Annelly

“I know,” I tell him honestly, looking away, hating the sadness and regret etched across his face.

This isn’t what I intended when I started this conversation. And I hate myself a little for letting it land here.

I don’t rush to fill the silence—not because I’m being careful, but because I can’t. My chest aches too sharply, grief swelling there without warning. Not just for what he’s lost. Not even for everything we’ve already endured.

But for what’s circling us now.

For what’s coming.

For Tyler.

The swans drift farther along the shoreline, their white feathers stark against the dark water, completely unbothered by the tension wrapped around us. Watching them hurts more than it should. Two souls moving in quiet devotion, untouched by fear, only makes the hollow inside me feel louder.

I swallow hard and lean into James, resting my head against his shoulder. His hand tightens reflexively around mine, as if anchoring himself to the present. To me.

Everything lately bends back to this.

Loss.

Fear.

The question of how much time we really have.

It doesn’t matter where a conversation starts or how gently we approach it. Somehow, it always finds its way here—back to Victor, back to Tyler, back to the possibility that this moment, too, could become something I’m remembering instead of living.

My throat tightens.

I hadn’t meant for it to go there when I asked him for a story. I wasn’t trying to reopen old wounds. I just wanted to hear his voice. To remind him—and myself—that there is more to him than survival. More to us than waiting for the next threat to fall.

But pain has its own gravity. And lately, everything seems to get pulled into its orbit.

James stares out at the water, jaw set, eyes distant. He looks older like this. Tired in a way sleep can’t touch. The kind of tired that comes from carrying too much responsibility for too long, from believing that if anything breaks, it will be because you didn’t hold it tightly enough.

I close my eyes and let the quiet settle.

For a moment, it feels unbearable—this stillness, this knowing. Like if I breathe too deeply, I might crack open and spill everything I’ve been trying so hard to keep contained.

But then something else takes shape beneath it.

Resolve.

James is buried under the weight of his regrets. What he fears. What he thinks he should have done differently. I can’t take that from him—but maybe I can help him see past it. Even if only a little at a time. Even if it’s just enough to remind him that his life didn’t begin and end with loss.

That he built something.

That he survived.

That because of his strength and stubborn refusal to give up, he saved not only himself, but his brother.

I draw in a slow, steady breath and decide it’s time to change the direction of his story.

I lift my head from his shoulder and look up at him, taking in the familiar lines of his face—the tension he tries and fails to hide, the way his eyes stay fixed on the water like it might offer answers.

“Well,” I say lightly, nudging his knee with mine, “that got heavy fast, huh?”

A corner of his mouth twitches. Barely there, but it’s something.

“You asked for a story,” he murmurs with a shrug. “That’s usually how all my stories end.”

“I believe you think that,” I say gently. “But there’s more.” I tip my head, studying him. “So much more you should be proud to talk about.” I smile. “Like the house. Tell me about the house.”

He exhales through his nose, caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “The house?”

“Yes. The house,” I repeat, letting the teasing slip in. “The one you somehow built out of sheer willpower, stubbornness, and whatever energy you had left after raising a traumatized teenager.”

That gets him.

A genuine smile flickers across his face, brief but unmistakable. A flash of pride, he quickly tucks away.

“Come on,” I add. “I’m serious. I want to know how that happened. How you and Tyler went from two angry, traumatized kids to… where you are now.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s not exactly a heroic tale.”

“Good,” I say. “Those are overrated. And usually exaggerated.”

He glances at me then, something lighter breaking through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” I tuck my legs beneath me and turn fully toward him. “So. Start talking, Serrano. Where did it all come from? The house. The toys. The life of the ultimate bachelor.”

He drops his head back with a soft groan. “Jesus, Annelly. Do we really have to talk about this?”

I laugh—because his embarrassment is genuine, and because it’s absurdly endearing. The color rising in his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, looks wildly out of place on a man like him.

“Yes,” I say, grinning. “We really, really do.”

He tries for annoyance, but his eyes give him away—soft, disbelieving, a little awed that we’re even here, having this conversation.

“You mean the ridiculous amount of crap Tyler insists on calling ‘necessities’?” he asks dryly.

I grin. “That. And the ATVs. The dirt bikes. The snowboards. Then there’s the boat and jet skis.” I laugh. “And the helicopter, James. You have a damn helicopter.”

His face heats instantly. “Can’t we just pretend you didn’t see any of that?”

“Absolutely not. Once you see something like that, there’s no unseeing it.”

He sighs, long and resigned. “God. You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Never,” I say sweetly. “But you love me anyway.”

He snorts, shaking his head like he can’t believe it himself. “Yeah. I really do.”

He pulls me close, pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head. Then he takes a deep breath, like he’s gathering the courage to continue.

“Okay,” he says. “But I’m warning you. If you’re expecting some grand rags-to-riches story, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“I doubt that.”

He lets out a soft huff of a laugh. “Trust me. I’m not that smart. Most of it was rock-bottom desperation and dumb luck.”

I arch a brow and squeeze his hand. “You’re not helping your case. Like, at all. Now stop stalling. Explain.”

James stares out at the lake a moment longer, like he’s deciding how honest to be.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Here’s the unglamorous version.”

I settle in, giving him my full attention.

“Money was… tight,” he admits. “Tighter than I ever wanted Tyler to realize. Ben and Dom were just starting to build OTS, so security work was hit or miss. In between, I took whatever I could get—construction, retail, odd jobs that barely covered rent, let alone utilities and food.” His mouth quirks. “Pride made it worse. Ben offered to help whenever he could, but I refused. I didn’t want to be a charity case.”

That part doesn’t surprise me. It tracks with who James is.

“Eventually, desperation won out,” he continues. “I went back to Pleasantview. Took a job bouncing at a club. Long nights. Decent pay. Enough to keep the lights on and Tyler fed.” He pauses, glancing at me. “And apparently enough to get me noticed.”

“Not surprising,” I say dryly. “You’re too good-looking for your own good.”

He snorts, and that familiar swagger slides back into place. “Yeah, well. This woman kept showing up. Well-dressed. Way too polished for the place. I thought she was into me at first—”

“Because of course you did,” I interrupt lightly.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Turned out she was a modeling agent.”

I blink. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” He grimaces. “When she told me, I laughed in her face. Said I’d heard better pickup lines, and she’d better try again.”

“Of course you did.”

“Of course I did,” he agrees. “But she didn’t let it go. Kept coming back. Leaving her card. Making promises about money and opportunity.” His shoulders lift in a small shrug. “Eventually I figured… why not?”

“To modeling?” I gape. “You were a model?”

He nods. “I was good at it,” he admits after a beat. Not proud—just factual. “Better than I expected. One job turned into another. Then bigger ones. Print. Runway. New York. L.A. Paris. Then acting gigs after that.”

“Acting?” I gasp.

“Don’t get too excited,” he warns. “That part I was bad at.”

I laugh, and despite himself, he smiles.

“Luckily, it was my looks they were after,” he continues. “For that alone, I got paid. And the money…” He exhales. “It was ridiculous. Free travel. Luxury hotels. Access to things I didn’t even know existed.”

His gaze drifts back to the water.

“Tyler loved it. The travel. The perks. The constant flood of expensive toys and gifts. Being homeschooled so he could come with me, see the world.” His voice softens. “To him, it was an adventure. The best thing that had ever happened to him.”

“But not to you,” I say quietly.

His smile fades.

“To me, it felt like a prison. Like constantly being on display,” he says. “Watched. Managed. Controlled.” His jaw tightens. “People deciding where I went, what I wore, who I talked to. Who I was allowed to be, every minute of the fucking day. It was suffocating.”

The lake laps gently against the shore.

“Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was,” he continues. “How I’d made it.’” He exhales slowly. “But I hated it. Every bit of it.”

I don’t rush him.

“To Tyler—and everyone else—it looked like freedom,” he says finally, turning to me. “But it wasn’t. Not to me.”

I meet his gaze. “What did you want instead?”

His answer comes without hesitation.

“Stability. A proper home. For Tyler. For me.” His voice lowers. “Freedom on my own terms.”

He looks back out at the lake.

“And I realized I wasn’t going to find any of that if I stayed in that life.”

James falls quiet, his gaze fixed on the swans drifting farther along the shoreline, like he’s watching something recede into memory.

“So I quit,” he says at last.

I turn fully toward him. “You just… quit?”

He nods. “After almost three years.” A corner of his mouth lifts, rueful. “My agent thought I was out of my mind.”

“I’m sure.”

“They all did,” he says. “Everyone told me I was walking away from financial security. From opportunity. From a life people would kill for.” His shoulders rise in a small shrug. “But none of it felt like mine.”

There’s no regret in his voice. Just a quiet, settled certainty.

“I’d saved damn near every penny I made,” he continues. “With some help from a guy Ben knew, I invested smart. We lived well below our means, even when no one understood why.” His eyes flick briefly to mine. “Tyler didn’t need more things. What he needed was roots.”

My chest tightens.

“So I bought the land,” he says. “Far enough out of the noise. Far enough that I could breathe. That we could finally feel safe.” His voice softens. “I built the house myself. Piece by piece. Made mistakes. Tore things down. Started over when I had to.”

I can picture it—James alone on raw land, hammer in hand. Stubborn enough to believe the best things had to be built slowly. Deliberately. With his own two hands.

“It wasn’t fast,” he admits. “Or easy. But it was ours.” His mouth curves faintly. “And it was perfect. At least to us.”

He looks at me then, eyes shining with something complicated and tender.

“After that, I went back to OTS. Business had finally picked up, and it was exactly what I needed. Structure. Purpose. A way to protect what I was building instead of always feeling like I had to defend it.”

The pieces slide into place with quiet clarity.

Everything James does is about building a home—not just the structure, but what it stands for. Safety. Permanence. Belonging. A place no one can take away from him.

“I wanted Tyler to grow up knowing where he belonged,” James says softly. “Knowing he wasn’t temporary. That he wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was I.”

I swallow past the ache rising in my throat.

“And all the toys?” I ask gently, nudging his knee with mine, trying to keep the moment light.

He huffs, embarrassed. “Those?”

“Yes, those.”

A sheepish smile tugs at his mouth. “They’re freedom. Earned. Controlled. Joy without strings attached.” He glances at me. “I wanted him to have fun. To feel like a kid again. To enjoy all the opportunities life has to offer, especially after pulling him out of a glamorous life that never truly belonged to us.”

“And you?” I ask quietly. “What did you want, James? For yourself?”

His answer is softer than everything that came before.

“All I ever wanted was my brother,” he says. “For him to be happy. Whole. To always feel safe with me.” He exhales. “From the moment he was born… I think that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Something inside me settles—and breaks—at the same time.

This, I realize, is who James is at his core.  

Not a warrior of destruction as he sees himself. 

Not even the protector I once believed him to be.

But a builder. 

A man who creates safety where none exists. Who strives to give others the stability and security the world never gave him. 

And sitting here beside him, watching the swans drift slowly away—so sure of each other, so untouched by the fear and uncertainty that keep circling us—I make a silent vow. 

If I’m ever given the chance, I will give this man every ounce of the home, safety, and belonging he’s spent a lifetime building for others. 

Someday, I hope to be the person who finally makes James Serrano feel safe.

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