The conversation moves on as we talk about present-day logistics—the cabin, school, and my plans.
“And the tuition?” Dad asks. “You were cutting it so close.”
The fact that he knows about my financial struggles makes my throat tight. He’s been following my life more closely than I could imagine.
“I’ll be able to pay it in full,” I tell him, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “The pet-sitting money is exactly what I needed. It will cover the spring semester with enough left over to start the sanctuary fund.”
“Your grandmother would be so proud.”
“She knew,” I say softly. “She always knew I’d figure it out.”
There’s a comfortable pause, then Dad continues. “I want to help, Laney. With school, with the sanctuary you mention sometimes on Facebook, whatever you need. I have twenty years of missed birthdays and Christmases to make up for.”
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“I want to. Let me do this. Please.”
The offer sits in my chest, warm and unfamiliar. Someone wanting to help, not because I’m failing, but because they love me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you. I’m fine now, but I’ll let you know if I need your help.”
“Promise, Sunshine, because my offer is sincere.”
“Absolutely.”
The call winds down with promises to talk again tomorrow, to maybe even meet in person once the roads clear and we can coordinate. When I finally end the call, my hands are shaking so hard I nearly drop the phone.
Ryder catches it before it slips from my fingers. Then his arms are around me, pulling me against his broad chest, and I completely fall apart.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair, one massive hand cradling the back of my head while I sob into his thermal shirt. “Let it out, Sunshine. I’ve got you.”
And I do. I sob for the twenty years stolen, for the father who never stopped fighting, for the mother whose fear destroyed so much. I cry with rage and grief and joy all tangled together until I’m empty and wrung out and somehow lighter than I’ve been in years.
When I finally pull back enough to look up at him, his amber eyes are suspiciously bright.
“He fought for me,” I manage to say. “All this time, I thought he didn’t care, but he fought for me.”
“I know.” Ryder’s thumb wipes away my tears with heartbreaking gentleness.
“And he still calls me Sunshine.” My voice breakson the word. “After twenty years, I’m still his Sunshine.”
“You are.” Ryder’s hand cups my face, his tusks pressing lightly against my cheeks as he leans his forehead against mine. “You’re his Sunshine. And mine. And you’re going to have your father back, Laney. You’re going to have a family again.”
“I already have a family,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I have you.”
The kiss is soft, salt-tinged from my tears, and full of promise. When we break apart, he pulls me back against his chest, and we stay like that for a long time—me wrapped in his arms, him solid and sure against the chaos of my emotions.
Later, we sit on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate neither of us is really drinking. My eyes are swollen, my voice hoarse, but there’s a strange peace settling over me.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For staying with me through that. For not making me do it alone.”
“Always.” He pulls me closer, and I curl into his side, my head on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”
“Scared. Hopeful. Angry at my mother. Grateful to have him back.” I take a shaky breath. “Overwhelmed by all of it.”
“That’s a lot for one phone call.” Ryder’s quiet for a moment. “He offered to meet you. Is that what you want?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “What if it’s awkward? What if twenty years is too much to overcome? What if—”
