he wanted to give.

The family listened intently to her every word, then asked Bodhi questions, getting to know him while rediscovering Olive. On the surface, they seemed relaxed, joyous even… but I knew better. Beneath it all was the same hatred I saw in Falyn’s eyeswhen she glared at Liis. Microaggressions threaded through the peace like barbed wire. Falyn’s hand stayed on Olive’s arm the entire time. A tether, and a warning. She was holding her daughter close while also holding herself back. Taylor’s stare kept skipping to me.

Trenton’s jaw muscle ticked often just under the skin, his foot intermittently tapping, unrhythmic. It wasn’t impatience, it was containment. In tiny movements, he was bleeding off nearly three years of emotional wreckage the only way he was allowed.

At some point, Naomi had crossed the Longhouse and taken up a position just beyond the doorway of the back room, arms clasped behind her back, present without intruding. She didn’t intervene. She didn’t need to. Her presence was simply a reminder: no escalation.

After an hour, Olive seemed to become increasingly overwhelmed, relieved only in tiny moments of levity that Trenton or Travis offered.

Liis leaned into my ear. “I think she needs a break. Going to take her outside for a bit.”

“Good luck,” I muttered.

“You’d better keep that luck for yourself,” she muttered, leaving my side to approach Olive.

She was right. We’d made it a full sixty minutes without incident, but once Olive stepped away, I didn’t trust my brothers to hold to Marcel’s terms. Logic aside, I couldn’t blame them.

“Olive? Would you join me for a moment?” Liis asked, leaning down. Her expression softened, maternal—the same look she used with Stella when she was gently redirecting her.

Falyn’s arm straightened across Olive’s lap. “Why? Where are you taking her?”

I straightened from the doorjamb, ready to act but keeping my voice calm. “Just for some air. This is a lot for her. A few minutes to breathe will help.”

“I’ll take her,” Falyn said, closing both hands around Olive’s.

Naomi stepped fully into the room. “Right now, Olive needs continuity,” she said. “Keep it simple. This would be overwhelming for anyone, and she’s been through a lot the past forty-eight hours. A few minutes outside with someone she sees every day will help her regulate before coming back in.” After a small pause, she continued, “You’ll get plenty of time with her, I assure you.”

Falyn seemed hurt, but she nodded, letting Olive’s hand go. She turned to her daughter, her eyes bright again. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Olive leaned in, touching her forehead to her mother’s cheek, then whispered something in her ear. She then stood, immediately looking more at ease as Liis escorted her, along with Bodhi and Stella, to the exit.

Once the heavy entrance door slammed shut, every single one of my brothers looked up at me with murder in their eyes.

Taylor stood. His expression severe, his posture stiff—non-threatening but loaded. “You had no fuckin’ right, Tommy.”

“Later,” I said simply, staring into his eyes.