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“I’ll be helping through Wolfhound Security, as well,” Luke adds. “We’ve got the tech and the specialists to cast a wider net. Trafficking has been a rising issue across Nebraska, and we need to nip this in the bud before the government authorities find themselves overwhelmed. I’m talking about the federal agencies, statewide.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Fallon says. “We’ve gotten through worse.”
Though not as bad as having to put their own parents behind bars. I barely remember mine at this point. They’re a sad memory, a ball of terror and misery tightly wound in the back of my head—the source of every insecurity that first pushed me into the arms of a monster like Daniel. I still think about Lauren, my kid sister. She was only twelve when I left. The years have gone by, and I haven’t heard anything from her or from our deadbeat parents. I put it all behind me. I had no choice at the time, but lately, Lauren has been crossing my thoughts more and more.
“What’s wrong?” Kellan asks. He has a way of noticing when my mind wanders.
“Nothing. Just thinking about my own family. Gosh, we really don’t get to pick’em, do we?”
“No, but we do get to pick the ones we build our new family with,” Fallon says. “And I’m proud of us, just so you know. Proud of you, Avery, in particular. I still can’t get over that whole screwdriver-into-the-thigh move you pulled on Toby.”
I laugh lightly. “Looking back now, I’m astonished by my own reaction.”
“You were pissed off,” Luke says. “I would’ve done the same or worse.”
The waiter brings our order over, and I dive right into my ice-cold lemonade while Helen works her way through an ice cream sundae. The doctor did say she should be more mindful of her blood sugar these days, but after everything she’s been through, none of us around the café table have the courage to tell her not to eat that small mountain of frozen dairy goodness.
“It’s like tasting heaven,” she mumbles with a mouthful.
“Hey, we should take the girls out for ice cream later, too,” Kellan suggests. “There’s a new gelato shop open in Hershey. I’d love to give that a try.”
“And I love that you think about Annie and Miley,” I reply.
“And we love you and the girls too much not to think about building more moments like this,” Luke says, then leans in for a sweet kiss.
I love that they love us so much. I love that we’ve managed to survive such terrible moments, only to come out smiling brighter. I love that we have, in fact, become stronger together. We’ve each had our trials and tribulations. Our demons and insecurities to vanquish. But when push came to shove, when danger knocked on our door, when others tried to tear us apart, we still found our way back to each other.
33
Kellan
Avery is dangerously close to her due date for what we’re about to do, but we know she won’t resist. We couldn’t wait any longer, either. She deserves for us to make an honest woman out of her, and she deserves to have all the security and balance that we can offer.
Fallon, Luke and I leave Helen with the girls one summer evening while we take Avery out for a drive. We use one of Luke’s convertibles, an emerald-green BMW that gives Avery the pleasure of feeling the late July wind blowing through her hair as we drive south of Lincoln County to French Couture, a high-end restaurant that I’ve managed to rent for the night.
No other guests, just the four of us and the service staff.
I chose this place because it’s beautiful and because Avery actually redesigned the whole restaurant a couple of months ago. She loved working here, and she couldn’t stop talking about the fancy menu with its rare French wines and fabulous desserts. We figured if there was a perfect spot to propose to her, it would be here where her creative labor exudes from every wall and sheet of fabric.
It’s like walking into a 1930s French bistro.
The lights are dim, the Tiffany-style lamps casting an amber hue over the white silk tablecloths and the Bohemian crystal glasses. The chairs are dressed in soft cream velvet, while every single corner of the dining room is overflowing with fresh peonies and roses, their scent filling the air as we take our seat at the round table in the middle.
Candles burn high in their silver-brushed candelabra. Avery is beside herself, her blue eyes wide and glowing with delight.
“You guys rented this whole place for us?” she asks as the waiter pulls her chair out for her.
I love this pregnant look on her. I love her curves, clad in pale blue satin tonight—the dress hugs her full breasts tightly, falling loosely to the floor while a thin layer of dainty white lace covers her creamy shoulders and bare back. I love the pink gloss of her lips and the way in which her blonde curls fall over one shoulder. She looks like a character from a Jane Austen novel, plump and beautiful and carrying our child. If I could love her more, I would probably suffocate without her.
“It’s a special occasion,” I say.
Wine is poured into our glasses, water into Avery’s. Soft French music plays in the background.
“A special occasion?” Avery asks. “How so?”
“Charlene’s appeal was denied. She’ll do the full thirty years,” I say.
Avery looks at each of us for a moment, and I can see the relief filling her gaze as a smile slowly blooms on her beautiful face. “Wow, she’s really out of our lives?”
