Chapter Text
PROLOGUE: The Weight of the Guard
Shane POV
The Canadian wind didn’t care that we were grieving. It sliced through the cemetery, biting at my ears and numbing my fingers, but I welcomed the sting. It was the only thing keeping me upright.
I looked down at the two dark caskets, and for a second, the world blurred. The smell of the damp earth and the lilies vanished, replaced by the metallic scent of blood and the blinding glare of stadium lights.
Only two weeks ago, my mind whispered, a cruel loop I couldn't stop playing.
In that memory, I was a god. I was standing in the center of the cage, my lungs burning, my skin slick with sweat. I could still feel the phantom weight of the referee’s hand gripping my wrist, hoisting my arm into the air. Winner by Unanimous Decision. I remembered looking into the front row. I remembered Hayden.
My soul-brother. My best friend since we were six years old, back when we used to share one pair of skates because we couldn't afford two. He had been leaning over the rail, his face flushed with a joy that rivaled my own, screaming my name until he was hoarse. Beside him, Jackie had been laughing, her eyes bright with pride. They were the center of my world. They were my "why."
Then came the locker room. The buzzing phone. The voice of a nurse in North Ontario that sounded like static. A multi-car collision. I’m so sorry, Mr. Hollander…
A sharp, small tug on my sleeve snapped the memory like a dry branch.
I was back in the cold. Back in the silence.
Jade and Ruby were on either side of me, their small black coats dusted with a light flurry of snow. They were ten years old, but they looked like they had aged a century in a few days.
They didn't cry. They just held onto my suit jacket with a grip so tight I felt it in my bones. Between my legs, eighteen-month-old Arthur was a heavy, shivering weight in my arms, his face tucked into my neck.
"It’s for the best, Shane," a voice said, cutting through the wind.
I looked up. Brenda, Jackie’s sister, stood on the other side of the grave. She looked polished, her eyes dry, already checking her watch. She lived in London. She was a stranger who shared a DNA strand with the children, nothing more.
"I have the room," Brenda continued, her tone brisk. "I have the resources in England. They need stability, a 'proper' family environment. Not… this."
She didn't have to finish the sentence. Her eyes flicked to my face—to the fading yellow bruise on my cheekbone and the split lip that hadn't quite healed. To her, I was a thug. A violent man with a dangerous job.
"Don't let her," Jade whispered.
The sound was so small I almost missed it. I looked down. Jade’s eyes were wide, fixed on Brenda with absolute terror.
"Uncle Luke, please," she gasped, her voice trembling. "We don't know her. Don't make us go to another country. Please."
Ruby didn't say a word, but her fingers dug deeper into my thigh. They had lost their mother. They had lost their father. They were looking at me to see if they were about to lose their home, too.
I looked at the caskets. I thought of the man who had cheered for me in the front row, the man who had trusted me with his life since we were boys.
I’ve got them, Hayd. I thought, the vow settling in my chest like lead. I’ve got them.
"They aren't going to England," I said.
My voice was flat. It was the voice I used when I was backed into the corner of the cage with nowhere to go. Brenda blinked, startled by the sudden steel in my tone.
"Excuse me? Shane, be reasonable. You’re an MMA fighter. You travel. You get hurt. You can't possibly—"
"I’m their guardian," I interrupted, pulling the girls closer to my sides. "Hayden was my brother. These are my kids. They stay with me."
The tension in the twins' bodies didn't vanish, but it shifted. They leaned their entire weight into me. They weren't just holding on anymore; they were anchoring themselves.
I was twenty-eight years old. I lived in a bachelor apartment and ate meals out of plastic containers. I didn't know the first thing about pigtails or bedtime stories or how to heal a heart that had been ripped in two.
But as the first shovelful of dirt hit the wood of the caskets, I knew I would let the world break me into pieces before I let anyone take them away.