Chapter Two
Henry
Christmas music filled the air as I stood in the shadows of my best friend’s kitchen, surveying him with the curiosity of a wildlife photographer who’d just uncovered a new species.
This man standing in front of me, stirring risotto like someone who spent his days watching cooking shows, was a ghost of who he used to be. A man remade. Settled. Whole.
He washappy.
What was that like?
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt anything resembling peace or happiness. Most days, I didn’t feel much of anything. Just the burn of anger in my chest and the chill of grief that never fully thawed.
“You keep looking at me like I’ve grown a second head,” Gideon remarked, glancing over his shoulder.
I dragged my eyes to his, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “I just didn’t think I’d ever see this.”
“See what?”
“That you’d be so…domesticated.”
He beamed, stealing a quick glance at his wife as she lounged in the living room before returning his gaze to me. “I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.”
It was a surprising thought, all things considered.
A few years ago, Gideon had been fueled by nothing but rage. Betrayal. Revenge. For a long time, it looked like the fire inside would burn him to ash.
But then Imogene happened. She helped him find his way out of hell. Now they were married. Expecting their first child. Building a future instead of being haunted by his past.
I wished I could take a page out of his book.
But I couldn’t.
Not until I made things right.
Not until justice was served.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he added with a sly smile that reminded me of the carefree days of our twenties. Of the men we used to be.
Or, at least, the manheused to be.
I was never that carefree. Not with my past constantly hanging over me like an ominous cloud.
“I’m not shocked,” I replied. “Just observing the species in its natural habitat.”
Gideon laughed, the sound carrying through the high ceilings of his home.
And that was exactly what this place was.
A home.
The walls were no longer adorned with pieces of art chosen by an interior designer. Instead, every inch of his house was filled with memories of the people who lived in it.
It was a stark contrast from my house, which felt more like a mausoleum with a security system. I hadn’t felt like I had a home since my father returned from deployment and brought the war with him. A war I still fought over thirty years later.
“What’s up with you?” Gideon asked after a beat.
“What do you mean?”
