Emery doesn’t look away. “I’m not your kid,” she says, “but I love them. All of them. Even you, a little, because you made them. But maybe it’s time you saw them for who they are, not what you want them to be.”
The silence is heavy enough to break the floorboards. I could never imagine in my life saying those words to my father.
My father is the first to move. He nods, once, almost imperceptible. “Noted,” he says. Then, to me: “You’ve chosen well.”
He turns and finally walks out, the echo of his shoes following him down the hallway and out the front door.
When the quiet comes back, it’s Emery who breaks it.
“I probably overstepped.” Her eyes are glassy and her hands knotted in the fabric of her dress.
I stare at her, not sure whether I want to laugh or cry. “You could have waited until he was at least out of earshot.”
She wipes her face, smiling through the tears. “I was afraid if I waited, I’d lose my nerve.”
I stand, crossing the space between us in two long strides. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She looks up, and for the first time all afternoon, there’s no fear in her at all. “Yes, I did.”
I pull her into my arms, and she lets herself melt against my chest, the sharp bones of her face pressed to my heart. “You’re amazing.”
She snorts. “And you’re stuck with me now.”
I hold her close, her pulse racing under my fingers, and try to remember the last time I felt safe. Not just protected, but actually wanted. Cherished. Every memory before this moment is gray and brittle by comparison. I breathe in her cotton candy scent and I’m not just grateful, I’m greedy. I want more. I want to be the one she says those things to for the rest of my life along with the rest of our pack. The thought is terrifying, exhilarating.
“Emery, there is literally nowhere else I’d rather be.”
We stand like that, in the middle of the old sitting room, the sunlight making everything look softer than it should. I think about the way my father left, and the way Emery stood up to him, and the way the future feels less like a sentence and more like an invitation.
She looks up at me, eyes bright. “So what now?”
“Whatever we want.”Anything and everything.
Emery kisses me, soft and deliberate, and in that moment, nothing else matters.
The house, the legacy, the ghosts of a thousand failed expectations—they all vanish, replaced by this: the warmth of her and the certainty of us.
CHAPTER 37
Emery
SEVERAL MONTHS LATER
The first morningI wake up to birdsong instead of my phone alarm, I lie very still, as if I might scare the day away just by moving. Ranier is already gone from the nest—of course—but Bastion is wrapped around me with the tenacity of a tree root and Wyatt has his face pressed into my hair, snoring lightly. Outside the window, light is doing things to the garden that should be illegal. Every stem and leaf are outlined in gold, and the air through the screen is full of pollen and possibility.
Spring. Finally.
Bastion stirs beside me, nose buried in my shoulder, and makes a sound halfway between a yawn and a moan. “Is it morning already?”
“It’s almost ten.”
He grunts. “Fuck. How is it easier to sleep in later now that the mornings are bright again?” He kisses my forehead, then rolls onto his back with a satisfied sigh.
Wyatt, never one to be left out, pops up like a meerkat and peers at me over Bastion’s chest. “Morning, angel. You have any plans today?”
I squint at him, suspicious. “Not unless you count reorganizing the pantry. Why?” There’s plenty of spring cleaning to do for the new season and always more art to make after.
Wyatt gets up and retrieves a folded envelope from his jacket pocket. The same jacket he shucked off immediately last night upon returning home to me in my nest. He hands it to me with a flourish. “This came for you.”
