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Number Two lifts his head, and his eyes peer through the leaves of the bush blocking his view. “A family?”
“Our kids,” Hannah says softly, giving him a sympathetic smile.
“We have kids?”
As he struggles to sit up, I motion between him and her. “Youdon’t have anything. You’re not part of this.”
“Ellister,” Hannah scolds with a hiss.
“What?”
“He’s not trying to take anything from you,” she berates. “Have a little compassion.”
She takes a tissue out of her bra—her fucking bra—and dabs the blood at the corners of his mouth. The fact that she’s touching him with something that had just been against her boob makes the addicted mate within me rage, but she’s right.
My wife usually is.
Taking a calming breath, I push my temper down. “How close to death are you? Will your suffering end soon?”
He nods. “The next location I jump to will be my final resting place. I’m thinking the Night Realm. I want to gaze up at the moons I was born under as I experience my last moments. I’m still an outlaw there, but what are they going to do if they catch me? Kill me?” He forces out a laugh. Then his face gets serious, and he suddenly looks so weary. “I just want to go home.”
That might be one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.
Number Two doesn’t have a home.
He hasn’t had a place to belong since ancient times, but he yearns for it.
It’s then that I finally drop my lingering hostility.
My happiness is because of him. When I think about how much courage and strength it must’ve taken for him to come back in time to warn me so I could have what he never will, it’s a little hard for me to believe I could’ve been that selfless.
I crouch next to him, put a hand on his back to support him, and I point through the bushes at the flower girls in the orchard. “Our daughters, Maysa and Merry. They’re nine and seven.”
Number Two grins. “Troublemakers, I bet.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, watching how they’re absolutely ruining their fancy dresses by climbing one of the trees.
“They look like us,” he observes whimsically, and no one can deny that.
Both girls have my darker hair and light eyes. Their facial features are all Hannah, though. Attitudes, too. I never knew children could be so snarky, but the sarcastic quips my kids come up with are hilarious. And the sheer honesty—the kind of bare truth only children speak before they learn to disguise it—is brutal.
Especially the younger one, Merry.
“Daddy!” she calls out, noticing my absence.
I stand, ready to get to her before she can find us with our uninvited guest, but it’s like she’s got a homing mechanism when it comes to me. She’s attached to my hip most days, following me and mimicking everything I do.
She ducks under some low branches and sprints our way.
“Everyone’s going to the barn for cake.” She’s winded from excitement, but she becomes concerned and quiet when she sees Number Two sitting on the ground with us. “What happened? Did someone fall?”
As her hand slips into mine, I simply respond, “This man is just visiting.”
“Oh. We’re closed today,” she tells him like she owns the place. “It’s Uncle Chase and Aunt Faith’s wedding day. But you can come back tomorrow.”
Number Two is charmed by her just like everyone else is. “Thank you, little one.”
She smiles. “Hey, that’s what my dad calls me. You sound like him. You kind of look like him, too, but you’re a lot skinnier, and your face is kinda saggy.”
