We pulled our charter out of that town for a reason. Greedy, ruthless bastards. Always wanting to fight over the stupidest things. Instead of talking, it’s always blood with them.
“Who knows. Someone could come and take their spot. Or, it could become peaceful. Hard to tell.” Groaning, I dig the heel of my palm in my eye. “Place is shit, no offense. Holds too many bad memories.”
She’s silent for a minute, her finger tracing an old bullet wound. “Can I ask something?”
“Never ask that. You want to know something, ask away. When it comes to you, I’m an open book.” Seriously. Whatever she wants to know, it’s hers.
“Your sister…” She blinks. “You mentioned her in the past.”
Did I? Normally, I don’t talk about her. Must’ve been a poor slip.
“She died a long time ago.” I kiss her forehead to ease her worries about discussing sensitive subjects. “She got caught in the bad town, an innocent bystander in a sour deal. I’ve moved on. She got her justice.”
I let my lips linger so I don’t have to confess what I did to get justice.
The moment John died, and Ripper was born, isn’t a tale I want her innocent ears to listen to.
The very same day, I met a certain nobody with big dreams but with no one to hear him out but a dying bastard who lost his baby sister.
“Willowbrook Ridge is pretty nice.” She muses softly, thankfully moving to a better subject. “Once all this is said and done, are you going to give me a tour?”
All the sour thoughts in my head disappear, turning into pure bliss at what she’s asking me.
“I’ll take you to every shop in town, if that’s what you want.” Rolling over her, I can’t contain my grin. “Show you off a little, let them see a beauty they can’t have.”
Her laugh is perfect, and I capture her hand before she can bat me away.
Wanting to kiss her until my mouth grows numb, I start with her fingers. Taking my time, I have to make sure every second counts.
While I don’t have any intention of dying, there’s no way I’m wasting this excuse to be over the top while she’ll let me. Might as well have her get used to it now, so when I return, she’ll be expecting the amount of love I have to give.
* * *
Epilogue
The world is quiet up here on the mountain. Sunlight filters through the pine trees, dappling the worn wood of the porch where I sit, a fresh cup of coffee warming my hands.
It’s perfect, except for one thing.
A damn blue jay is squawking its head off in the old spruce, a relentless, screeching rhythm that’s starting to get on my last nerve. It’s interrupting the concert playing out before me.
My wife stands in the middle of the clearing with our daughter, Cece, perched on a tire swing that hangs from the sturdiest branch of the oak tree. She’s singing a song she thinks she knows by heart, but she’s missing a handful of lyrics. Haven’s trying to help, but I don’t think it’s working too well.
What a view. Best thing I’ve ever witnessed.
Cece’s giggles ring out, clear and bright as the mountain air, cutting through the bird’s racket.
She’s four years old, a tiny, fierce replica of her mother with a shock of my dark, unruly hair. Each push from Haven sends the tire swinging higher, the arc of her joy sweeping past me.
“You know,” I call out, my voice rough yet gentle. “The song doesn’t include all those giggles. You’re ruining the melody, short stuff.”
Cece cranes her head back, her little face a perfect mask of mock defiance, and sticks her tongue out at me. The sight of it, that sassy, unafraid gesture, sends a warmth through my chest that has nothing to do with the coffee.
Haven is the one who laughs, the sound of a melody far sweeter than any song. She gives the tire one more strong push, but I see the slight tremble in her arms as she lowers them. She’s getting tired. I can’t have that.
I’m on my feet in an instant.
Crossing the distance between us, the pine needles soft under my boots, I stop in front of her. Handing off my cup to warm her hands, I reach out, my calloused fingers gentle as I take her chin, tilting her face up to mine. The morning sun catches the gold in her eyes.
