Kash POV:

I wasn’t going to be winning any brother of the year awards. Not by a long shot.

Since Dad died, Flynn looked up to me, but it wasn’t like I asked for it. I didn’t step into some noble role, all self-sacrificing and righteous. I just kept things moving because someone had to. And now that we were adults, with lives diverging and silence sitting heavier than it used to, I wasn’t even sure who I was holding it together for anymore.

Maybe that’s what today was about.

I invited Flynn to the carnival because it used to be our dad’s favorite thing to do with us, every summer without fail. Flynn was probably too young to remember it clearly, back when dad still smelled like his earthy cologne and sunscreen and not like medicine...and death.

I hadn’t planned on making it sentimental. I just... wanted him to be near something that used to make us feel okay. Maybe I wanted that for myself, too.

Flynn brought a friend, which I guess was a relief. He needed more people in his corner, even if he’d never say it. And when the two of them went straight for the Ferris wheel, I didn’t even pretend to follow. No thanks. My feet belong on solid ground.

I can draft doomsday bunkers buried a hundred meters below sea level, build holding facilities that make the Geneva Convention wince, design clean rooms that would terrify a microbe—but get me near an open-air death trap spinning in the sky and suddenly I’m the guy finding the closest corn dog stand instead.

The crowd buzzed around me.

I was just turning toward a stall selling something greasy enough to shut down arteries when —

Wack!

I barely registered the sound before I felt it—sharp, blunt force slamming into the side of my head, sending a white-hot flash across my vision. The world tilted, unsteady, colors smearing into each other like someone had smudged the canvas.

My knee buckled a little, and I grabbed the nearest support beam with one hand, the other coming up to touch my temple.

Warm and wet liquid stained my fingers.

Blood.

Of course.

My glasses were cracked, but still clinging to my face like loyal soldiers. One lens was spiderwebbed, and the frame cut slightly into my cheekbone, but I could still see... Sort of.

“Great,” I muttered, spitting the copper taste out of my mouth. “Just great.”

I spun, ready to unleash a full-grown verbal lawsuit on whoever the hell thought of hurling mallets without gripping the thing properly.

Shit. I was met with your beautiful eyes, which were wide with panic, and your voice was coming through muffled, as if I were underwater. Something about finding first aid. I wasn’t tracking the words as much as your expression—apology, concern, panic— even your hands were trembling as you reached for me.

You ducked under my arm and slung it over your shoulder, practically dragging me toward the First Aid sign that blinked in the distance like salvation.

I felt the press of your body against mine, steady, despite the tremble. The way your hand wrapped around my waist, grounding me even as the carnival lights blurred at the edges of my vision.

Goddamn.

Who knew a mallet to the face would be my lucky break?

I didn’t say it out loud. Just swallowed the pain and let a small smirk curl my mouth as I glanced over at you.

Yeah. You looked worth bleeding a little for. Hell, maybe even more than a little.

Flynn could stay on that ride for as long as he wanted. Because somehow, even with my head ringing and my shirt getting blood-stained, this was still shaping up to be the best goddamned night I’d had in a long time.

And maybe that grief I kept folding and unfolding in the dark, the one I never quite figured out what to do with—the one that kept me standing strong while Flynn and mom shattered in their own ways—maybe tonight I could set it down. Just for a moment.

I didn’t know your name. But I was sure as hell going to ask.

“…this better end with your name and at least one apology,” I said, side-eyeing you through the cracked lens. “Preferably in that order."