Page 89 of Property of Fox

"Brea?" Fox's voice is gentle, probing. I can feel his eyes on me, searching for a reaction, but I can't bring myself to meet his gaze.

"I...I don't know how to feel," I admit. The words taste like ash in my mouth, bitter and acrid. "She's my mom, you know? I should be falling apart right now. But I just feel...nothing."

Memories flicker through my mind like an old film reel, disjointed and faded around the edges. My mom's smile as she tucked me in at night, her lilting voice singing Irish lullabies. The pride in her eyes when I won the spelling bee in fourth grade. But then, like a record scratch, the good memories give way tothe bad. The sting of her slap the last time I saw her before choosing to leave.

"It's okay to feel conflicted," Fox says softly, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. "Your relationship with her was...complicated."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Complicated. That's one way to put it." I scrub a hand over my face, wincing as my fingers brush against tender skin. "God, what a mess."

Fox takes a tentative step towards the bed, his movements slow and cautious. "May I?" he asks, gesturing to the empty space beside me.

I nod, shifting over to make room. Bruce yips excitedly as Fox lowers himself onto the mattress, his face tight with barely concealed pain. The little dog abandons my lap to curl up against Fox's side, tail wagging furiously. Fox's lips quirk up in a ghost of a smile as he scratches behind Bruce's ears. “He’s been sneaking in here like fucking Houdini. Little fucker growled at me when I tried to share the bed with you. I took the couch.”

“A chihuahua kept you from your own bed?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, wincing at the action. “I’m starting to think he doesn’t like me or, maybe he’s more like me than I thought and knows how to charm beautiful women.”

I feel a blush creep up my cheeks at his words, but I try to brush it off with a weak laugh. "Well, he certainly has good taste."

Fox's eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something vulnerable beneath the tough exterior. But then it's gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. "That he does," he agrees, wincing slightly as he shifts position. “Like father, like four-legged son.”

We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Bruce's soft snores fill the quiet room.Finally, I gather the courage to ask the question that's been nagging at me since I woke up.

"What happens now?" My voice sounds small, even to my own ears.

Fox sighs, running a hand through his hair. "That's up to you, Brea. The immediate danger is over, but..." He trails off, his expression darkening. "We have no idea how many chapters they have hidden in the wings.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words. "So, I'm still not safe?"

"You're safe with us," Fox says firmly, his good eye blazing with determination. "The Bastard Boilers protect their own."

I blink, surprised. "Their own? But I'm not?—"

"You are now," he interrupts, his voice brooking no argument. "Whether you like it or not, you're part of this family now."

Family. The word echoes in my mind, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions. Part of me wants to recoil from it, to run as far and fast as I can from this world of violence and danger. But another part, a part I'm almost ashamed to admit exists, feels a warmth spreading through my chest at the thought of belonging somewhere.

"I...I don't know what to say," I whisper, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Fox's hand finds mine on the bed, his calloused fingers enveloping my own. The touch sends a jolt of electricity up my arm, but I don't pull away. "You don't have to say anything," he murmurs. "I told you, firefly, that claim or no claim, I’ll always protect you.”

I nod, unable to form words around the lump in my throat. We sit in silence for a long moment. Bruce sniffles in his sleep, his tiny paws twitching as he chases some dream rabbit.

Fox's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of my hand, the rough calluses a stark contrast to his surprisingly tender touch. The simple gesture grounds me, anchoring me to the present when my mind threatens to spiral into darker thoughts.

"You should try to get some more rest," he says softly, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. "It's still early."

I nod, suddenly aware of how bone-deep exhausted I am. The adrenaline that's been keeping me going is fading fast, leaving me feeling hollow and wrung out. But as Fox starts to pull away, panic flares in my chest.

"Wait," I blurt out, my fingers tightening around his. "Could you...could you stay? Just for a little while?"

Something flickers in Fox's eyes, surprise, maybe, or uncertainty. For a moment, I think he might refuse. But then his expression softens, and he nods.

"Of course," he murmurs, carefully repositioning himself to avoid not only me, but Bruce. He winces as he settles back against the headboard, and I'm reminded again of just how badly he's hurt.

"Are you sure you're comfortable?" I ask, guilt gnawing at me. "I don't want to make your injuries worse."

Fox's lips quirk up in a crooked smile. "Trust me, firefly, there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

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