It’s nearly eleven when I pull in next to The Beast, moon high and lights low. Tomorrow’s a work day. I bet he’s sleeping. Sitting in the driver’s seat, twisting the steering wheel in my hands, I second-guess myself. A sigh putters out of me—I never told him I was coming. Never even hinted. It’s been such an overwhelming day. Should I be here?

But then, I remember what he said. Anytime for any reason. I exit Beauty anyway.

The porch light blinks as I approach, and I find a note on the door.

Marina,

It’s open. Meet me on the upper deck.

Grady

I choke on a gasp, snatch the note off the door, and go inside. It’s dark. The dogs sleep peacefully around the fireplace, barely noticing me. I lock the door behind me, kick off my shoes, and follow the light glowing from upstairs. I traipse through his quiet bedroom to the sliding glass doors.

The deck is aglow with white lights over the railings and soft lanterns tucked in corners. A thick pile of blankets and pillows occupies the wide flooring. A table in the corner holds wine and snacks, and soft music plays from somewhere I can’t see. Grady leans against the deck railing, facing me with a soft smile.

It all comes over me at once. Remnants of my lonely, scared, and difficult childhood butt up against the joy of Mom’s return. I have a sister! And a sweet second chance at a family I thought I’d lost and didn’t know I had. Hope battles leftover resentment and anger—yes, I had it tough, but I’m stronger for it.

Even so, I ache for thinking I wasn’t enough. For all the time and energy I spent being the go-to girl for the Sullivans. For fooling myself into false love and what would’ve been a fake family.

Now that I know what family truly feels like, fear edges in. Letting Mom back in means I could lose her again. Lose Tilly. I’m devastated for the seven years I’ve missed with her already. I ache for lost time, and time I don’t want to lose as a big sister. Even being a big sister strikes fear into me. All this fear and regret compound into relief, too, thanks to him.

He holds his arms open to me. An emotional tidal wave hits me, so overcome with feelings that I can barely reach him. I fall apart. He catches me. Once in his arms, I break down, crying.

Crying!

Bawling into his shoulder, the strength of our connection strikes me. He knew I’d show up, knew I needed him, and did all this for me.

“This is me falling apart,” I blubber, reminded of that night in the hospital when he held my hand, and feeling grateful that we’re beyond that now.