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BREAKING POINT - Part 8

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

AN: Here we go, the home stretch, friends. To those of you that have stayed with me on this story, thank you so much! Closing out the show on not only Breaking Point, but the Every Second Counts-verse has been challenging, bittersweet fun. I hope you enjoy where we end up by the end of the journey. 🥹💚

Posted on Patreon: 8/31/2025

Word Count: 8K

Tags/Warnings: Hostage situation, mentions of torture, blood and violence, death, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, and an ending…

⌖ Series Masterlist

Part 8: Close the Show

You paced the kitchen, every step filled with an almost twitchy kind of anxiety as the line continued to ring. The phone was hot pressed up to your ear.

Finally, he answered. “Hey.”

“Anything?” you asked.

A hesitation. Your bated breath…

“I’m sorry, not yet,” Colter said. To his credit, he sounded genuinely frustrated. It was rare for you to hear it in his voice, let alone see it on his face, but it was there. You bit hard into your lip, trying and failing to hold onto your tears. You covered your mouth and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Please, I know it’s hard, but just stay where you are,” he said, as if he was reading your mind. “Right now, the compound is the safest place for you to be.”

You glanced out the cabin window and saw Dory and Charlie setting up some more bear traps—ones that could function as people traps, if need be. Charlie was also on the phone with his best friends from the Airforce, Dave and Manny. They were helping out with a crucial piece of the “BlackBridge Plan,” or at least, the one that hadn’t yet gone to shit. Rennie was on that four-way call too.

“It’s been 48 hours,” you said to Colter. “If you haven’t found Russell by morning, then I’m going back over to San Francisco and I’m helping you look.”

He tried to argue with you for a little while longer, but you hung up on him. Deep down, you knew you shouldn’t make his job harder. He was the expert tracker, certainly not you. But you couldn’t stomach the sickness inside you—in your soul—knowing that Adam and others like him had taken Russell, just plucked him out of rush-hour traffic in the middle of the damn day.

Every minute, every second was on the line here, and Russell’s life was at the end of it.

Russell had trained to withstand torture. He just didn’t realize how poetic it would be to have one of his own men holding the big stick. At least, metaphorically speaking.

Droon, one of Ian Helm’s pet psychos, grabbed Russell up by his hair and wrenched his head out of the dirty water basin. Old-school, but effective. White and red spots pocketed by darkness threatened to cloud his vision. He blinked rapidly and sucked in gasping breaths.

Adam stood by and observed.

“Again.”

This continued until Russell was chained back up to his very own Iron Throne—a rusty old chair in the middle of the basement. He was a little concerned about getting tetanus.

He shook his sopping wet hair back like a dog. He felt like one too, a mangy one. His feet were barefooted and raw where they’d been burned. Not entirely. Just the sensitive soles and sides. His arms and torso were stripped bare too, littered with bruises and lacerations. An angry welt nearly sealed his eye shut. But he hadn’t broken yet.

“You’ve always been smart, Russell. Strong. It’s what I admire about you,” Adam said. “It’s why I wasn’t all that surprised by your little fake out.”

“You liked that, huh?” Russell said, albeit with labored breaths. “The look on your face…fucking priceless.”

That moment when Adam opened the packet and found a bunch of printed papers, the words FUCK YOU listed over and over for twenty-five pages—oh, Russell would hold that memory of shock and anger until the day he died. Which, consequently, might be sooner than he initially thought.

“We’re going to find your brother long before he finds you,” Adam said. “Then, I think this’ll become a lot easier.”

“Good fucking luck. He’s smarter than you. He’s better looking. So am I for that matter. But mostly he’s smarter, good at dodging your uncle’s blunt fucking objects,” Russell said, nodding at Droon. The man was a pillar of stoicism. His actions were dictated by his pay-cut, and by the level of his precision and the eclectic nature of his tools, Russell knew that was a hefty slice.

Adam drew closer with measured steps, his arms crossed. “And what about your girlfriend. Your sister. Your mom. How good are they at hiding? We know they’re on that compound, and we know where to look.”

Russell’s eyes sharpened, but his devil-may-care smirk remained.

“Are you smirking to hide your anger, or your fear? I’m just curious,” Adam said, a smile playing on his own lips.

“Oh, I’m just keeping a tally,” Russell said. “That’s the third time you’ve mentioned my family. The fifth time you’ve mentioned my girl. Either you’re grasping at straws to crack me open, or you’re jealous of the fact that I actually have a family to come home to. You’ve got an owner tugging on the other end of your leash.”

Adam’s expression faded, a thinning of his lips. “You think you’re going home?”

“I think you know it’s not gonna end with me in this fucking chair.”

“You’ve always been a good bullshitter.”

Russell leaned back against hard metal and sighed, rolling his neck like he was just tired. Bored.

“Tell me something, Adam.” He licked his lips, a darker flash behind his eyes. “Did you know about my family the whole time we were in the same foxhole? Are you gonna claim that you didn’t know what your uncle was doing? That you didn’t know he was responsible for my father’s death?”

Adam didn’t answer.

In fact, he and Droon finally left him alone. They withdrew to the metal staircase that led to God knows where above. The lights in the basement clicked off one by one, until Russell was in complete darkness.

Water droplets slid down his neck and shoulders, drying cold on his skin. They fell from his hair and onto the ground. Any incremental shift in the chair pulled at his wounds, from mildly superficial lacerations to the seared meat of his feet, still pulsing with a branding pain.

He cursed Adam in his mind. He knew that this was worse than the special attention they’d been paying Russell: being here in the silence, deprived of his senses in the cloying dark, alone with his thoughts.

He remembered what you said about the kind of darkness that didn’t care if your eyes were open or closed. Well, he closed his eyes. He held onto that image of you curled up on his childhood bed and covered head-to-toe in those flannel pajamas, a lumberjack red.

He held that picture in his mind for a while, followed by other memories—Dory, Colter, Doug, and even his parents. He grounded himself with deep breaths and meditation.

The silence stretched on.

A wrought iron stairwell led Adam and Droon up to the first floor of the gated mansion, of which there were three. Adam ventured in the kitchen, where he wiped his hands on a hanging towel even though they were clean.

“I could keep working on him,” Droon offered.

“No,” Adam replied. “I want to try a different tactic.”

Droon didn’t voice his disapproval, but he didn’t have to. He ultimately nodded and went on his way to the security room, where he left one of his subordinates in charge.

Adam continued up to the second floor to visit his uncle. Already Adam could overhear the conversation from outside the door.

“Yes, we’re prepared to cut that check today, as long as the school board agrees to the name change.”

Adam guided the door open quietly. He found his uncle with a glass of bourbon in hand as he sat in a leather lounge chair and gazed out the large double windows. His office overlooked the San Francisco Bay.

“Yes, I understand the historical aspect of Abraham Lincoln High School, but the Helms School has a better ring to it, don’t you think?” Ian said. “For $3.5 million, it definitely will.”

Adam waited where he stood with his hands gathered behind his back. It only took another minute for Ian to end the call. He then turned to his nephew with a raised brow.

“How’s it going in the basement?” he asked.

“Still marinating,” Adam replied. “When we find his brother, Russell will break. All it takes is the right angle of pressure.”

“And what about the rest of the Shaw family? And the girlfriend you somehow left alive?” Ian said. “Have you applied the right pressure there too? What about the sister?”

Adam hesitated. “Disguising Colter’s death will be easy. He has a dangerous profession. But two young professors from a prominent university, well known in their community—”

“Is no greater challenge than we’ve dealt with before,” Ian finished. “I need you to do your job, son.”

Adam’s lips pressed together, until they became a thin line.

“I know very well what my job is, sir. I’ve been doing it a long time,” he said. “It was me who cleaned up your mess in South America. Me who found a way to keep an eye on Russell this long. I’m the one who keeps this place from falling apart.”

Ian huffed a laugh. He turned away from the view of the Bay and retrieved a cigar from a special case on his desk. Procuring a lighter from a drawer on the left, he took his time lighting up, a leisurely puff.

“And who do you think put you in the Special Forces? Was it your average marksmanship or subpar work ethic?” Ian said. Another rumble of sound that passed for amusement escaped his lips between puffs. “How much of my money slid up the chain of command to ensure you were placed exactly where I wanted you to be, at exactly the right time?”

Adam ground his teeth until his jaw clicked, but it barely showed under his skin.

“The one thing that’s special about you, son, is how much you’d fuck up my plans if I didn’t guide you. Just like your mother that way.” The man sighed and shook his head. “But it’s fine. Droon has already taken measures where the Shaw brothers are concerned.”

Adam’s brows rose. “What did you do?”

There was a moment of tension, in which Ian was reluctant to respond. Adam suspected it was his uncle’s reluctance to admit to any part of his guilt, even in the safety of his own home.

They were interrupted by Adam’s cell phone buzzing. A call from Droon.

What is it?”

“Security breach, sir,” Droon said on the line. “One of the north cameras are down.”

“Physically or digitally?”

“Both. We had some interference on our system. Gate Section A2 was somehow unlocked.”

Adam’s frown deepened, but he wasted no time in leaving the study. “Secure the perimeter. I’ll deal with Shaw.”

“Which one?” Droon asked.

Adam quirked a humorless smile. “Both.”

He hung up and booked it to those iron stairs, down to the basement. The lights were back on.

The metal chair in the center of the room was empty, devoid of even the chains bolted down to the floor.

The chain wrapped around his neck from behind. Adam’s reflexes allowed him to slip his hand under the metal before it could entirely block his airway, but still, the strength behind the chokehold was incredible and startling. He knew it instantly.

“Hey, Russ,” he choked.

Adam continued to struggle, but he managed to wriggle out of Russell’s hold, just to be faced with Colter’s gun when he turned around. Gritting his teeth, Adam grabbed Colter’s wrist and tried to twist the gun out of his grip, but Colter merely switched hands. Adam’s punch still forced him a step or two back.

Just as Adam got enough space to draw his own gun, Russell bat it away, forcing it to clatter several feet across the floor. He threw a swift combination of punches that knocked Adam back a couple of feet—nearly sent him to the ground. The men were able to face each other once again.

Russell was ragged where he stood, but his hands and ankles were now free, thanks to Colter, and he was still strong, fueled by adrenaline and the anger that lived just underneath his skin. Colter wore black tactical gear and held a gun pointed at Adam’s chest.

Movement sounded somewhere above their heads, making the Shaw brothers pause.

“That’ll be the security team,” Adam said. “T minus forty-five seconds, give or take, and you’ll be spending the rest of this little brotherly reunion down here. We’ll grab you a chair, Colter. Make you real comfortable.”

“Go, finish the job,” Russell said to Colter. His tone was deep and sharp, but his gaze was firmly on Adam. “I’ll wrap this up.”

After just a second spent, Colter nodded and headed up the stairs. It left Russell exactly where he wanted to be. Or at least, this was the first item of business on his list.

Adam saw his gun. It was several feet away, shrouded in darkness. Behind him were the stairs that Colter just ran up. It was the only means of escape, for both Adam and Russell. Only one would make it there.

A bare-handed, messy, brutal fight ensued under harsh overhead lighting and thick summer humidity. The problem was, these men had trained together, fought together. Each knew how the other thought, and the way they processed muscle-movements honed by years of hard-wrought experience—from play brawls between young men trying to find themselves in the camaraderie, to the failures and successes they built their careers on.

Adam was fresh, well-nourished and rested. That might have been more than enough to make up for Russell’s advantage on height and build. But again, never underestimate a rabid dog that was finally free of his cage.

Russell landed a blow to Adam’s ear that knocked him right out of his equilibrium, followed quickly by his legs being swept out from under him. He ended up on his back, his head thwacking hard on the cement. Russell followed him there, pinning him down and beating his face in until his hand started to grow numb and bloody.

It shouldn’t have been as satisfying as it was, but karma came in the form of a cheap shot Adam landed in Russell’s side, reminding him with painful clarity that he had three broken ribs. Russell wheezed with a grunt as Adam not only knocked him off, but gained the upper hand, slamming his fist into Russell’s already swollen eye. Once, twice, and a third that finished breaking his nose.

Just when he was about to lose the tenuous thread on his consciousness, Adam gripped his dirty collar and forced him to stay awake.

“Oh, no. Don’t go to sleep yet, because this is important,” Adam said raggedly, panting for breath. “Even if by some fucking delusion you walk out of this alive, it’s not going to be over, you understand? He wanted me to kill your girl, you know. Instead I dressed it up, made it messy enough that it would be a risk to try again.”

Russell blinked slow, clinging to survival instinct and the remnants of seething anger.

Messy. On purpose. Adam talked like he’d done him a favor by hurting you just enough to change you forever.

“I actually tried to keep them out of it, you know. Your sister, your mom. I figured taking you and Colter out would be enough,” Adam said. “But my uncle is very good at loose ends. He’s tying ‘em up over at Echo Ridge right now.”

Russell’s eyes widened, finally showing a sliver of fear. Not for himself, but for his family.

In that breath between the seconds, his mind firmed with resolve.

“If you want to know the truth, I wish it could be different,” Adam said. For the first time, there were shades of guilt in his blue eyes. There were deeper ones of regret, and other layers that would never be pried back. “But I don’t have a choice. I never did. From the moment I was fucking born.”

Russell’s eyelids started to fall shut. Adam shook his once, slapped at his cheek.

“Hey—”

Russell grabbed his wrist. He shot forward and headbutted Adam so hard that the resounding crack made both of them wince. But Adam was the one who cried out, pain and shock.

Russell flipped him into a headlock. The other man struggled and clawed and kicked, and even whipped out a knife from his belt to impale deep into Russell’s quad.

Before he got the chance, Russell closed a hand around that wrist and forced the five-inch blade into Adam’s chest. Russell felt the give of muscle, of Adam’s chest convulsing a little with the impact, his stifled intake of breath.

Russell forced air into his own lungs while he sat there on the ground, with his arm still wrapped in a stronghold around Adam’s neck. Russell slowly let go, moving not just his aching body onto its knees, but Adam’s to the cold ground. His blue eyes searched Russell’s for a moment, glazed with resignation…and maybe an apology.

Just a few seconds, and they dimmed into lifelessness. Blood continued to plume in his chest, a ravaged heart grinding to a stop.

Colter dodged security long enough to intercept Ian Helms trying to escape the property via the west gate, which overlooked the pool and patio area. After shooting both guards from behind, Colter closed in on Ian, who finally had his feathers ruffled as he tried to hide behind an outdoor brick oven.

“Ian Helms,” Colter called out. “The man who’s spent twenty years trying to cover up my father’s murder. What he knew could’ve topped your whole empire, right? Over a hundred years of Helms legacy, reduced to what it’s really worth. The dirt under our feet.”

Ian’s pride sparked into a glare. He stood to his full height, straightening his clothing.

“You have nothing,” he said. “I don’t know what you tried to pull the other day with that scavenger hunt in the woods, but it’s over. I’m going to have you arrested for breaking and entering.”

He talked a big game, but he kept glancing beyond Colter, searching for Droon and the rest of his security team presumably in the house. If Helms had it his way, Colter would never step off this grounds to make it into a jail cell.

“The intel my brother’s unit was given wasn’t flawed, was it?” Colter said. “You got a tip that the government was closing in on your operations in Nicaragua—one of many cartels you worked with to smuggle cocaine and heroin into the States, all the way here to California. So you told them to clean up shop. That way Russell’s unit came up empty on the search, and they looked like the dirty hand at the same time. You even got an encrypted message to your nephew, Adam, telling him to make sure no residual evidence was found in the village.”

Ian’s lips trembled in anger, his skin beginning to glisten with sweat. “What did you find?”

“A thumb drive filled with transactions and accounts, bribes to military officials, and even money wires to Horizon Group in order to sanction kills, among other things,” Colter said.

“Okay,” Ian said, raising his hands placatingly. “You know that if you pull this trigger, it’ll never be over for you. For your family. But I’m a reasonable man, Colter. Name your price.”

“For the drive?”

Ian slowly nodded. “For all of it.”

Colter smiled. “I’m no businessman, Mr. Helms, but I think you just showed your hand.”

The glass doors to the patio opened to a team of SWAT and FBI agents.

While they arrested the startled Ian Helms and the rest of his security team (Droon included), Colter headed back inside. He beelined in the direction of the basement, but Russell was already climbing up to the first floor. He was moving slow, bloody and ragged, but alive.

Colter immediately went to support him on his right, sliding his arm under Russell’s shoulders and taking on most of his weight.

“We need to get you to the ER—”

Russell grabbed his arm, meeting him with an intense stare that Colter had never seen before.

“We need to get back.”

THREE DAYS AGO…

After discovering the coordinates written in invisible ink on the back of Ashton’s letter, you all had a new problem. Colter said as much.

“What?” Dory asked.

Russell crossed his arms, sharing a look with his brother. “BlackBridge has eyes across this entire city for me and Colter. By now, even all of you.”

His gaze traveled to Dory, Charlie, and finally, your worried eyes.

“If we’re spotted, we lead them right to the evidence,” Russell added.

“So we need help,” Charlie said.

Russell nodded and turned to Colter. “What about Reenie?”

“I don’t want to get her in the middle of this,” Colter shook his head. “Plus, BlackBridge likely knows she’s connected to me.”

Russell smirked. “Connected, huh?”

Colter shot his brother a flat look, but chose not to answer.

“What about Dave or Manny?” Charlie said. “BlackBridge might know they’re connected to me, but they probably don’t have eyes on them like they do us.”

Colter frowned in thought. “The more people we drag into this mess, the bigger the risk.”

“We gotta recruit somebody,” Russell pointed out. He nodded at Charlie. “His guys at least know what they’re doing.”

And they didn’t have as many responsibilities or potential collateral, like Russell’s friend Doug.

Colter finally agreed with a nod.

“Okay, assuming they agree, here’s how I think we should play it,” he said. “First, we get Dave and Manny out to these coordinates, see if they can find what we’re looking for. Once we confirm the nature of the evidence, we can have Reenie bring it to the police. Better yet, the FBI. Russell, you have someone you trust as a point of contact?”

Russell thought about it. “Actually, yeah. I do. My old CO is over in LA now. Made a transfer to the Bureau.”

“Well okay, that’s great,” Colter nodded. “Then…comes the tricky part.”

“Putting a hit out on Helms?” Russell joked. The kind of joke that wasn’t really joking.

“Getting him or one of his people to make a public mistake, or even better, to confess,” Colter said. “We don’t have the power to tackle them head-on. If one of us can get close enough with a wire and pull it out of him, it’ll ensure that the company goes down quickly, minimizes the chance that he’ll weasel out of the arrest charges.”

Russell chuckled. “A misstep or a confession. That’s not gonna come easy.”

The rest of you agreed wordlessly. Colter spread his hands on the table.

“I think we need a decoy.”

Russell shot him a smirk. “I think that’s us, brother.”

NOW

You knew Mary Dove was tired of watching you sit across from her in the living room while she knitted a quilt, burnt amber threads twining with blue and green. The windows were open, letting in a warm summer breeze and diffusing the stuffiness inside. But you couldn’t be calmed. Your leg bounced while you pretended to read on your laptop. You checked your phone every 15 to 20 minutes, if you could even hold out that long.

It had been a few hours since you spoke to Colter. You picked up your phone to text him. Then, thinking better of it, you decided to just call him for a more immediate response.

Mary sighed.

“If Colter hasn’t checked in, it’s because there isn’t news,” she said. “And if he doesn’t respond, it means he’s in the middle of something. It could be dangerous for you to keep distracting him.”

You frowned at her. You knew she had a point, but it was her attitude that raked at you sideways. It had from the very start, and not once had she spoken to you with anything but cold, thinly veiled judgment, as if she was just barely holding back another criticism. Either that, or she was silently assessing you whenever you entered a room, trying to pick you apart from the outside in.

“Are you even worried about Russell at all?” you snapped. “Don’t you care that your son is in the hands of the people who murdered your husband?”

Tension hung in the air between you and Mary as you stared at one another—you in a heated glare, her with a calmer expression. The only sign of her annoyance was a small tick in her brow.

A metal snap of what sounded like a bear trap echoed in the forest clearing. One of her “alarms” was tripped.

The Walkie Talkie beside Mary’s hip crackled to life.

“Incoming. Hostiles are approaching from the southeast,” Charlie said. “It’s go-time.”

An unsteady breath escaped you. You didn’t have time to dwell in fear though.

The two of you got to your feet, but Mary quickly went to you and pulled you along by your arm to a room in the back that functioned as both the pantry and the “armory.”

“Grab a shotgun,” she said.

Dory and Charlie had been teaching you to shoot, but it didn’t mean you were all that comfortable with a gun. Still, you did as she said. Dory quickly joined you both and grabbed her own shotgun, and a modern crossbow.

“Why shouldn’t I be surprised you know how to spear someone with that thing,” you said. Worry still claimed your lungs, but Dory’s smile (and her hand on your arm) reassured you.

“Later remind me of the time I shot Russell in the ass with a BB gun,” she said.

You snorted. “How old were you?”

“Seven,” she smirked.

Mary urged you and Dory outside into the forest. You all hiked several yards away from the cabin, away from the direction Charlie said the intruders were coming. He was already on the roof of the cabin with a rifle, ready to take out the two SUV carloads of hired men pulling up to the house, sent courtesy of BlackBridge.

Meanwhile, Mary led you to a ladder posted against a tall tree, up into a duck blind. It was really just a better vantage point for sniping people from the high ground and the cover of the trees. She continued by herself to the next one, but you and Dory climbed up into the first.

A bullet nearly took your head as it landed in the tree between you and Dory, splinters of wood hitting you in the cheek. You jerked back and nearly tumbled out of the blind, but Dory hooked a hand around your arm and tugged you back to her side. She nearly lost her shotgun in the process, but she slipped her foot under the shoulder strap at the last second, stopping it from going over the side of the platform.

You and Dory caught your breaths while you clung to each other.

“Wow, you’re good,” you said.

She smiled thinly.

But your heart fell into your stomach when you heard tires screech. You looked up and saw several more black SUVs pulling up to the cabin.

Colter glanced at his older brother in the passenger seat and noted his bouncing knee, his white-knuckle grip on the interior door handle.

“Almost there,” Colter said.

Russell nodded. “You sure Charlie’s got it handled?”

“He’s working on it right now.”

“And my car,” Russell said. “You’re sure she doesn’t have a scratch on her, right?”

“She?” Colter said in amusement.

A faint smile raised the corners of Russell’s lips. “That’s right. She. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“So have we,” Colter pointed out.

Russell gave a stronger smile at that. “Yeah. Thanks for the, uh, interception. Although, I’m the one who saved your hide in the first place.”

“Hey, we had a plan, and you deviated.”

“We would’ve never made it to the target zone, and you know it,” Russell argued. “Just admit it. I saved your ass again.”

Colter rolled his eyes, but he smiled. It only dimmed when he caught another glimpse of Russell’s swollen eye, re-straightened nose, and the edge of lacerations disappearing underneath his collar.

“Sorry it took so long,” Colter said.

Russell glanced over and gave him a knowing look. He reached over and grabbed Colter’s arm, squeezing once.

“Nothing I can’t handle, little brother.”

In just a few minutes, the calmer turn of the air between them only solidified again with tension. The truck veered off-road into the Sierra compound and soon approached their family’s cabin at Echo Ridge. They saw the red and blue flashes of sirens through the nearing trees.

When Colter finally came to an abrupt stop, Russell’s boots were the first out of the truck and hitting the ground. His limping strides brought him past the large SUVs under the caution tape. He closed in on Charlie, who Russell saw speaking with Reenie and a lead FBI agent on the scene. Bodies were being zipped up in black bags and hauled off into the SUVs.

“What happened?” Russell demanded to know. The agent’s tag read Faraday, and she turned to him with a sharp, curious gaze.

“Excuse me, who are you?” Agent Faraday asked.

“Russell Shaw. Looks like he just escaped captivity,” Charlie informed her, while clasping Russell’s shoulder. “You okay, man?”

He opened his mouth to answer, even though his eyes kept searching beyond Charlie. They eventually found you.

“Russell!”

And there you were, coming out of the cabin in some jeans, boots, and a loose red flannel over a black tank top. His little lumberjack.

Your hair was a wild mess. Your face was stained with a smudge of dirt and the paths of your tears, but your eyes shone with abject relief. Dory and Mary weren’t far behind you when you started toward him at a run.

Russell met you in the middle, but he didn’t quite expect the force with which you vaulted yourself into his arms; he grunted, his eyes shutting tight at the pain. He gathered you up anyway. But you gasped and pulled back on reflex.

“I’m sorry!” you said. You caressed his cheek, sorrowful and careful when you took in every injury. You were sure there was more you couldn’t see.

“God, look at you. Are you okay?” you asked tearfully.

He grinned down at you with his usual bravado. “Like a thousand bucks.”

“Just a thousand?” you asked, sniffling. “Not a million?”

“Well, after a shower I’m sure I’ll be worth a few more pesos.”

He truly did smell terrible, but you hugged him anyway, burying your face in his neck. He sunk his fingers into your hair and held you as tight as his busted ribs would allow. Though he made room for his sister when she came up on his left and kissed the side of her head.

Colter stopped beside Mary, who touched his arm in greeting and offered him a smile. She glanced over at Russell, there with you and Dory. Mary couldn’t help the sliver of hurt that nestled in when he barely looked her way, but she didn’t voice it. She supposed she deserved it.

“It’s over,” Colter said, squeezing his mother’s shoulder.

Tears welled up in her eyes. They never left her eldest son.

The bodies were eventually cleared out along with the FBI. They took with them the evidence Dave and Manny had hand-delivered to Reenie and the authorities a full 24 hours before Russell and Colter staged their little play at Glen Canyon Park. The lockbox Dave and Manny found held a thumb drive with decades of transactions from offshore accounts, bribes, memos, evidence that documented BlackBridge’s relationship with local gangs in California, as well as cartels in Colombia and Nicaragua, and the companies that benefitted from BlackBridge’s “brokerage” deals on their behalf, like Horizon Group.

Among all this evidence was Ashton Shaw’s letters, detailing the schemes to cover up the murders of six Berkley professors and one government official, himself included.

BlackBridge was already in the process of being seized and frozen, with its CEO, Ian Helms, arrested. He would later be held without bail. For today, however, news of his arrest on Charlie’s phone was satisfying.

“The company’s net worth is substantial,” Charlie said, while he and Russell smoked a cigar out on Mary’s porch. Colter was inside with the ladies, helping to clean up dinner. Dave and Manny were helping too, though Manny was taking every opportunity to flirt with Dory, going so far as to let her know that he owned his own construction company.

“Who’s to say Helms won’t just bribe himself out of a conviction? Or more likely, cut a deal and help the FBI catch a bigger fish,” Charlie said grimly.

The corner of Russell’s mouth rose.

“Well,” he said, puffing out smoke. “He could always die in prison.”

Charlie was a hint surprised, but he slowly smiled. From the look on Russell’s face, he knew how to facilitate that kind of unfortunate incident.

Charlie inclined his head. “That’s a possibility.”

“Mhmm.”

The following morning saw a soft sun of molten gold rising out of the clouds. Shades of violet and pastel pink streaked through the trees. Peeks of orange filtered through the leaves, painting over the cabin, the mottled ground, the broken branches, and remnants of the battle ravaged here just a day before.

Russell’s body woke him with the dawn, the way it always used to when he lived here. He left you in bed to keep sleeping, but he stretched his pained, aching body before he went out into the kitchen to make some coffee.

Mary was already there, seated at the reading nook by the window as she watched the sunrise. A mug of coffee was still steaming in her hand. Her head turned toward him when he entered.

“Sorry. Didn’t think anyone would be awake,” he said quietly.

“You don’t have to apologize. This is your home too,” she said.

“Is it now?” Russell said. He grabbed a mug and poured some sugar and creamer in. He sat at the table, just a couple of feet away from her nook.

She glanced away from him. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Some tense silence passes between them, mother and son.

“Your father was proud of you,” Mary said. “You had it the hardest, and he knew that. It’s why he was toughest on you. You had the most to learn in the least amount of time.”

Here she sighed.

“In the end, I think he knew he wouldn’t survive. That stress destroyed him long before BlackBridge.”

Russell stayed quiet, though she eyed him knowingly.

“You want to ask if I helped them do it,” she said.

“Three kids. Unstable husband. His affair,” Russell said. He caught her look of surprise, albeit muted. She reminded him of Colter in some ways. “Yeah, I know about that. Objectively speaking, I could understand why you’d do it. Protect your kids and yourself.”

She shook her head. “I can’t say the affair didn’t…sting. Claire Hawking was a political scientist who shared our passion for activism, like her husband. She was also a friend of mine. Or at least, I thought she was,” she said. “But I ultimately understood what kind of pressure your father was under. What we all were under.”

She met her son’s gaze.

“I sent the last box of Ashton’s papers to Claire in his name, thinking she might be interested in the last of his research. I did it because I also wanted those final threads to be as far away from our family as possible.” Her eyes became glazed over in memory. “I meant what I said, son. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to try and protect you, your brother, and your sister. But I was selfish too. I wanted Ashton’s fight to die with him.”

“Why didn’t you burn the papers then? Why’d you give them away?”

“That’s a good point,” she said. “I suppose I could’ve burned them. I don’t know. Maybe part of me knew we might end up here one day.”

He nodded as he took that in. He still didn’t know if he bought it yet.

"Okay. How about the fact that I saw you talking to that man," Russell said. "That fucking hitman Horizon sent after Dad."

Mary shook her head. "He claimed he was a hiker, new to the area. I pointed him in the direction back to the trail. He must've circled back to find our cabin after I left."

Russell almost smiled. "Hmm. A little convenient."

"It's the truth," she said, sharper this time. "Why would I lie to you now? Frankly, I'm lucky he didn't decide to kill me right there... Maybe he wanted to try and reason with Ashton first, see what he knew."

Russell considered that. She could've been lying to keep up the martyr role, or even just to save herself from losing the last one of her kids who still wanted to see the good in her.

“All right. If all that's true, where were you that night they came for him?” he asked.

Mary sighed.

THEN...

The day her family shattered was strange in her memory. Some parts had long fuzzed over, like the edges of a photograph. Others were sharp, like Ashton’s hand closed around her wrist. She had one hand on the door knob, poised to leave the cabin, the other ensnared.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I told you. I have to go into town,” Mary said. She kept her tone even-keel, as always, hiding the small trill of unease underneath.

“It’s not safe in town,” he said.

“We need food,” she said, “and you need your medication.”

The vegetables she grew sprouted a fungus, so they weren’t edible. The pantry was down to a single can of peas, which neither Russell nor Dory would eat. Colter was the only one who stomached them alongside venison, or in a bit of rabbit stew.

After another long moment in which Mary held her breath, Ashton finally let her go. He became gentler, more the husband she knew when he squeezed her hand.

“Just be careful,” he reminded. She nodded and smiled thinly.

It was becoming harder and harder to even let him touch her. There were days when she didn't even recognize the man she married. There were days when she hated him for what he'd done—to their family, and to her. This was one of them.

So she took the opportunity to leave the cabin, however brief, for what it was. She had just enough money to decide between vegetables and healthy snacks, new winter jackets for the kids, and her husband’s medicine.

As she drove away from Echo Ridge and into the city, she mentally filed his medicine under necessity, and would have to forgo the fresh vegetables for canned. She tried to remember if Russell’s jacket had more than one hold in it, or if it was something she could patch herself with her shoddy sewing skills.

A deep exhale left her lips, but didn’t steady her.

Two hours later, she had her groceries. She was also sitting in traffic, having a very familiar debate with herself. Ironically, she was a psychologist who could only be her own sounding board. She no longer had peers. She didn’t even have friends.

The inner debate was simple.

How much longer can this go on?

Sooner or later, the boys were going to get old enough to start questioning their father. Already there had been an alarming episode with Russell. Ashton wanted Dory to free climb one of the cliffs, at night. It had been a dangerous challenge for the boys to attempt it as part of their milestones, but Dory was still far too young.

Russell had put his proverbial foot down, and his body between his sister and his father. Ashton, in one of his crazed moods, had pulled out a knife on his son.

Mary had barely gotten there in time to defuse him.

Now, the very air in the house between her husband and eldest son hung by a tenuous thread.

Her phone rang loudly, disrupting her thoughts. Of course, it was Ashton calling. She groaned aloud in aggravation. She could never have just one afternoon for herself.

She let it ring, and ring, frustrated tears forming in her eyes. Finally, she pulled off the highway and ended up in the parking lot overlooking Ocean Beach. She got out of the car and sat there on the hood, staring out at the ocean and its tourists as dusk settled over the water. The wind whipped at her face, but it wouldn’t dry her tears.

It was a selfish moment, and she knew it.

She should’ve gone home.

NOW

“It’s not a good excuse, I’ll admit,” Mary said. “When you all needed me most, I wasn’t there.”

Russell shook his head in thought, weighing the sincerity of her words. He was inclined to believe her. He felt something give way inside him; not entirely, but enough.

“For what it’s worth,” she added, “I am sorry…for everything.”

“Everything?” he asked.

She gave him a look, one with a crushing weight. He knew what she meant, but he’d still like to hear her say the words.

“For all these years you were alone,” she said.

Russell was struck into silence.

He didn’t know how to take that in. It felt real though. It felt true.

When she looked away from him, breaking down as she wiped at her tears in vain, it stirred something inside him.

Mary didn’t realize he had gotten up out of his seat until he was sitting across from her. He reached across the narrow divide to cover her hand with his larger one. She was shocked to find him there, but a tenuous smile graced her lips. She curled her fingers around his, squeezing his hand.

Two days later, Russell’s Malibu came to a rumbling stop in the driveway. You and Russell climbed out of the car, with you helping him more than he would’ve liked to admit. A few hours spent at a hospital back in San Fransisco had treated his burnt feet and lacerations, but he was still moving slow.

You two grabbed the bags and suitcases and traveled up the well-worn driveway up to your little white house for the first time in almost two months. The long summer was over.

Russell fished his keys out of his pocket to open the door, but he stepped aside to let you in first. You crossed the threshold, running on a triple espresso, half a bagel, and not much else. Russell dropped his bag off unceremoniously by the front door. You couldn’t even chastise him for it, because you were ready to drop where you stood.

After locking the door, Russell surveyed the house. Everything looked as it should have, like the day you guys left it all behind. He made his way to the comfort of the living room and plopped down in the middle of the couch. You meant to get by him and head to the bedroom for a shower, but he dragged you down into his lap, making you laugh.

His black eye still looked horrible. You sighed and kissed his cheek gently.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhmm.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto the couch cushion.

It really was damn good to be home.

.

ONE(ISH) YEAR LATER…

You and Russell basked in the remnants of Shaw Brews’ opening night.

Well, by now it was five in the morning. All the patrons had cleared out about three hours before, and even Colter, Reenie, Dory, Mary Dove, Charlie, Dave, and Manny had left after helping with the cleanup.

Russell was still having too much fun babying his new bar.

You were just coming back from the bathroom. You hopped up on the counter while he finished drying the glasses and wiping down every available surface. You swung your feet a little, admiring the apron still tied around his waist, the dark wash jeans and the black dress shirt you bought him, rolled up on the sleeves.

He caught your eye. “What?”

“I like to see a man at work,” you teased.

Russell thwapped the cleaning rag onto the counter beside you and made you jolt, despite your giggle.

He drew into your orbit and made room for himself between your legs, his hands smoothing up your thighs. You cupped his face with both hands.

“You know how proud I am of you?” you said.

Russell smiled. “Oh, yeah? For what?”

“For starting over,” you said, pecking his lips.

“For reinventing yourself.”

Another soft kiss.

“For working incredibly hard for what you want, even when we almost lost our damn minds on renovating this old-ass building,” you said, smiling into his lips for another, more lingering kiss.

He’d bought what used to be a warehouse and turned it into his dream; the only one he’d ever had that was truly his own.

“Yeah, well, none of this would’ve happened without your help,” he said, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. “Lots of late-night brainstorms. Lots of trips to HomeGoods that my wallet’s hurtin’ for.”

You laughed softly, a bit of mischief in your eyes. “It was my pleasure to be your interior decorator. It was a lot of fun, actually! I got to go on a shopping spree with my man’s company card, like a proper trophy wife.”

Russell shook his head in amusement. You’d been a hell of a lot more than a decorator (let alone a trophy wife). You’d helped him with a lot of the paperwork, permits, connecting him with a business accountant, all the things that Russell had no experience in. He enjoyed learning it all together with you. He felt that this place wasn’t just his. It was yours too, something you two would continue building together—especially now that you’d taken his last name.

“Something’s been bothering me though,” he said, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on your thighs. It made the band of his wedding ring shine under the lamplight. You tilted your head in question.

“What?”

“All night, I didn’t see you sipping on not one drink,” he said. “Just some mocktail I made for Tracy.”

Doug’s wife was pregnant again, due in the spring. The correlation wasn’t lost on Russell, and he rose a brow at you.

“Now either my wife doesn’t like my beer, or you got something to tell me,” he said slyly.

You bit into your lower lip. Your hands slid down to his chest, just bracing yourself.

Russell had talked a good game of covering his nerves, but now he watched every shift of your face.

“Well, I might’ve taken a few tests this week,” you said.

“How many we talking?”

“Three,” you admitted, a smile tugging at your lips. “I know it’s not the timing we talked about. And I know I said I’d help out on some weekends, but to be honest, the smell of tequila is already making me a bit nauseous. Anyway, I wanted to tell you sooner, but tonight was your night, and I just—”

“Sweetheart,” Russell gently interrupted, holding you by your hips. “I just wanna know where you want the nursery. In my office, or yours?”

Your eyes glistened with tears. A smile brightened up your face, and made his throat constrict too. He kissed your forehead.

“I’m really pregnant,” you sniffed. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I puked in the basin where we kept the ice bags. Couldn’t make it to the bathroom.”

You had spent a while in there afterward, cleaning yourself up and washing out your mouth.

“I know,” he said, smiling as he rubbed your back. “I cleaned that out while you were in the bathroom. Been waiting for you to come out ever since.”

"Ugh. Gross, I'm sorry." You laughed through your tears and rested your head against his chest. You should’ve known he’d notice. Russell rarely missed a thing.

He gathered you in his arms and let out a contented sigh.

“You know what? Better yet, we can build an addition to the house,” he said. “Manny’s guys are pretty damn good. We just need to be really specific on what we want, and they’ll go to town—”

It was your turn to interrupt him, with your lips on his. Your arms twined around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist. He held you to him strong, but gentle at the same time.

“Never forget,” you whispered; your code word for the only never rule you ever made up.

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” he said with a smile. His eyes softened. “I love you too.”

To him, you’d done it all. You took him in, gave him a home, helped him reconnect with his family, and forgave far more than you should’ve. You’d become his wife, and now you were going to make him a father. Whether he felt ready for that step or not (hint: he really fucking didn’t), he knew he’d have to step it up for you. For his kid.

He wasn’t running from his past anymore. He wasn’t passing time. He was just…living.

Really living.

AN: All right, friends, what did you think? From Colter breaking out his bro, to Russell having his final confrontation with Adam and Mary, to finally Russ and reader getting to move on with their lives on solid ground. 🥰💓

I'm genuinely going to miss these two!! 💚 It's been over a year since I first started writing for Russell Shaw, back in May, which coincidentally was the start of my health battle. But now I can happily say I've got my health back, and kind of my life back too.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!! On Wednesday you'll get the "end for now" on 'Til When Do Us Part (after writing 10 straight chapters of Mark Meachum angst, I need a little break 😆).

Then I'll be working on a new little series for Professor Dean. 😏❤️

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