Page 162 of Finding Noah

“Listen, even if you and Meg are like, Guys, we need you to come and get this baby so we can sleep for an hour, don't even hesitate to call, okay? And I'm sure Patrick and Kinsey would agree,” Mom said, reaching out to cup her palm against my cheek.

“Oh, yeah,” Dad said, chuckling softly. “Patrick can't wait to meet her. He said he'd be by later after his shift was over.”

Then he huffed another laugh, this one of disbelief as he rolled his eyes. “God, I can't believe I'm a grandpa with that guy. Holy hell. Who would've guessed that's where life was gonna take me when I rolled into this weird-ass town?”

Mom looked up at him, her eyes glinting with the same wonder and mirth as was reflected in his tone.

“You love it,” she said, offering a smile.

“Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “I guess I do. And, hey”—he clapped a gentle hand against my shoulder—“we love you, buddy, and we're so proud of you. Give us a call when you guys get home, all right?”

“Yeah, I will,” I promised. “I love you guys too.”

And what I didn't say, as he and Mom kissed the top of my head and took their leave, as I glanced into the sleeping faces of my wife and daughter, was that nobody was prouder of me than … well, me.

Because I was here.

Because I'd survived.

And I had done it all for them.

I would do anything for them.

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

I steered the car down a long street in Marblehead, Massachusetts, and drove past the gas stations and big-box stores and fast-food restaurants that lined the road. I glanced across the car to meet the sky-blue eyes of my wife, her brows tipped and jaw clenched with worry.

In the backseat, our six-month-old daughter slept peacefully, unaware of the adventure she was on.

A few days ago, Meghan and I had taken the trip to Salem to visit with my aunt and uncle, to allow them the time to visit with Helena, their great-niece, without my mom gushing over her every two seconds.

I couldn't blame her for it, as the doting grandmother, but holy hell. She never let that baby out of her sight whenever she was around—which, as you could imagine, was often. And I didn't mind one bit. I just thought it was only right to give Aunt Stormy her own time with us, even if it was only for a week before we'd have to go home to River Canyon.

Today though, Aunt Stormy had to go to Salem Skin, the tattoo shop where she worked as a body piercer, and Uncle Charlie had to work in the cemetery, digging graves and mowing the extravagant lawn where he called home. And I thought it'd be a good time to make a pit stop at The Llewellyn Family Funeral Home.

And maybe it was foolish and reckless to take along my wife and daughter to the place where I assumed Benjamin Nolan had learned of my snooping—from countless nights spent awake, mulling over the clues I'd had at my disposal.

But I had no intention of damning myself ever again.

I only wanted to say thank you—just once more—but this time, face-to-face.

I pulled the car into the parking lot, a wave of déjà vu sweeping over me as I chose the same spot I'd parked my car in over a year ago.

“Do you want us to come in?” Meg asked, though I could tell she didn't want to.

I knew she would if I asked, but I wouldn't request that of her.

Besides, I needed to do this alone.

“Stay here,” I told her. “Lock the car doors. Don't unlock them until I come back. And if you need it, my gun is in the glove compartment.”

She expressed no fear as she nodded.

Then I leaned across the car, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, before opening the door and quietly closing it behind me so as not to wake Helena.