Because he doesn’t break apart like I thought he would. His face scrunches up, and he’s breathing harshly in through his nose and out through his mouth like he’s fighting whatever it is that claws at his chest and throat and restricts his air. He’s fighting against it right in front of me, and though I want to charge up those stairs and shelter him from everything, I don’t. I wait, because I have to trust him. With everything we’re facing ahead, I have to trust him.

His eyes are wet when they focus on me again. “Okay,” he says. “What do we do next?”

SURPRISE, EVERYONE says when we go into the house.

They try. They really do.

Surprise, surprise, surprise.

He smiles at them. He hugs them. But he’s distracted.

Izzie’s in the living room. She’s dressed in her clothes, now washed and clean. She’s on her knees in front of Megan—and shit, I’d forgotten about her, and oh my fucking god I have two fucking children on the way—while her hair is being braided with deft fingers.

But the moment she sees Ty, she’s up on her feet, wincing a little as Megan accidentally pulls on her hair. She all but launches herself across the floor and onto Tyson, eyes squeezed shut, hands wrapped tightly around his shoulders, knees digging into his sides. She’s trembling, and Ty’s hand is in her hair. He’s whispering in her ear that he’s got her, and it’s okay, kid, you’re okay now, see? You did good by coming here, you did good by coming to find me.

She only nods furiously, refusing to let him go.

He hasn’t talked to her in close to a year.

He’d only been with her fifteen minutes max.

But here they are like they’ve known each other all their lives.

I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Stacey’s on her way,” Dom murmurs from next to me, Ben in his arms. “How’d it go?”

“As good as it could have,” Otter says quietly.

I shake my head. “Better than that. He’s… calmer. Than he was before. Even at Christmas, there was still that edge to him. But he’s… different.”

Dominic snorts. “I wouldn’t go that far. I just spent a week in the car with him. He still talks as much as he always has. He’s jittery and can’t focus on one topic before jumping onto another.”

“But you follow him,” I say.

“Always,” Dom says, sounding fond. “He’s like that little ant. Helmholtz Watson. It’s inevitable, you know.”

I don’t know exactly what he means, but I nod anyway. “It’s… good. I think. He’s good.”

“She looks like you. The both of you.”

I sigh. “I know. Like, there’s absolutely no question she’s a McKenna. We all have different fathers, but… I don’t know. It’s weird.”

He chuckles quietly. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Say what you will about Julie McKenna, but she made some pretty people.”