Swirls of powdery snow skirted across Main Street, the frigid temperature outside clashing with the heat from the ovens out back causing the tall windows of The Burnt Biscuit to fog over.

Cassie was filling the glass case with pastries and donuts for the early morning crowd that was due to start arriving in the next hour or so, snow or no snow, these guys never missed their morning coffee and breakfast on their way to work.

Smiling to herself, she reflected on how the years had changed her life. Four kids, a successful bakery and a new identity. It was never where she thought she’d be. It was never what she’d have dreamed she needed.

The love of her life could be heard in the kitchen, muttering about almost being out of chocolate chips.

“I put some on the order last week, they should be in tomorrow.” Cassie called absentmindedly rearranging the donuts.

“You’re the best, Princess.” He called.

A smile froze on her lips as the front door opened. It was too early for customers. Everyone in town knew they didn’t open the doors until five, even if they were left unlocked.

Two men stood just inside the door. Two very large men. Two men who looked oddly familiar but she couldn’t place it. One shook the snow from his curly hair as he looked around the shop, while the other dusted off his close shaven head, staring right at her.

“Sorry to intrude on you so early, ma’am.” The short haired man said, the drawl of his Texas accent floating over her like honey. “We’re looking for August.”

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

“Just a second.” Cassie said quietly as she turned and walked as normal as she could manage through the double swinging doors into the kitchen.

“Just like I imagined she’d look like from the way he talked about her.” Murmured the other, his British accent as smooth as the Texans.

Fear crept through her as her imagination ran wild.

Are they the bad guys? The ones that August had mentioned so many years ago… the ones he said could use me against him? I thought all this was over.

August stood completely still, his hand hovering over the oven handle, watching his wife as she stopped just inside the door and sank against the wall, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“They’re here.” She breathed, tears brimming the corners of her eyes.

His heart quickened as he stalked to the cabinet he kept the muffin tins in. Flipping the side panel open, his hand wrapped around the gun he’d kept there for the last eight years. It wasn’t lost on him how it felt like the touch of an old, forgotten and unwanted lover. A shudder ran down his spine at how at home it felt in his hand despite his repulsion to the weapon. He’d put this life behind him, even though he’d never stopped being vigilant. His wife and children were everything he’d never let himself want, and now that he had them, he would burn the world he’d saved to keep them safe.

“Stay here.” He whispered to Cassie, pulling her to his chest and kissing her one last time, just in case.

Stepping through the door, gun raised and finger on the hair trigger, his breath left his body in one relieved sigh and couldn’t help but crack a sideways smile at the sight that greeted him.

“You could have called, you bastards.” He growled, the gun falling to his side as he lowered his hand.

The man with the closely shaven head turned to the curly haired man with a smirk.

“Gun drawn, ready to shoot us between the eyes. You owe me twenty bucks, Walter.” He laughed when August rolled his eyes.

“No, you said twenty bucks he shoots us. No shots fired, you owe me twenty dollars, Sy.” Walter murmured. “Will you please tell your wife that she can put down her gun?”

“You really did stumble on the perfect woman for you, didn’t you?” Sy laughed glancing over his shoulder.

August looked at him quizzically then followed Syverson’s gaze to the front window, where Cassie stood, a small pistol trained on his cousins.

“That’s my girl.” He chuckled, his sideways grin stretching the scars on his face taut.

“I guess we were all lucky in that way.” Walter mused as August gestured for Cassie to come inside.

Sheepishly, she poked her head in the door.

“Sorry.” She muttered.

“Come here, Sweetheart.” August pulled her to his side.

“Cassie, my cousins Walter Marshall and John Syverson.”

“Jack.” Corrected Syverson. “Or just Sy.”

“We used to call him junior when we were kids and it always made him cry and and punch us in the face. Or try.” Walter laughed.

“Only because my mom hated it and I didn’t want her to hear it.” He growled, looking like he was about to rip the curly hair off Walter’s head.

“Nothing wrong with being protective of your mother.” Cassie said quietly, looking up at August, thinking of what he had done for his own mother. She could help but note a different kind of smile on his face than she’d ever seen there before. This was a happy part of his past. He loved his cousins, it was clear.

Syverson nodded at her and winked.

“Why don’t I get you all something to eat and some coffee?” She offered, wanting to let her husband spend time with his cousins.

Once the three large men were settled into the small office in the back, coffees and an assortment of pastries and breads on the desk, August swung the door shut as more of the staff began arrived for the morning rush.

“Do I want to know why you didn’t mention this?” Walter gestured at the side of his face.

August sighed.

“Don’t pry, you big ninny.” Sy bumped his shoulder into Walters.

“We don’t keep secrets.” Walter said quietly.

“Oh, we don’t?” August snapped, his steel blue eyes meeting his cousins matching ones. “Care to explain why you didn’t call when you went off after your fathers killers? Just stole a fucking boat and sailed off to your death?”

Walter looked away, guilt eating at him. “There wasn’t time.”

“Hey. It’s over now.” Sy said sternly, effectively cutting through the tension.

“I could have helped.” August continued.

Walter shook his head.

“No, your wife was eight months pregnant with your, what? Third kid?”

Sy nodded, “And Izzy was laid up on bed rest with the twins. Same excuse he gave me.”

“You both had finally found your lives. Settled down. I wasn’t going to risk that for a fools mission. I didn’t have anything so it wasn’t really and issue.”

“And look how that turned out.” August’s sideways smile made Walter blush a little.

“Yeah.” He muttered sheepishly. “Though the honeymoon is certainly over. Irene threw a book at my head when I told her I was going to see my cousins.”

“Why?” August looked surprised. To hear his cousin talk about his new wife, she was sweetness personified. A veritable angel.

“She was mad I didn’t tell her I had cousins.” He shrugged.

“Understandable.” Sy chuckled. “Izzy was pissed too. She only knows about my dads side.”

“There’s enough of them to test anyone’s memory.” Walter laughed.

“Yeah. Like rabbits, runs on both sides apparently. How many are you at now? Five?” August glanced at Sy.

“Well… might be six. Izzy was throwing up yesterday morning. But that might have just been the dead mouse the cat dragged in.” He grinned.

“So are we going to skirt around the reason you two decided to darken my doorstep instead of just messaging me as normal?” August asked, sipping his coffee and watching as his cousins exchanged a dark look.

Walter sighed and gestured for Syverson to spill the beans.

“It’s about Gramps.”

August narrowed his eyes.

“He’s dead. Has been for thirty years. What kind of death trap suicide treasure hunt did he leave for us?”

“That’s the thing. He’s not dead.” Water tossed a folder onto the desk, a photo of their maternal grandfather, absent father of their mothers, in his prime sliding out of the dossier and settling in front of them. “And from what I understand the old bastard is in deep trouble.”

A choked out muffled sob wakes you from a deep sleep. You blink your eyes in a vain attempt to see in the near darkness.

“Henry?”

There’s no response.

“Babe, are you okay?”

You extend a comforting hand towards his side of the bed and realize he’s not where he should be.

A sudden rush of adrenaline propels you upright. The moonlight leaking between the gaps in the curtains provides just enough light for you to see that Henry is precariously perched on the edge of the bed and he’s struggling to breathe.

You become acutely aware that the situation requires more illumination than the waning moon can provide and you quickly flick on the bedside lamp. Your heart clenches when the artificial light reveals the full extent of his distress.

Past experience has taught you all that you need to know. Henry’s mind is waging war on his body. His muscles strain against the power of intrusive thoughts as he fights to breathe, forcing the spaces between his ribs to expand.

This is a bad one.

You rush around to his side of the bed and find that his ever faithful companion has gotten to him first and is quietly laying against Henry’s left thigh.

Good boy, Kal.

“I’m here, love,” you whisper, hoping to calm him as you settle yourself on his right.

He has a hand on his chest. His fingers are pressed into his skin as if he’s trying to pull at the invisible force that is restraining his lungs.

“I can’t…” he gasps in desperation.

You calmly direct him, “Focus on your senses Hen. Feel for Kal. He’s just there, on your other side.”

Henry hesitates, as if moving his hand means surrender. Knowing he’s needed, Kal nudges Henry’s thigh with his muzzle. It’s his usual not so subtle request for attention. Almost reflexively, Henry’s hand falls to his dog’s head and he begins running his fingers through Kal’s fur.

“Can you hear my voice?”

He nods. This gesture is enough to reassure you that you can guide him through this.

“Remember our first kiss?” you ask softly, silently hoping distraction will work as it has before.

He remains silent but you watch his eyes move from the blank wall to a framed photograph of the two of you that sits on the antique chest of drawers in front of him.

“We went to the Kyoto garden in Holland Park to see the sakura? I pulled you up that little hill next to the fish pond and made you sit next to me under that beautiful cherry tree. We had this gorgeous canopy of soft pink blossoms above us and we just sat there quietly for a while.

You pause for a moment to look at him. His panicked expression has started to fade and you can see in his gaze that he’s shifting his thoughts to your shared memory. You place a gentle hand in his lap and he grasps it tightly with his free hand.

“Then this gentle breeze sent a bunch of petals fluttering down around us.”

Henry’s breathing slows and deepens as you give him time to see that moment in his mind’s eye. As he remembers, the corners of his mouth start to turn up in a smile and he finally speaks.

“I leaned in close to brush a petal from your hair and when you turned toward my touch, I seized the moment.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and place a kiss on his shoulder.

“Your lips were so soft. That day, they tasted like honey.”

The specificity of his recollection makes you smile.

“I had it on my toast that morning.”

Not unlike the day you spoke of, the two of you sit together in comfortable silence while Henry continues to pet Kal with one hand while he holds yours with the other.

When you feel it is safe to, you quietly ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not now.”

You brush your knuckles across his cheek with your free hand, instinctively knowing that while he doesn’t want to regurgitate his feelings, he still needs you.

“Want me to hold you?”

“Please.” There is urgency in his tone.

You scoot back and motion for him to join you up on the bed. After stacking a few pillows against the headboard, you lean back against them while opening your arms to Henry.

This isn’t your first time holding him like this but it still surprises you that a man of his size could make himself small enough to be cradled. The side of his head falls against your chest and he rests his cheek against the soft skin of your breast.

You wrap one arm around him as best as you can while the other gently toys with the curls at his nape. You hum to him sweetly as the last bit of tension in his body dissipates and his eyes close.

Not wanting him to ever feel shame for being vulnerable with you, you offer a soothing benediction.

“Henry, you are safe and you are loved.”