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I sit forward. “Really?”
“Yeah. I ratted on a lot of bad people, and they’re all mad about it.” She waves her hand dismissively, but something dark lingers in her expression. “It is what it is.”
That seems so fucking unfair. For ten years, Darcy was Felton’s prisoner. She may have appeared to live in the lap of luxury, but I read through her debrief once she’d given the feds everything she knew. The things the Maddox’s did to her—and what was done before they bought her—were horrific. She’s finally free, and now she’s being forced to leave again.
Sunday says, “Have you seen your dad yet?”
“Nah.” Darcy nibbles on a grape. “He’s probably got a whole new life. I don’t wanna mess it up, especially if I’m leaving again. What’s the point?”
“Because you deserve to have family, Darcy,” Sunday says. “You’ve had so much taken from you. If there’s someone out there who loves you—”
“It’s better he thinks I’m dead,” Darcy interjects, then seems to regret the sharpness of her words. She reaches out and squeezes Sunday’s hand, a silent apology. “Besides, you guys love me. Right?”
I laugh softly. “Weirdly, yes.”
“Then that’s enough for me!” She hops to her feet. “Well, this is my farewell, kiddos. Tell Little Darcy stories about her namesake.”
“Not happening,” I say. “But we appreciate the suggestion.”
Another shrug. She places her sunglasses on and smiles dreamily at the sky.
The woman is a wonder. Stronger than anyone I know. She hides the cracks in her heart behind fleeting smiles and easy laughter, but if that’s how she survives her past, then more power to her. We all process differently.
She reaches the door and I call out, “We’re always here for you, Darcy.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “You’ve always got a home to come back to with us.”
I think her lip trembles, but she hides it with a grin. “Thanks, Cagey Boy. Bye besties!”
Once we’re alone again, Sunday sighs. “Can we go for a ride later?”
We absolutely can.
Thirty minutes later, Sunday is clinging to my back as the city passes us in a blur of colors and lights. Usually, I’d be pushing the bike to its limit, but not with two very important people on board. My smile is wide, my heart full, and it’s the perfect night for a ride.
We try to go out every day, making sure we make the most of the time before Sunday’s bump gets too big. She bought two bikes with my exit package, but we won’t be riding separately for a while. I like the feel of her behind me, and I love the rush when she’s the one in control.
We stop beneath the shade of trees we’ve visited almost daily as teenagers, the cool air welcome after riding through the muggy afternoon heat. I turn off the bike, and Sunday clambers to sit in front of me, leaning her back to my chest. Our helmets are off, my arms are around her, my hands resting on her stomach. I’m a teenager again with my entire life ahead of me, and the woman I love as close as she can be.
As we watch the sun setting beyond the town where we grew up, I absentmindedly twist her wedding ring around her finger in slow, methodical circles. We said we’d wait, but we didn’t. I carried her to the courthouse a month after I left the hospital, and now she’s all fucking mine.
And I’m hers.
“Promise me this is how it’ll always be,” Sunday whispers.
I kiss her neck. “I promise.”
And that’s a promise I’ll keep.
Darcy
There’s probably a point when standing at the end of a driveway staring at a house is considered stalking. No cops have shown up yet, but I probably shouldn’t push my luck. I’m lucky to not be behind bars, or at the very least in very intense court-mandated therapy.
I play with my fingers, wiggling my toes in my Converse. I ditched the heels, the expensive clothes, and for the first time in ten years, I’m in a hoody and leggings. It’s nice. Normal. A little weird.
Not as weird as me staring at a house, though.
Taking a deep breath, I head up the path and onto the porch. It’s a nice place. It looks expensive, but the small pink bike and porch swing make it feel homey.
My finger hovers over a brass doorbell, the button taunting me.
