Page 25 of The Promises We Broke
The casual assumption that I'd be here, that I'd be part of his life going forward, hit me like a physical blow. Because he was right. If I stayed, if I stopped running, we would have time. Time for tree houses and baseball games and all the uncle moments I'd never thought I'd get to experience.
"The delivery story's already becoming legend around town," Blake said with a grin, rocking little Amelia on her lap while she ate. "Marie at the bakery asked me three times whether it was true that you delivered Barrett with a broken arm."
"Technically it was a broken collarbone," Xander said with medical precision.
"Don't ruin the story with facts," Booker said dryly. "By next week, it'll be that Gage delivered twins while fighting off a pack of wolves."
"With his bare hands," Blake added.
"While blindfolded," Reece chimed in.
The gentle teasing, the way they'd already woven Barrett's birth into family mythology, made something warm and unfamiliar unfurl in my chest. This was what I'd missed. Not just the big moments, but the ordinary ones. The way family took your triumphs and failures and made them part of the shared story, part of the foundation that held everyone together.
"Can I hold him?" Cade asked, eyeing his baby brother with the fascination of an older sibling.
"Wash your hands first," Delaney said automatically, the way mothers did. "And sit back on the couch so you're supported."
I watched Cade carefully wash his hands at the kitchen sink, his movements serious and deliberate. When he settled onto the couch, Trace carefully transferred Barrett to his arms, showing him how to support the baby's head, how to hold him secure but not too tight.
"He's so small," Cade whispered, his voice filled with wonder. "But Uncle Gage, look how strong his grip is."
Barrett had indeed wrapped his tiny fingers around one of Cade's, and the sight of my two nephews together, one protecting the other with the natural instinct of an older brother, made my throat tight with emotion.
This was what family looked like. This was what I'd helped destroy and what had somehow been rebuilt without me. And now they were offering me a place in it, a chance to be part of Barrett's story from the beginning, part of Cade's childhood memories going forward.
"He likes you," Trace said, settling beside his sons with a smile that was pure paternal pride.
"He likes everybody," Cade said matter-of-factly. "But Uncle Gage is special because he helped him get born."
The simple acceptance in his voice, the complete absence of resentment or blame, was more healing than anything I'd experienced in eleven years. This child, who had every right to resent my existence, was treating me like the uncle he'd always wanted to meet.
"Cade's right," Delaney said gently. "You are special to Barrett. You'll always be the uncle who was there when he needed you most."
I stared down at Barrett's sleeping face, at Cade's careful attention to his little brother, at the family that had somehow made space for me despite everything I'd cost them. For the first time that ever-present guilt I felt was being balanced by something else. Something that felt dangerously like hope.
"I never thought..." I started, then stopped, not sure how to voice what I was feeling.
"Never thought what?" Xander asked gently.
"I never thought I'd get to be part of something like this again," I admitted. "Family dinners, new babies, kids who actually want to spend time with their uncle. I convinced myself I'd given up the right to any of it."
"You didn't give up anything," Trace said firmly. "It was stolen from you by someone who got off on destroying people. There's a difference."
"Regina's gone," Cade added with the finality that only children could achieve. "Pops divorced her and she can't hurt anybody anymore. So everything's okay now."
If only it were that simple. If only the damage could be undone as easily as signing divorce papers and moving forward.
But looking around at this table, at the family that had somehow survived and rebuilt itself into something even stronger, maybe Cade was right. Maybe sometimes healing meant choosing to focus on what you'd gained instead of what you'd lost.
"Uncle Gage?" Cade said suddenly. "Are you going to stay this time?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. Direct, innocent, without any of the careful dancing around the subject that the adults had been doing. Just a child asking whether the uncle he'd finally met was going to stick around to be part of his life.
"I..." I glanced around the room, seeing the careful hope in everyone's faces. "I want to stay."
"Good," Cade said with satisfaction. "Because Barrett's going to need you to teach him stuff when he gets bigger. And I need help with that tree house."
The casual assumption that I'd be around for Barrett's childhood, for future tree house projects and all the ordinary uncle moments that stretched out ahead, made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't name.
