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“No worries. I’ll clean it up!” Jace called out.

I rose, pressed a kiss to Cali’s forehead, and squeezed her hand. “I’ll help. You go take a break on the pier.” I crossed to the kitchen, and Jace stood halfway in the pantry with ketchup splattered across his shirt.

“I’m really sorry, man. I don’t know what happened,” Jace admitted as he mopped up his shirt with paper towels, but his eyes were a little too bright. I pulled a couple of wet wipes from the cabinet and handed them to him.

“No worries, accidents happen,” I said as I helped wipe down the splatters on the pantry door.

“You’re not mad?” He asked as if he hadn’t expected that response. He wasn’t looking at the pantry. He wasn’t looking at the stain. He was looking at me.

“No way. I know it wasn’t intentional, and even if it was, I wouldn’t be mad. I’d mostly want to know how you managed to lose a fight with a ketchup bottle.”

“Are you gonna marry Cali?”

I froze. His hazel eyes searched mine with an intensity that told me this question mattered.

“I’d marry her tomorrow if she’d say yes, but we’re taking this one step at a time,” I said, because we’d talked some, and I knew she needed time even if I wanted to make things official yesterday. I tossed the wipe I’d been using, and Jace was staring at the floor as if he was deep in thought, and whispered in a voice that felt much smaller than he physically was.

“What will happen with me?” His gaze met mine and I squeezed his shoulder.

No kid should ever have to wonder if he had a place to call home.

“You will be right here. Always. This is your home too.” His face crumpled for half a second before he fought it back. He leaned into my side without saying another word. His shoulders finally loosened.

Something about him looked different now; he looked like a kid instead of someone waiting for the ground to disappear beneath him. My biological father had never shown me what it meant to be a dad, but I knew whatever came next, I’d figure it out. Because nobody was ever going to make him question whether he belonged again. This was what family felt like.

Sixty-Three

Cali

Iwandered down to the pier Lane had built to replicate the one we’d spent countless summer nights on as teenagers. When Lane searched to buy property in our hometown, he told me finding land with a pond had been his top priority. Building the pier was the first thing he did after. The pond was still, the breeze just strong enough to ripple the water and chill my skin. I kicked off my shoes and lowered myself onto the pier, letting my feet dangle in the cool water. It was getting almost too late in the season for this. The weight of Lane’s words still sat heavy in my chest. Years ago, I had only seen the hurt. I hadn’t stopped long enough to look at the fear behind his choices or the love that had driven them. Part of me wondered what would have happened if I had. Would we have gotten married, had babies? Had the whole picket fence dream? The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.

Because we wouldn’t have had Jace.

I never would have fully understood how much Lane loved me. Sometimes time only revealed what refused to die. Local farmers burned their pastures for weed control, and days later, sometimes those remaining hidden embers could reignite into something stronger and wilder than before. Maybe that was us. We hadn’t been the people we needed to be back then. We’d loved each other fiercely, but we hadn’t known how to love without fear, without pride, without carrying every wound from our past into the present. We could let those experiences grow compassion or feed resentment. The choice we made would shape the rest of our lives.

When I headed back toward the house, Lane’s truck caught my eye. The vibrant blue paint gleamed.

My eyes.

Emotion caught in my throat. He had been carrying pieces of me all along. Before I could second-guess myself, I opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel.

The restoration was stunning. Soft custom leather covered the seats and steering wheel, smooth beneath my fingertips. The headliner was upholstered in a burnt orange–and–navy plaid fabric, classic and unmistakably Lane. Kennedy mustang colors. Every detail carried a piece of him. Something tucked beneath the driver’s visor caught my attention. I reached up and eased it down. Two Polaroids fell into my palm.

My breath caught.

They were pictures of us the summer before I left. In one, my head was thrown back in laughter while Lane looked at me instead of the camera. In the other, I was kissing his cheek, his grin so wide it nearly split his face. The white borders were softened and frayed, the corners bent from years of being handled. He’d kept them with him. For how long? I turned them over. In Lane’s neat, blocky handwriting were six simple words.

California, the love of my life.

My fingers traced the words with reverence as if I were touching something sacred. He’d never meant for me to find them. This wasn’t a declaration meant for me or anyone else. There was no audience, no expectation of recognition. It was something he’d held onto because simply loving me had always been part of who he was. We’d loved each other with the kind of wholehearted abandon that years couldn’t erase. Holding the Polaroids against my chest, an idea took shape. If I was going to do this right, I couldn’t do it alone.

Sixty-Four

Cali

“You look like a model!” Landry said, her excitement obvious as she fluffed my hair one last time. Sawyer’s eyes were glassy as she stood wrapped in Soren’s arms. The stadium thrummed with the kind of energy only Friday night football could create. We were deep into the fourth quarter, and the marching band blared from the home stands while kids chased each other beneath the bleachers. Parents bundled in school colors balanced hot chocolate and popcorn as they huddled in their seats.

I stood just out of sight, fingers curled around the hem of my jersey.