Page 138 of Hidden Memories

And so, I went out to begin this day with something that adds cheer to any morning… the best coffee in California and sweet morning treats. That’s where Arthur caught me.

He’d asked Julia if he and Kat couldhave the space above Heritage for a free art class. Julia not only said yes but provided the additional funds needed to get the ball rolling. He booked the space above Heritage for the following week. And now, that day has come, and I barely feel ready to see Theo and Kat on the other side of our secure ranch gates. Yet, I haven’t seen Owen for seven days and I miss him, so, taking Anton, Gabriel, and Ava along for cover, we step out in pursuit of normal.

I’ve always loved this large open space above Heritage. It’s where we have our Town Hall meetings to nurture the community. Before that, it was the GhostEye office which we all paid by trading Julia our manual labor at the tack shop below. There are a lot of memories here, and the nostalgia just about manages to relax my tense muscles, still constantly on guard, searching every shadow for danger.

This week. Art therapy. Next week, we all have appointments with the best doctors in Northern California. We need it. I’m not letting my family carry this trauma too far into our future.

Despite the mixture of feelings inside me, the air around me is alive with warmth, a low hum of conversation. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting golden patches over the wooden floors. It’s the kind of place that feels rooted, steady—like it’s existed for generations, quietly gathering memories of an entire community.

Arthur managed a fantastic turnout, and he walks around proudly, his hair wild with excitement and the unbridled joy he brings to any occasion.

Ava, Anton, Gabriel, and I have canvases that are set up in the back of the room like a fortified city wall, four soldiers on duty. We said we came for security, though I’m surprised to see Gabriel is being drawn into the shading of his oceanscape more than I would have expected.

Arthur and Kat mingle around the room. Arthur chuckles before offering a tip to one of the ladies in the front row, who is more interested in chatting with him than painting. Kat stands at the side of Mr. Chen, her smile radiant and infectious as she gestures to the canvas he’s working on.

“Mr. Chen, the colors you have here are perfect for a sunset over those hills of yours.”

Her enthusiasm carries into her voice, light but confident, and I’ll give anything to keep it that way.

“That’s what I had in mind,” he answers. “What do you think about these greens for the grass? Are they the wrong shades if it’s getting darker out in my scene?”

Kat runs her finger along his oil pastels, picking out a few new shades for him to try. She’s glowing, blue eyes catching the light, her hands moving animatedly when she talks. There’s a freedom in her I haven’t seen before. And damn, if it doesn’t hit me like a punch to the chest.

She catches me watching, her eyes lock with mine across the room. For a moment, the chatter, the shuffling of chairs, the faint scratch of brushes on paper all dissolve, as if the world itself has pulled back to leave just us. The distance between us is irrelevant.

That small, knowing smile curves her lips, the one that holds a power that grips me. She doesn’t need to speak; her eyes tell me she sees me completely—the man I’ve been, the man I am now, and the man I’m still trying to become.

It’s maddening and beautiful all at once, this connection we have, where a single look can undo me. I have to steady myself to resist crossing the room right now. I want to fucking grab her and take her here and now, bite that swan-like neck, worship her… Instead, I mouthI want you. A bashful smile overcomes her, and she winks playfully.

She turns back to the class, her voice floating acrossthe room while she explains something to Arthur. She moves with such ease, her confidence blooming like the very art she’s encouraging them to create. And I realize, in that moment, that this—her standing here, surrounded by color and life—is what I fight for. It’s what I’ll keep fighting for, every day.

“You’re staring,” Ava mutters beside me, breaking my moment.

I glance at her, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Get used to it.”

She shrugs, her laptop balanced on the easel in front of her. “Kat asked me to come. Said it would do me good to ‘disconnect from work’ and ‘explore my creative side.’” She waves a dismissive hand at the air. “As if what I do isn’t creative.”

She smirks and tilts her screen toward me.

“What’s the latest?” I ask.

“GhostEye’s been busy working with the FBI. I’ve got intel coming in about the ’Ndrangheta’s remaining cells. Nic wasn’t bluffing—there’s more out there, but they’re scrambling now that their golden boy is in custody.” She leans closer, her voice dropping. “And Nic? He’s not doing well. They’re starting to crack him.”

Good. The thought steadies me, but Ava’s eyes narrow while she studies me.

A laugh comes from behind and she turns to where Owen and Theo are drawing off to the side at a table.

“Are you worried?” Ava asks, eyes trained on Owen. “About the foster application?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I informed the social worker about Kat and Theo, and even though I’m more worried, I’m also less worried, too, because the truth is out there. I’m not one for hiding things.”

“What did the social worker say?”

“She said it’s fine I’m in a relationship, Theo being around is fine, it just adds time to processing. So yeah… that part’s not great.”

Ava nudges me. “You know what I think? I think the social worker already knows you’re the best damn option for Owen, but bureaucracy is slow. They need time.”

I nod, but time is what’s making me restless. Every delay means Owen stays in limbo. And after everything? That kid deserves certainty.

---