Page 40 of Forever We Embrace: The Later Years
Rosalie arrives with James behind her and wraps herself around Samuel’s free side. James stays closer to me, holding the paper model against his chest while he watches everyone gather around his brother.
I bend to look at the roof again when he lifts it toward me. The movement pulls across the tenderness in my chest, and I breathe through the discomfort before it can show.
Luca notices as his hand slides beneath my elbow and steadies me while I straighten. I turn my face and kiss his wrist in quiet thanks. Luther appears beside us and settles his palm against my shoulder, his fingers pressing once before he reaches down to smooth James’s hair.
For a moment, all five of us cluster around the children in the middle of the reception, close enough that shoulders touch and hands settle wherever they fit. Grayson keeps Samuel against his chest. Luca remains crouched beside them. Maceo’s fingers stay linked with Samuel’s while Rosalie holds his other hand. Luther stands behind my chair with one hand on me and the other resting briefly against James’s hair.
Rosalie looks at Samuel with grave determination. “You have to hold my hand now.”
Samuel lifts his head. “For how long?”
“The rest of today.”
He considers it before tightening his fingers around hers. “Okay.”
The reception begins moving around us again. Grayson carries Samuel back toward the display while Luca takes Rosalie’s hand and Maceo walks beside James. Luther bends to kiss my temple before helping me stand.
Nicholas and the security lead isolate the workstation before we leave. Maceo joins them after the children return to the display, and I stay close enough to listen without crowding the screen.
The grant portal contains applications, approved donor information, expansion budgets, and administrative funding reports. It doesn’t contain resident clinical records, intake histories, or trauma documentation.
The problem sits behind it. Authenticated portal users can reach a separate Keller Industries directory that should never have been connected to the grant system. The directory contains unreleased philanthropic projections and internal financial planning documents. Individual files still require separate permissions, but the bridge reveals that the directory exists and gives an authorized portal user a route to test.
Maceo records the weakness for immediate review. He doesn’t claim anyone has used it, and he doesn’t connect it to Alastair without evidence.
“Disable the bridge without changing the resident systems,” I tell the security lead. “The grant records stay available to approved staff. Nothing at Ember House gets folded into a broader corporate lockout.”
He confirms the resident systems are separate and unaffected. Nicholas begins documenting which users have authenticated through the portal so Maceo can review the access history later.
By the time we leave, Samuel is sleepy enough to rest his head against Grayson’s shoulder. Rosalie still holds his hand even though Grayson is carrying him, and James walks beside Maceo while explaining that the roof of his paper model needs tape.
Luca falls into step beside me. His shoulder brushes mine before his fingers find the inside of my wrist.
“You’re done for today,” he says quietly.
“I’m going home with you. That was already the plan.”
His mouth curves. “Good answer.”
Luther walks close on my other side without touching the cane or trying to take it. Maceo glances back once to make sure we’re together before following the children toward the elevator.
Later that evening, I find Grayson in the kitchen putting away the cups the children left scattered across the table. The house has finally quieted, though Samuel’s voice still carries faintly from upstairs while he explains the blinking light to Luther for the third time.
My chest has been tender all day, and the dinner I wanted an hour earlier now turns my stomach when I smell it cooling on the stove. I lean my cane against the island and rub one hand across my shirt.
“My appetite’s become unreliable, and everything touching my chest feels irritating,” I tell Grayson. “Apparently recovery’s decided to keep inventing new inconveniences.”
I expect him to smile but he doesn’t. The cup in his hand lowers slowly to the counter. He turns fully toward me, drying his hands on the towel tucked over one shoulder before stepping into my space. His attention moves over my face and settles on the hand against my chest.
“How long?” he asks, sliding one palm around my waist.
“A few days. Maybe longer.” I shrug, but the movement makes the tenderness worse. “I’ve been distracted.”
Grayson’s thumb moves once beneath the hem of my shirt. The concern in his expression is enough to make the joke disappear. “Call Quentin tomorrow and tell him what’s changed,” he says. His voice stays gentle, but his hand tightens at my side when I start to look away. “Don’t dismiss it because you’ve had worse, baby.”
My stomach shifts again, though this time I’m not sure the food is responsible. “I’ll call.”
Grayson studies me long enough to decide whether he believes it, then kisses the corner of my mouth. His other hand reaches for the glass beside the sink, and he fills it before pressing it into mine.
