Blame it on me

26

And maybe symbolic of everything that had gone wrong.

But then Austin stands, slow but deliberate, his eyes fixed on Mitch’s beer cooler like it’s calling to some forgotten part of him.

“Oh...what do we have here?” Burt says, elbowing Rich in the ribs with a knowing grin. Both fathers share a look that sits somewhere between nostalgia and pride.

The firelight flickers across the brothers’ faces, their expressions frozen in surprise for a heartbeat as Austin strides toward the cooler.

“Oh, he’s going for it!” Mitch shouts, fist pumping into the air.

“Go, boy!” Josh calls, mouth still half-full, pointing dramatically across the flames.

“You’re almost there!” Jordyn cheers, drumming his feet against the grass.

Austin opens the lid and reaches in with a slow, theatrical hand. The cold mist snakes around his fingers before he pulls out a can beads of condensation clinging to it like dew.

“Touchdown!” Luke cries, springing to his feet with arms shot skyward, triggering a chorus of whistles, applause, and mock roars from the others.

Austin just rolls his eyes and pops the tab. The satisfying crack cuts through the noise. “Idiots,” he mutters beneath his breath, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. A smile blooming reluctantly, softly. He lifts the can and takes a long pull. The taste of something familiar, easy, uncomplicated hits his tongue, and he groans, deep, quiet, sincere.

“When was the last time you had a beer?” Mitch asks, grinning ear to ear as Austin strolls back to the circle.

“Years,” Austin replies, settling beside Zia, who’s practically vibrating with delight. Her grin is so wide it nearly splits her face, and she’s bouncing slightly where she sits, barely containing herself. He places a steadying hand on her knee to calm her before she launches the beer right out of his hand with excitement.

“Damn! What do you drink at parties?” Jordyn says, eyes wide like Austin’s just revealed a dark, shameful secret.

“Champagne. Wine,” Austin shrugs. “New York has good wine.”

Josh lets out a wounded gasp. Austin has offended the beer.

“Language!” Luke says, cutting in, his face stern and theatrical. “Don’t swear like that around my kids, man!”

Everyone erupts with laughter again, loud, unrestrained, real. And Zia watches. Watches her husband laugh and let his walls crack, sees the way he leans into the noise, joins the rhythm of the firelight conversations. When he reaches for another beer, then another, her chest tightens, and she has to look away before she cries.

He doesn’t just sit. He talks. He teases, nudges, pokes fun. He belongs. For so long he’s been a shadow of himself, retreating from his brothers, distant and unreachable. But now it’s like time peeled away all the layers of cold and left behind warmth, heart, history.

And the brothers, they don’t make it weird. They just pick up where they left off, like no years had passed, like love was always waiting just beneath the surface.

Later, when the kids are tucked into their tents, deep in dreams, the fire burns lower. Parents yawn goodnights and drift into the shadows. Lucy disappears toward the showers with a towel over her shoulder, and Jada follows soon after, calling back something teasing about warm water and spa treatments.

Zia kisses Austin’s cheek, soft, lingering, and leaves him there, among his brothers. It’s his time with them. He doesn’t need her hovering, doesn’t need her shadow dulling his rediscovered spark. This too is part of the healing. Letting him have this. Trusting he’ll hold onto it.

She walks slowly to the showers, her body aching with the day’s weight. The water is lukewarm, tinged with iron and rust, but it’s enough. She stands under the stream for longer than necessary, head tilted, letting it soak through her hair and rinse the emotional heaviness off her skin. Today has left her hollowed out and full all at once. There’s been grief and joy, hope and fear, but she’ll carry the hope. That part she’ll keep close.

By the time she slips into the tent, the brothers are still talking. Still laughing. Their voices rise and fall like waves, their laughter drifting between canvas walls. It soothes the whole camp like a lullaby, familiar and grounding. Mac and Jack had said once they couldn’t fall asleep without it.

Zia is exhausted. Her limbs feel like stone, her heart stretched taut, but it’s a good kind of tired. One earned from trying, from choosing not to give up.

She smiles to herself as she peels off her clothes, letting each item fall carelessly to the side. She used to sleep like this. Before the cold, the silence, the separation. She used to feel safe. Desired.

Now, wrapped in nothing but her own skin, she climbs into the sleeping bag. The mattress is too firm, uneven in places, but she sinks into it like a woman surrendering to softness. She wriggles down into the cocoon of it, the warmth creeping into her bones.

Sleep takes her quickly, gently. She doesn’t fight it.