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Back Surrender Your Sons Save as PDF
Chapters (43)
  1. Author’s Note with Content Warnings
  2. CHAPTER ONE
  3. CHAPTER TWO
  4. CHAPTER THREE
  5. CHAPTER FOUR
  6. CHAPTER FIVE
  7. CHAPTER SIX
  8. CHAPTER SEVEN
  9. CHAPTER EIGHT
  10. CHAPTER NINE
  11. CHAPTER TEN
  12. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  13. CHAPTER TWELVE
  14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  20. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  21. CHAPTER TWENTY
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  31. CHAPTER THIRTY
  32. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  41. CHAPTER FORTY
  42. EPILOGUE
  43. Acknowledgments

A warm, confident hand that will defend me to the bitter end.

And here we are, at the bitter end.

I grunt, dog-paddling after the boat, and leap for Marcos. His hand closes around mine as the boat picks up speed and drags me through pitch-black open water. We ride together into the ink-black drink! Marcos pulls me from the sea, and my free hand finds the ladder. “Got you,” he says, beaming.

Both of us clutching the stern, we kiss. A sopping, breathless kiss. A kiss of survival.

The island sinks behind us.

We beat you.

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY

ARRIVALS

THREE DAYS LATER

There’s shockingly little to say. In the spot where Ricky’s hospital bed used to be, his urn now sits on the coffee table between Mrs. Hannigan and me like a chessboard awaiting our first move. The old house in White Eagle creaks in the summer wind flying through the cracked living room window. She’s chosen to leave it open—in the days since our highly public escape from Nightlight, people have started throwing eggs and stones, so I can’t blame her for not being thrilled to see me.

When I arrived alone, Mrs. Hannigan didn’t get up. She lay immobile, melted into her recliner, her exhausted, puffy eyes waiting for the horrible moment I’d call with a burning desire for answers. Actually, I have no desire. I’ve already learned all I care to know about Ricky, his father, his cousin, or any other relation.

“Did you kill him?” she asks me.

“No,” I reply, not remotely offended. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this question since I returned. “Your husband did.”

“I’m glad he’s dead. You’d have been in your rights to kill him if you did.”

“What about your husband?”

“He’s where he belongs.”

“Where do you think Ricky belongs?”

The brittle chill of our conversation breaks apart as our eyes find the urn. Mrs. Hannigan shudders at the sight of it and smooths back her white, wispy permed hair. “I’ve held on to Ricky too long,” she says, gathering courage. “His home is somewhere else.”

I stand and gather the urn. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Ricky’s remains belong with Rigo’s at their home in Los Angeles. I don’t know how or when I’ll be able to get him there, but I’m going to succeed and I can’t trust anyone else with the job. My heart is as empty and weightless as a scooped-out melon rind, so I leave Mrs. Hannigan without saying goodbye. All I came for was permission.