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I slide onto the bed, lift her chin and press her lips to mine. She throws her arms around my neck as she chokes back a sob.
“I’m sorry,” she says as she hugs me tight. “For you. For your parents. I am so, so sorry.”
So am I. That’s all I can process right now. The rage will come later, the hurt and the pain and the decisions. Most of all, the decisions. For now, I only know that I’m sorry for what my parents went through, and I’m sorry for me, too.
Pity isn’t something I let myself feel, but for this, I’ll allow it. I was stolen from my family and convinced they didn’t care enough to come for me, and I’ve spent my adult life feeling as if the childhood I remembered was a pretty lie.
It wasn’t. The lie came later. I’m going to have to deal with that. But for now, I’m going to let myself grieve for the boy I was and what he went through.
* * *
After that,I take Storm for a walk by myself. Casey doesn’t ask to come. One look at my face, and she squeezes my arm, murmurs she’ll have coffee with the others.
I walk for nearly two hours. I don’t go far. Twice, the path leads me back toward the lodge, and I veer out again after checking to be sure Storm’s up to it. She is, and even if she were getting tired, I think she understands what I need and how much I appreciate the silent company, the soft pant of her breathing as she stays in front of me, checking now and then to be sure I’m still there.
I come to a realization on this walk, and it’s the second-toughest thing I’ve had to admit to myself.
The first-toughest was when I had to face the fact that I didn’t want to lose Casey. I’d spent half my life losing people. First, my parents, and then, the endless stream of friends and lovers in Rockton, where no one stays long—no one except me. I’d girded myself against the pain of loss and kept every relationship light and casual. And then along came Casey. In the end, I had to admit that I’d rather endure the pain of her leaving than not have her in my life for a while, fully and completely.
With these letters, my gut says it’s the best of all possible outcomes, and that feels... I can’t even articulate how monstrous that feels. Am I really saying that the anguish my parents endured wasgood? Fuck no. But as a solution to what happened to me, this is the answer I can live with the most, even if it makes me want to catch the next plane south, pin Gene Dalton to the wall, tell him exactly what I think of him and hope to hell I don’t kill him with my bare hands.
I wouldn’t kill him. Wouldn’t even beat the shit out of him, though I bet most people wouldn’t believe that. Casey would. She knows that the badass sheriff is an act. I can throw a punch—and I will—but it’s theater. I will get my revenge on Gene Dalton on behalf of my parents and myself, but I will not lay a finger on him.
I have lived the last ten years of my life not knowing who’s the villain in my story. Is it Gene, who took me from my parents? Is it my parents, who neglected me to the point where I needed to be rescued? Was it Émilie and the council, who knew of my kidnapping and turned their back on the obvious lie of it? Or could it even be me—was I such a terrible child that my parents didn’t want me back?
The answer is that there is only one true villain. Gene Dalton. Émilie and the council were fooled, easily done when they didn’t live in Rockton or even have a video link.
And my adoptive mother, Katherine? I don’t have the answer to that yet, but I’ll need it. What I do know is that I did nothing wrong, and my parents did nothing wrong. If given the choice of who should be to blame, I would take this answer. It means that my memories are real. I had the idyllic life and loving family that I remember, however hard Gene tried to convince me otherwise.
Once I’ve reached that conclusion, I can breathe again, and I head back to the lodge. As soon as I draw near, I spot Casey on the porch with her coffee and a book.
She shades her eyes against the setting sun and then pats Storm as the dog bounds over. I walk up, tug her to her feet, hug her and say, “I’m fine.”
We stay like that for a few moments, just embracing. Then I say, “I need to tell Jacob. He should know.”
Casey nods. “I agree.” She picks up her book. “Émilie sent something else. Good news. This might not be the time...”
“If it’s good news, then this is absolutely the time.”
She takes out her phone, flips to a screen and passes it over.
I look at the image. Then I blink and read all the text on it, just to be sure.
“This is real?” I say.
“Completely real and on the way to our doorstep via courier.”
“So does this mean we can...?”
“If you want to.”
“Fuck, yeah.” I grab her in a hug and twirl her around. Then I stop. “How soon is too soon?”
She smiles. “Let’s start figuring that out.”
* * *
After breakfast the next morning,I’m out for another walk, this one Storm-free. I’m with Jacob instead. We get far enough from the lodge that we both feel comfortable. Then we settle onto a log.
