Page 57 of Burned in Stone
“Don’t have to. I’ve known a dozen Gabriels.” Maggie unwraps a delicate glass motorcycle. “Control freaks who think a badge or a bank account makes them God. They’re all the same underneath—scared little boys who never learned to handle rejection.”
She hangs a glass bike on the massive tree, handling the ornament with the same care you’d use for newborns and broken hearts. “You stay sharp. Keep your people close. Never let a man like that decide the shape of your day. If he comes sniffing around again, he’ll find he’s not the only one who can bite.”
I want to believe it. And maybe for the first time, I actually do. Gabriel isn’t suddenly less dangerous, but I’m not alone anymore. For years, it was just me against him, trying to navigate his moods, anticipate his reactions, keep myself acceptable enough that I wouldn’t trigger whatever he’d convinced himself I’d done wrong.
But now? It’s easier. Here, I’m surrounded by Ginger’s laughter and Steel’s chronic inability to say no to children. Even the kitsch of Christmas is a comfort, the way the baubles and lights shine regardless of how weird or broken the world is.
Duck walks in carrying a massive tangle of lights that might have once been several separate strands. “Ladies. Steel.”
“It’s Fairy Floss now,” Ginger informs him gleefully.
Duck pauses, looks at Steel’s miserable expression, then shrugs. “Makes sense. Kid’s softer than cotton candy.” He dumps thelights on the floor. “Maggie, where do you want the nativity scene?”
“Same corner as every year,” she says without looking up.
“That corner has the pool table now.”
“Then move the pool table.”
“But—”
“Robert Alan Mallory, do not argue with me about Christmas decorations unless you want to sleep in the garage until New Year’s.”
Duck wisely retreats to move the pool table. Steel starts to get up to help, but Maggie points at him. “You stay. Someone needs to untangle those lights, and you’ve got the patience for it.”
“Why do I feel like I’m being punished for something?” Steel mutters, but starts working on the massive knot.
“Because you are,” Ginger says. “For being too nice. It’s disturbing. We’re bikers, not social workers.”
“Some of us can be both,” Poppy says, adjusting Rose’s blanket. “Community outreach is important.”
“Community outreach,” Ginger scoffs. “Is that what we’re calling it when Steel teaches Sunday school?”
I nearly drop the ornament I’m holding. “Steel teaches Sunday school?”
Steel turns red. “It’s just twice a month. My mom asked me to help.”
“His mom runs the children’s program at First Methodist,” Poppy explains. “Steel shows up in his cut and teaches the kindergarteners about Moses.”
“In your cut?” I’m trying to picture this.
“I take it off for class,” Steel protests. “I’m not a complete heathen.”
“Debatable,” Ginger says, but she’s smiling. “Though it is pretty cute watching him do crafts with five-year-olds.”
“You’ve watched?”
“We all have,” Maggie admits. “First time, we thought it was a joke. But he’s actually good with them.”
“Kids aren’t complicated,” Steel says, still fighting with the lights. “They just want someone to listen and play with them. Adults are the ones who make everything difficult.”
There’s something profound in that simplicity, and I find myself thinking about Gabriel again. How complicated he made everything—every meal a negotiation, every outfit a statement, every word weighted with hidden meaning.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Poppy observes.
“Sorry. Just processing.” I shake my head, trying to find the words. “My ex turned my life into a performance where I never knew which version of me he wanted that day. But here? Nobody’s pretending to be anything they’re not.”
“That’s because we can’t afford to pretend,” Maggie says simply. “Life’s too short and too hard to waste energy being someone you’re not.”
