“So where does that leave me?” I ask softly. “Not that Laurel is gone. Now that the truth is out.”
Hudson studies me for a long moment. “It leaves you with a choice.”
My pulse quickens.
“You can walk away,” he says. “Take protection. A new identity. Distance from all of this.”
Colter stiffens beside me, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“Or,” Hudson continues, “you can stay. Learn what it means to belong to this family. What it means to be a part of something bigger.”
I turn my head, meeting Colter’s gaze. We’d already discussed this. I’m his and he is mine. I squeeze his hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say quietly. ‘But I am done being lied to.”
Hudson nods once. “Then we move forward.”
Pace exhales, relief softening his expression. He’s been quiet this entire time, listening. My father’s shoulder’s sag, like he’s been holding his breath for years.
Colter leans in, his forehead pressing briefly to mine. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “I swear it.”
For the first time since everything shattered, I believe him.
Hudson is the first to stand, signaling the end of the conversation without ceremony. Pace follows a second later, then my father. The weight of the room doesn’t vanish, but it loosens, like a storm that’s passed, leaving everything soaked and raw in its wake.
Colter shifts beside me. “Easy,” he murmurs automatically when I brace my good arm on the couch.
“I’ve got it,” is say, even though the room tilts a little when I stand. My arm pulls, a sharp reminder of my limits, but I ignore it.
Pace freezes when he realizes what I’m doing.
“Peyton—” he starts.
I shake my head. “Just…come here.”
He hesitates, like he’s afraid I’ll break if he touches me. That hesitation hurts more than the stitches ever could. So I close the distance myself, stepping into him and wrapping my good arm around his middle.
He makes a sound, barely more than a breath, and then his arms are around me, careful but fierce, like he’s holding something priceless and fragile at the same time.
“I thought I lost you,” he mutters into my hair.
“I’m still here,” I whisper back. “You didn’t.”
He pulls back first, scrubbing at his face like he’s embarrassed by the emotions, but his eyes are glassy. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, little sister.”
A weak laugh escaped me. “Duly noted.”
Then I turn.
My father hasn’t moved. He’s standing there like he’s afraid if he does, I’ll vanish. His hands hang uselessly at his sides, uncertainty written all over his face.
I take a breath and step toward him.
He looks stunned when I stop in front of him.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then I lean in, pressing my forehead briefly to his chest before wrapping my arm around him as best I can. He stiffens in shock, then exhales, a broken sound, and folds himself around me.
