Connor frowns. “What about it?”
“I know out on the cliffs I told you that secrets ruin lives. But this is one I think I’d like us to keep,” I explain. His frown deepens, and I continue. “Those of us who know, know. ButI’m in no hurry to stake a claim to the Canterbury fortune, Connor. I’m a Vale. It’s who I’ve always been. It’s who I want to be.”
His frown disappears, replaced by the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen. “Billie Vale, then.”
“Yeah.” My nod is firm, the smile stretching my mouth so wide it almost hurts. “Billie Vale.”
Epilogue
I’m a bundle of nervous anticipation as I stand in front of the window and stare outside, eager to see my father’s car pull into the drive. He’s bringing Isla home from the hospital today. She might’ve woken up from her coma a few weeks ago, but she had to stay in the rehabilitation wing before they’d allow her to come home.
It was scary at first—how her injury seemed to have erased so much of her brain. She struggled to find the words she was looking for and kept jumbling the timeline of events leading up to the night on the cliff. But the doctors assured us she’d be okay, and … they were right.
Isla was a quick study. She relearned how to walk and talk and feed herself by going to hours of physical therapy, and she never gave up. She also worked on improving her memory with a variety of guessing games and looking at lots of photos of familiar faces. Like her family. Her friends. Students at school, as well as teachers. She got the hang of it at a rapid-fire pace, able to identify people, places, and things withinseconds. Her determination won over everything else—she wanted to go home. She wanted to feel like herself again.
She also started seeing a therapist. I have, too. All of us Vales have, actually. Going through something so traumatic weighed heavily on all of us, and we desperately needed someone objective to unload our pain and feelings on. Someone to help us process everything that happened and come to terms with who we are on the other side of our experience. It’s helped me a lot.
“He should be here soon.” I whirl around at the sound of Connor’s voice. He stands in the open doorway with his shoulder propped against the doorframe. “I just spoke with Whitney. Your father called and said they’re five minutes away, if that.”
I don’t move from my spot at the window. “I want to see his car the minute it gets here so I can go out and greet them.”
Connor approaches, settling one hand on my shoulder as he stands behind me. “You’re a good sister.”
I lean into him, savoring his strength. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
I turn to face him and rest my hands on his chest. He looks good. You’d never know he got the crap beaten out of him only a few weeks ago. The bruises and scratches are gone, though his healing arm is still in a cast, which he hates and can’t wait to get rid of. He says it itches terribly, and more than once I’ve had to scold him for trying to shove all manner of pseudo-sharp objects under the cast to scratch with. Whitney explained that most men—not all, but definitely my dad—are huge babies about injuries, illness, and physical discomfort in general. She might be on to something.
“I’ve never lived with them—all of them—before. The last time Isla and I lived under the same roof, I was six years old and she still wore pull-up diapers at night. What if we don’t get along? What if she resents me being here?”
“She won’t.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m pretty certain she’s excited to get to know you better.”
I frown. “Who told you that?”
“Isla.” He shrugs. “What can I say? We text each other a lot.”
Right. Once Isla’s neurologist cleared her to look at screens, she started texting Julian and Connor. The first because she was ready for him to get his head out of his ass and go public with their relationship, and the second because she needed to bond with someone over her grief about Emily. I wish I’d known her. From the stories I’ve heard, she was an amazing human—funny and bright, with an unrivaled passion for baby animals andLove Island.Regardless of the details, she was someone loved by two people I love. That’s all I need to know to understand the world lost someone precious when she died.
“Don’t be nervous,” Connor reassures me when I still haven’t said anything. “They’re all glad you’re here. Even your mom.”
“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. I’m staying in England for the time being. Mom has moved to an outpatient rehab program, and her new roommate—surprise, it’s Doug—is helping her navigate her new sobriety. Doug offered to let me stay with them, but everyone, including me, thought it would be better if I stayed on this side of the Atlantic for now. Besides, if I’m being honest, I’d much rather be here. Mainlybecause of Isla and Connor. Well, and my dad and Whitney, too. And Sophia.
It turns out there are a lot of reasons for me to live here. It feels so good, realizing I’m starting to put down roots.
“It’s going to be great.” Connor dips his head and settles his mouth on mine for a too-brief kiss. “This is the perfect chance for you and Isla to spend time together. You should cherish that. I wish I had more time with my sister.”
I immediately feel terrible. “You must think I’m selfish.”
“No. Never.” He shakes his head. “It’s normal for you to feel apprehensive, but I think everything is going to work out just fine.”
He kisses me again. And again, until we get a little too caught up in each other. We only break apart when Whitney clears her throat extra loud.
“They’re here,” she announces as she walks toward the front door.
Not even the delicious, familiar heat of Connor’s mouth is enough to keep me from running to the door. Whitney opens it, and I scoot out before her, racing down the steps and making my way to the passenger side of Dad’s car. I open the door for Isla and make a sweeping gesture.
“Welcome home!” I practically shout.
