Rick had been less understanding. “You’re choosing them over your brothers? Over the club?”
“I’m not choosing anything over anyone,” Marcus had replied. “I’m just making room for something else in my life. The club will always be family, but maybe I can have more than one family.”
That conversation had been tense, and the relationship with some of his brothers had cooled. But others, like Danny and even Tyler, had started coming around, sometimes joining Marcus when he visited the Coles, awkwardly interacting with the kids, discovering that being part of something beyond the club wasn’t as much of a betrayal as they’d feared.
The art show was held in the elementary school gymnasium, which had been transformed with student artwork covering every available surface. Parents and families milled around, admiring crayon drawings of stick-figure families, paint-splattered abstract pieces, and carefully crafted clay sculptures. The air buzzed with proud conversations and the high-pitched chatter of children showing off their work.
Marcus spotted Thomas first, standing near a display of drawings with Lily perched on his shoulder so she could see better. The past six months had been good to Thomas Cole. The circles under his eyes had faded, and he’d gained back some of the weight that stress had stripped away. With help from social services and a new job with better hours—something Marcus had quietly helped arrange through a contact at the warehouse—Thomas had found a more sustainable balance.
“Marcus!” Lily shrieked when she spotted him, wiggling until Thomas set her down. She ran over, her blue cast long since replaced by a fully healed arm. She waved demonstratively. “You came! Did you see Ethan’s pictures? They’re the best ones here.”
“I’m sure they are,” Marcus said, allowing himself to be dragged toward Ethan’s display.
And they were. Six pieces hung in a neat row, each one showcasing the growth and skill that six months of dedicated practice and good teaching had nurtured. But it was the last piece, the largest one, that made Marcus’s breath catch.
It was a portrait, black and white pencil work with incredible detail, of Marcus himself. The artist had captured something beyond the physical features—the intensity in the eyes, the weathered quality of hard years lived, but also something softer around the edges, something that looked almost like hope. Beneath the portrait, a small placard read, “My Hero by Ethan Cole.”
“Do you like it?” Ethan’s voice came from beside him, nervous and eager. “I wanted to draw you because… because you’re important. You showed me that people can be better than what others think they are. That’s what heroes do, right?”
Marcus felt his throat tighten. He crouched down to Ethan’s level, meeting those blue eyes that had first locked onto his in a dusty parking lot six months ago.
“It’s perfect,” Marcus said, his voice rougher than usual. “You captured something I didn’t even know was there.”