“I should go,” Jasmine said, standing and stretching. “Ryder will be wondering where I am.”
“Same. Sarah is probably getting worried.”
We hugged at the door of the shop, a real hug, the kind you give to someone who has become a friend.
“Thank you for today,” I said. “I needed this more than I realized.”
“Any time.” She pulled back and smiled at me. “We lunas have to stick together.”
We parted ways outside, Jasmine heading toward the pack’s guest house and me toward Sarah’s. The guards fell into formation around me, silent shadows in the gathering darkness.
When I arrived at Sarah’s, the house was quiet.
Too quiet.
I felt a spike of panic before I noticed the guards at the door, calm and relaxed. Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine.
Sarah met me in the entryway, a finger pressed to her lips.
“They’re all asleep,” she whispered. “Played so hard today they wore themselves out. Passed out before dinner.”
I peeked into the living room and saw them. Rowan sprawled on the couch, one arm hanging off the edge. Thea curled up in an armchair, clutching a stuffed wolf that was almost as big as she was. And Blake in her bassinet, tiny and perfect, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
My heart swelled with love so intense it almost hurt.
“I should stay here tonight,” I said quietly. “If I try to move them now, they’ll wake up and it’ll be chaos.”
Sarah nodded. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve already made up the guest room.”
We had dinner together at her kitchen table. Soup and fresh bread and tea. Simple food, comforting food. Sarah told me stories about my childhood, about my parents, about the years after they died when it was just the two of us against the world.
Some of the stories I remembered. Some were completely new. All of them filled in pieces of the puzzle that was my life.
“I’m so grateful you’re here,” I said as we finished eating. “With us. In Ravenshollow. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Sarah’s eyes went misty. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“I mean it. You’ve always been there for me. When my parents died. When I was alone and scared and didn’t know how to keep going. When I had the twins and was overwhelmed andexhausted.” My voice cracked. “When I was in that coma for a month, you took care of my baby. You kept everything together while I was gone.”
“That’s what family does,” Sarah said simply.
“I know. But I want you to know how much it means to me. How much you mean to me. You’re not just my grandmother. You’re my mother. You’re the person who raised me, who shaped me, who made me who I am.”
Sarah stood up and pulled me into a hug, her thin arms surprisingly strong around me.
“I love you, sweet girl,” she murmured into my hair. “I am so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
We held each other for a long moment, both of us crying, both of us grateful for this connection that had survived everything life had thrown at us.
Finally, Sarah pulled back and wiped her eyes.
“Now,” she said firmly, “you need to go to bed. You’re still recovering, and you need your rest.”
“I’m completely fine.”
“I don’t care. Bed. Now.”
I knew better than to argue with that tone. Sarah might be elderly and barely five feet tall, but she had a will of iron.
