3 – New Hands, Old Ghosts

Weeks had passed since that night.

Ezra hadn’t thought about it much—at least, not on purpose. But quiet moments had a way of dragging it back up. The warmth of breath against his skin. The slip of a confession, blurted between kisses. The way Sebastian curled into him afterward like it was second nature.

Ezra had done what he always did: boxed the memory up, shoved it into a drawer in his mind labeled Do Not Open.

Now, standing on the cracked front steps of the Wesmere Children’s Home, that drawer rattled loose again.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, heart hammering like he was about to stand trial. Technically, he was. A family court hearing loomed in two weeks. If he screwed this up, social services could intervene. He could lose the only family he had left.

The heavy front door creaked open, and a receptionist appeared—a woman in her fifties, all warm perfume and practiced smiles.

“You must be Mr. Anderson," she said gently, as if raising her voice might shatter him. "Come on in."

Ezra followed her down a scuffed hallway lined with faded murals. His boots thudded heavily on the worn linoleum.

“They’re adjusting,” the woman offered as they walked. “It’s only been a few days. The oldest, Mia—sharp girl. Very cautious. The twins are... sweet, but shaken. We’ve had some of our best support staff on them.”

Ezra nodded stiffly, his throat too dry for words.

“They’ve also been working with one of our contracted therapists,” she added with a little smile. “He’s been a big help.”

Ezra’s footsteps faltered as the scent hit him—lavender, rich and intoxicating, a scent that had been seared into his senses ever since that night. It was so familiar, so him, and it wrapped around him like a velvet tether, pulling at something deep inside. His chest tightened, a sharp jolt of heat surging through him.

The scent was too close, too real, and it brought with it memories of that night—the heat, the closeness, the brush of skin—and the way his body had responded. He hadn’t been in rut, not even close, but the scent had almost driven him to it. He could feel the primal part of him stir, a low, instinctual ache that had no name but a single, sharp demand.

Fuck, he thought, swallowing hard. The lavender was all over him, in the air, on his skin, and it pulled. The knot inside him throbbed with sudden urgency.

The woman pushed open a door, and the smell of crayons and cleaning spray hit Ezra like a wave. The playroom was warm and cluttered—beanbags sagging in the corners, shelves stuffed with crooked stacks of books and battered toys.

In the far corner, a girl sat cross-legged, arms wrapped tight around herself. Dark hair tucked behind her ears and shining blue eyes. Eyes too old for her age.

Mia.

She looked so much like Megan that Ezra's heart twisted painfully.

Nearby, two tiny boys sat hunched over a puzzle. One gnawed the corner of a piece; the other just stared blankly at it.

And sitting right next to them, legs folded easily on the floor, was him.

Sebastian.

Ezra blinked, stomach dropping.

It was him.

Sebastian wore a pale sweater pushed to the elbows, jeans that fit too well, and that familiar dark hair in messy curls. His posture was casual but alert, tuned into every flicker of movement in the room.

He looked up—and their eyes locked.

Recognition hit like a punch to the gut.

Sebastian’s face barely changed, just a flicker, before he composed himself into something neutral. Professional.

“Ezra," he said calmly, like it was nothing at all.

His name sounded different in Sebastian’s mouth—familiar, weighted.

Ezra’s voice cracked when he finally found it. “Sebastian?”

The receptionist glanced between them, puzzled, but said nothing.

Sebastian rose to his feet smoothly, brushing his palms down his jeans. “You look better sober.”

Ezra flushed hot, the memory of that night crashing back—hands, mouths, whispered things he hadn’t let himself replay until now.

“I didn’t know you were—” Ezra stopped, swallowed hard. “You’re the therapist?”

“Child psychologist," Sebastian corrected, voice even. “Contracted for emergency placements.”

The room tilted for a second. The man he’d hooked up with—the man he hadn’t stopped thinking about—had been caring for Megan’s kids.

Sebastian’s gaze didn’t waver.

Neither did Mia’s.

The girl stood up slowly, arms still crossed tight over her chest. She didn’t move closer. Her stare pinned Ezra in place.

“Hey, baby," Ezra rasped, voice cracking halfway through. He bent forward slightly, trying to meet her at eye level. "You remember me?"

Mia’s mouth tightened.

"I do but they’re six,” she said sharply, nodding at the twins. “They barely remember you.”

Ezra’s chest twisted. He deserved that. He hadn’t been here. Not enough.

“I know," he said, straightening slowly. His hands hung useless at his sides. “I’m gonna fix that. I promise.”

Mia didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“You can’t just show up and fix things," she said, voice flat.

A laugh escaped him, short and broken. “Yeah, baby. I know that too.”

Her gaze cut sharper than any blade.

“You didn’t come to Mom’s funeral.”

Ezra flinched like she’d slapped him.

“I didn’t know," he said quickly. His voice was rough, pleading. “I found out two days ago. I—I would’ve been there.”

Mia's jaw locked. She shot a glance at Sebastian, like she was checking if it was safe to believe anything Ezra said.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you taking us away?”

Ezra swallowed hard.

“If you’ll have me," he said. "I'm not here to force anything. But yeah. I want to take you home."

Mia’s eyes narrowed, testing.

“You got a house?” she asked suspiciously.

Ezra nodded. “The old family place. Your mom left it to me. Big enough for you all to have your own rooms.”

"I want my own room," she said immediately, fierce.

Ezra managed a real smile. “Done.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and something in her posture—barely—eased.

Meanwhile, one of the twins—Caleb, he thought—scrambled to his feet and wandered closer, staring up at Ezra with wide eyes.

“You smell like wood," he declared solemnly.

Ezra chuckled. “That’s 'cause I build stuff. Houses, mostly.”

Caleb’s mouth dropped open. “You build whole houses?”

“Sometimes.”

Camden, hovering behind his brother, tugged Caleb’s sleeve and whispered, “Do you got snacks?”

Ezra grinned. “We’ll fill up the kitchen first thing.”

Sebastian’s low laugh broke the moment. “They ask that every twenty minutes.”

Ezra's gaze flickered to him, heart clenching.

The night they'd shared felt a world away, but the way Sebastian had touched him—that hadn’t faded. Neither had the way Sebastian was looking at him now. Careful. Measuring.

“You’ve been with them this whole time?" Ezra asked quietly.

Sebastian nodded. “Since the night they arrived. The twins cried for hours. Mia stepped up. Too much.”

Ezra frowned. “Too much?”

“She’s parentifying,” Sebastian said softly. “Trying to be a parent instead of a kid. It's protective, but it burns out fast."

Ezra raked a hand through his hair. “And I’m supposed to fix that?”

Sebastian’s gaze was steady. “You’re supposed to show up. Stay steady. They don’t need perfect.”

Ezra didn’t know what to say to that.

Across the room, Mia barked an order at the boys to pack their drawings.

“No rush," Sebastian said lightly, catching Mia’s glare before it settled into something worse. "There’s no deadline."

Ezra nodded once, grateful.

As the boys dashed off to the bathroom, Sebastian stepped a little closer, voice low.

“This isn’t going to be easy. If you need help... I can stick around.”

Ezra blinked. “Why?”

Sebastian’s mouth curved into a crooked half-smile. “Because I care about those kids. And because, against my better judgment, I think you’re not as much of a disaster as you pretend to be.”

Ezra huffed out a laugh. “That’s generous.”

A touch of heat brushed between them—Ezra’s shoulder accidentally grazing Sebastian’s arm. It felt electric. Dangerous.

The twins barrelled back into the room, breathless.

"Ready!" Caleb shouted triumphantly.

Ezra turned toward them, throat tight. "Alright, troops. Let’s roll."

As Mia slung her backpack on, she hesitated at the door.

“You’re really gonna try?” she asked, voice brittle.

Ezra met her gaze without flinching. “Yeah. I am.”

Some of the rigid lines in her posture softened, just barely.

They stepped into the cold, narrow streets of Wesmere, kids in tow. Sebastian held the door open as they passed, his fingers brushing Ezra’s arm again—barely a touch, but enough to ignite the ember still smoldering between them.

Ezra's life had just changed forever.

And somehow, he knew—

it was only just beginning.