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But now they were in our kitchen.
I’d kicked Grant out to give me the opportunity to at least hear what they had to say.
“He was an informant. That’s why he was released from prison earlier than his original sentence. He had the freedom to move around because we needed full access to his dealings with the cartel, for intel.”
I did my best to listen as they rattled on and on.
Eventually, I asked, “So, he might be let go? Free, now that you all fucked up?”
One of the agents pursed his lips, his eyes downcast.
“Unfortunately, yes, but that’s only if he appeals his original charges. He would win the appeal… but being freed from prison might be a… deadly move for him.”
I looked up at the agent who spoke, the meaning behind his words clear in his eyes.
The local news had already broken the story of what happened at the Hallston Ranch. Kirk’s name was all over the news, as was mine.
The cartel he’d been working for now knew that he’d been working for the FBI as an informant.
In a way, prison was the safest place for him. He was dead the second he stepped out on the street.
I knew with every fiber of my being that he wouldn’t appeal his charges… because he was a coward. He was getting a taste of his own medicine now—being hunted, preyed upon, never free of the shackles of his past.
I couldn’t help but smile at the thought.
Kirk was… gone. For good. He wouldn’t spend another second hunting us down. There was no incentive anymore, not when he had a bounty on his head.
The agents left, and soon I was sitting at the same table surrounded by friends—Keely, Pete, George, and Grant, all of whom were doting on Day as George and Grant took turns bringing food in from the grill.
In a way, it was almost like nothing happened.
I wasn’t sure where to go from here. The broken pieces of me were mending, stitched together like my head had been.
I was free for the first time in my adult life.
I didn’t snap back to reality until Day came over to show me a cool leaf he’d found, and Keely came over with a slice of cake that looked like it would taste like heaven.
That night, when everyone had left and Day fell asleep beneath the fort next to Jenny, I curled up beside Grant and told him about the meeting with the FBI agents.
“It’s over, then?”
“I believe so, yeah,” I replied, my fingertips trailing little circles over his chest. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at him. “Grant, I would understand if you wanted… us to leave—”
“Moira,” he said with a little chuckle, the first time I’d seen him smile in days. “No—”
“You should be with someone without this kind of baggage,” I protested, meaning it. “Because of me, you have bullet holes in your ceiling—”
“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” he said softly, his fingers trailing over my arm. “And that hasn’t stopped since the day I first met you. I wanted you then more than anything, and I want you even more now.”
“Grant—”
“For always, Moira.”
I ran my tongue along my lower lip, telling myself not to cry. I wouldn’t cry anymore. I’d done enough crying over the last seven years to last a lifetime.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
