Chapter 145 Brothers and Boundaries

Chapter 145 Brothers and Boundaries
Later that afternoon, while the rest of the family was occupied inside with the children, Jace found me sitting on the old wooden swing at the edge of the apple orchard. The wooden chains creaked softly as I rocked back and forth, the motion slow and rhythmic, matching the lazy drift of dandelion fluff across the grass. The orchard was in full bloom—white blossoms clustered like soft clouds against the branches, petals drifting down every so often like a quiet snowfall. The air smelled faintly of apple bark, fresh soil, and the first hints of spring warmth. Every so often, a breeze rustled through the trees, sending a soft shower of petals across my lap.

It was peaceful in a way the estate hadn’t been in months. No alarms. No security sweeps. No hushed conversations about tribunal hearings or federal indictments. Just the quiet hum of insects and the distant laughter of children somewhere near the patio. The house behind me felt alive again—voices drifting through open windows, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter from Naomi or Mom. It was domestic in a way that felt almost foreign after the winter we’d survived.

Jace walked up slowly, hands in his pockets, adopting his familiar “older brother evaluation” stance. He stopped a few feet away, leaning against the trunk of an apple tree in full bloom. The sunlight filtered through the branches, casting shifting patterns across his face. He looked relaxed, but there was a thoughtful weight behind his eyes.

“You look different,” Jace observed, his grey eyes—so similar to Mom’s—searching my face with that mix of protectiveness and curiosity he’d carried since I was old enough to walk.

“Different good, or different ‘I need to check your security clearance’?” I asked, a dry smile touching my lips.

“Different like someone who finally took twenty‑pound weights off her shoulders,” Jace corrected gently. He stepped forward and sat down on the edge of the swing, steadying it with his hand so I wouldn’t tip. “Arthur told me the FIA finalized Kian Hayes’s permanent ban yesterday. Finch’s trial is slated for the fall. It’s really over, isn’t it?”

“It’s really over,” I confirmed, letting out a long breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. The words felt strange—like saying the name of a place you haven’t visited in years. “No more tribunal hearings. No more encrypted evidence drops. No more waking up wondering what fresh disaster is waiting.”

Jace nodded slowly, absorbing that. He was quiet for a moment, watching a bird dart between the blossoming branches. A robin landed on a nearby fence post, tilting its head as if listening. The orchard felt like it was holding its breath with us.

“I was hard on Rhys,” Jace admitted, his voice dropping an octave. “On both of you.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. Jace wasn’t often gentle with his self‑reflection; he tended to bulldoze through emotion the same way he bulldozed through corporate negotiations.

“When Dale came back… and when I saw what Rhys was willing to do to protect you…” Jace continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “Part of me was angry that you were tied up in his chaotic world. I spent half your life trying to shield you from men who used power like a weapon.”

The swing creaked beneath us, the sound blending with the rustle of leaves overhead. A petal landed on Jace’s shoulder; he didn’t seem to notice.

“Rhys isn’t Dale, Jace,” I said firmly, my voice steady. “Rhys protects me by standing beside me, not by locking me away. He let me crack the codes. He trusted my mind when his entire empire was on the line.”

Jace’s jaw tightened, but not in conflict—more in recognition. He looked at me, a slow, understanding smile touching his lips. “I know, El. It just takes an older brother a minute to realize his little sister isn’t the one who needs saving anymore.”

I nudged him lightly with my shoulder. “You’ve been saving me since I was five and tried to climb the pantry shelves.”

“You were attempting to reach the cookie jar,” Jace corrected. “And you fell directly onto Arthur’s toolbox.”

“I maintain the cookies were worth the risk.”

Jace laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic,” I countered.

He shook his head, but his smile lingered. “You’re happy,” he said quietly. “I can see it. It’s in your face. In the way you’re sitting. In the way you’re breathing.”

I looked down at my hands, at the faint silver scar on my wrist, at the way the sunlight caught the diamond ring Rhys had given me. “I am,” I said softly. “For the first time in a long time.”

Jace leaned back slightly, letting the swing sway. “Rhys is good for you,” he said. “Not because he protects you. But because he sees you.”

I swallowed, emotion tightening my throat. “He does.”

“And you see him,” Jace added. “Which might be the bigger miracle.”

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the orchard breathe around us. A soft breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of apple blossoms and fresh grass. The world felt gentle—something I hadn’t felt in months. The kind of gentle that doesn’t feel fragile, but earned.

“You know,” Jace said, nudging the swing with his foot, “I used to worry that you’d end up alone. Not because you couldn’t find someone, but because you wouldn’t let anyone in.”

I blinked, startled by the honesty. “I didn’t know that.”

“You built walls,” he continued. “Big ones. Smart ones. Necessary ones. But walls all the same.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“And Rhys…” Jace paused, choosing his words carefully. “He didn’t tear them down. He waited at the gate until you opened it.”

I felt my throat tighten again. “He did.”

Jace stood, brushing off his jeans. “I’m proud of you,” he said simply. “Not for surviving. But for letting yourself live.”

He squeezed my shoulder, then walked back toward the house, his figure disappearing between the rows of apple trees. I watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and relief. For years, Jace had been the one who stood between me and the world. Now he was stepping aside—not out of abandonment, but out of trust.

A moment later, Rhys stepped out onto the back porch, shielding his eyes against the sun as he scanned the lawn. When he spotted me sitting with Jace, his posture relaxed. He didn’t interrupt; he just stood there, waiting patiently—not as a warden, but as an equal. As someone who knew I would come to him when I was ready.

I watched him for a moment, the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his shoulders finally looked unburdened. Then I stood, brushing blossom petals from my lap, and walked toward him.

He didn’t ask what Jace and I talked about.

He didn’t need to.

He simply reached out, took my hand, and together we walked back toward the house—toward family, toward spring, toward whatever came next.