“He’s okay,” Grant answered quickly. “He’s safe. He’s in child services custody, but I’ve already spoken to the case worker about placement.”
“Placement?’
“With us,” he finished. “If you want. It would be temporary at first until we can obtain legal guardianship. But it’s an option, if you want it.”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I want him with us.”
He wiped away my tears and said, “Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do. I love you, Kiyah.”
“I love you, too.”
I lay back against the pillows with a renewed sense of purpose. Todd was gone. Pete was safe. Our family was growing, and I was staying.
I’d spent years running from Grant and accountability because it hurt, when I should’ve been running to him because even when it was painful, the hurt felt better when I was with him.
Epilogue
Casey
Everything changed in three months.
Our family had become a media sensation, focused on how Kiyah escaped a madman politician that the country held in such high regard. Branson’s murders were uncovered, and people came out of the woodwork testifying how Branson used his quiet power and wealth to make their lives a living hell. Mr. Stone was one of them—leaving the world reeling from his confessions of blackmail and violence.
Kiyah landed exclusive interviews that she was hesitant to accept at first, but she did it for the victims who were silenced—the ones who couldn’t tell their stories. Book publishers and networks were sniffing around, begging her to write a book or star in a documentary. As far as I knew, she’d declined them, stating she was focusing on family, especially after the passing of our grandfather.
The repast was held at the same place we’d gathered for birthdays, graduations, and Sunday dinners when Marcus Baker still knew our names. Now, the room was filled with low voices and shared memories.
Late-stage Alzheimer’s had taken him slowly, and no one would admit it, but we were all praying God would just take him. As prepared as we were, it still shocked us when he took his finalbreath with all of us surrounding him. The room froze, and all eyes landed on Grandma, who was reconciling that the man she loved for over fifty years was gone.
Sobs rang out, and tears spilled over the man who had learned to slow down and soften over the decades. He was the one we went to when we needed a little tough love and needed someone to sit in silence with. My fondest memory of Granddad was joining him in his study after my high school baseball team lost the championship because I struck out. I sat beside him and leaned my head against his shoulder. I cried. He poured me a finger of bourbon, handed me the drink and his handkerchief, and said, “Dry those tears up, boy. You ain’t missin’ out on anything. You’re a Baker—you already won at life.”
I stood near the edge of the room with an untouched drink in my hand and watched my family.
Grant was easy to spot. He stood with one arm around Kiyah with his hand resting on her hip. She was visibly pregnant now, belly rounding softly beneath her black dress. She stroked her stomach absently as she engaged in conversation.
Pete sat on the floor at their feet, playing quietly with toys. He was legally part of the family as Pete Baker. He was a pleasant child, extremely well-mannered for his age, and clung to Kiyah and Grant like a lifeline.
The sight of them twisted something deep in my chest.
Guilt.
I’d been the one to convince Grant not to go after Kiyah. I was so certain that she ran off again, and she was in danger the whole time. I’d believed the lies because they were convenient, and Kiyah had nearly died because of it.
Our eyes caught briefly, and I looked away first. We were distant, but cordial, but then again, that could be all in my head. She had a lot of shit going on, and so did I.
“You doing alright, son?” Dad asked, materializing out of nowhere with a drink in his hand.
“I should be asking you that.”
“I’m stressed. Time is moving fast, and one day it will be me that everyone will be crying about.”
“Call your therapist, or you’ll spiral.”
“You sound like Kierra,” he said jokingly. “But… seriously… are you okay? I’ve been meaning to touch base with you before Granddad passed, but—”
I cleared my throat, interrupting him. “Yeah, Dad. I’m fine. I think it might just be burnout. I haven’t had time off from work in a long time.”
“Well, that’s not good. Get with Grant to see about him divvying up your cases for a week or two. You deserve a break.”
