Undone by her emotions, he crossed to her. Gently, he removed the baby blanket from her hands and took them in his. “Things are a mess right now. I know. The timing is terrible. But I have a bad habit of hiding my feelings, waiting for the perfect time to share them with you, and it only created bigger problems.” He squeezed her hands. “So I’m saying it. Out loud. I love you. I've never stopped. And I don't know what comes next, or how we rebuild something we both broke, but I know I want to try. If you do.”
Tears spilled over her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I don’t know what comes next either, but I know I want to face it with you by my side.” Peyton drew in a breath to steady herself. “I hurt you, Dawson. Made promises and broke them. So I won’t make any now. What I will say is that I’m not the same person I was five years ago, and if you give me the chance, I’ll show you that. Every day.”
“You already are. I see it, Peyton.” He released her hands to wipe her tears with his thumbs. “We both made mistakes. But I believe in second chances.”
“So do I.”
She rose on her tiptoes, her lips brushing against his. Dawson pulled her closer, mindful of the injury at her side, and returned the kiss. His world centered, a peace settled over him unlike any he’d ever felt. This was right. He felt it. In his heart and soul.
God had been leading them here. Through the grief, the distance, and the broken years. All of it—every painful step—had brought them to this moment. And while the future wasn’t certain, Dawson would never regret loving Peyton.
Grace fussed from the swing. Dawson broke off the kiss, his heart racing and his breath shallow. He glanced over his shoulder at the baby in time to see her lift her legs. An eruption echoed in the room. His eyes widened, and a laugh bubbled up. “Well, that’s one way to ruin a romantic moment.”
Peyton giggled and then held her side. “Oh, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
Dawson reluctantly released her to stand over the swing. “Think she’s done?”
Grace sent up a wail of discontent as if to answer his question. Her little fists waved in anger. Dawson quickly unstrapped her from the swing. “Well, don’t yell at me. You’re the one who did it.”
Peyton doubled over, alternating between laughing and wincing. “Stop, I beg of you.”
He lifted the baby out of the swing, and his mouth dropped open. “Good grief, she’s covered in it. Changing table, stat. This is gonna be a two-man job. We might have to hose her down.” He winked. “I did that once with Oliver. Mom yelled at me.”
Peyton gasped. “You did not.”
“He was eighteen months old, and it was in the dead of summer.” Dawson hurried to the guest bedroom, where his mom had set up a crib and changing table for Grace. “Oliver loved it. So did Marcus. I’m pretty sure he changed his poopy diapers like that all August.”
He set Grace down on the plastic surface, but then Peyton pushed him out of the way. “I’ll do it. I don’t want you to get the hose.”
“Want gloves? A gas mask?”
She pressed her lips together. “I’m going to bust a stitch if you keep making me laugh, and then you’re going to explain to the doctor what happened.”
“I don’t care,” he teased. “I know all the doctors in Knoxville.”
Peyton popped open Grace’s onesie. The GPS tracker attached to the pacifier clip fell to the side, hitting the plastic mat with a thump. Grace flailed her arms and legs, dressed only in a lightweight T-shirt, and hollered. Peyton spoke to her in soothing tones, calming her, and then grimaced. “Okay, the hose might not be a bad idea. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna need a bath.” She reached for the wipes, pulling two out, and the empty package fluttered to the carpet. “Do you mind getting the extra wipes? They’re in the backpack.”
Dawson turned away, spotting the black bag in the corner. He unzipped the main compartment and rummaged through the remaining supplies. No wipes. He checked the side pockets. Empty. “I don't think there are any more.”
“There has to be. Check the bottom.”
He upended the bag, dumping everything onto the bed. A pacifier, two diapers, a rattle. No wipes. He was about to tell Peyton they'd have to improvise when the bedside lamp caught the front of the backpack at an angle. A few strands of thread along the edge of the logo patch shimmered differently from the rest. Newer. Tighter. As if someone had carefully cut one section of the patch and stitched it back into place.
Heart pounding, he ran his thumb across the seam. The fabric beneath the patch was stiffer than it should have been. Something was sandwiched between the layers.
“Never mind!” Peyton sounded breathless. “I found the extra wipes in the drawer…” She appeared by his side with a half-dressed baby. “What is it?”
“This patch. It’s been mended.” He fished out his pocketknife and carefully cut the newer thread. The patch lifted away, revealing a small slit in the nylon. He reached inside with two fingers and pulled out a USB flash drive, barely bigger than his thumb.
Peyton gasped. “Dawson...” Her face went pale.
“We had it the whole time.” He stared at the drive, not sure he quite believed it was real. They’d searched the backpack over and over again, but the repair was so well done it was practically invisible. The faint reflection on the newer thread was their only clue, and even that wouldn’t have been obvious under normal lighting.
Peyton recovered first, waving toward her laptop, which was resting on the bed. “Don’t just sit there. Plug it in. Let’s see what everyone is trying to kill us for.”
TWENTY-TWO
Peyton rubbed lotion on a newly bathed Grace, who smiled and waved her hands. It was such a strange feeling. They’d made a giant break in the case, but her focus was centered on making sure Grace was clean, dry, and comfortable before anything else. A year ago, she would've been hunched over that laptop, sleep and food forgotten, working until her eyes blurred. But Grace had rearranged her priorities in a way Peyton hadn't expected. The evidence wasn't going anywhere. This little girl needed her now.
