Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Outside, the moon glows low and almost complete, casting silver light over the trees. The forest is quiet.
I think about Ahya, already powerful enough to motivate an army. And the cubs Goldie rocks to sleep. And the life Scarlet carries, blooming beneath her heart. New life to balance out the death.
We’ll rebuild.
We’ll protect them.
And we’ll never let a monster like Gregory rise again.
Tonight, we drink. Tomorrow, we bury the dead.
After that?
We live.
47
SCARLET
Ahya sleeps tucked into the crook of my body, small and warm and steady as a heartbeat. Downstairs, someone rinses a glass; the water runs, stops. The wind combs the trees. Pine and soap and woodsmoke drift through my enhanced senses.
I stare at my phone for a long time, the new wi-fi connection taunting me. I’ve been putting off calling her through all the craziness of the past days, but I know I need to make contact before she calls for a search party.
I sigh deeply, dreading the words she’ll most probably say. Come home. Don’t be crazy. You can’t possibly love three men. What do you mean you’re giving up your life to take care of someone else's child?
They’d all be valid concerns a mother would have for her daughter, but they’d all be wrong.
I’m not crazy for loving Nixon, Reed, and Finn. I’m not crazy for falling in love with a perfect child who needed arms to hold her and keep her safe. I’m not crazy for following a dream I’d given up thinking could be mine.
Now, I have to convince her.
I hit call.
Mom answers on the second ring, panting like she’s been carrying groceries up the stairs. “Scarlet? Are you okay?”
The worry permeating her voice makes my heart ache. I wish she could let go of all the anxiety she has around me living my life, for her and for me.
“I’m okay.” I swallow, eyes stinging. “I’m… actually really good.”
“What kind of good?”
“The best kind, Mom.” I exhale, and it shakes on the way out. “Mom, I have to tell you something.”
“That tone,” she says softly. “Go on.”
“I fell in love.” The words are huge and right. “In Braysville. And I’m… I’m staying.”
She lets out a surprised gasp. “Tell me about him,” she says, careful. “What’s his name?”
I press my mouth to Ahya’s curls. “It’s… not just a him.”
Another breath on her end. My mother has a talent for not making me defend myself before I’ve had a chance to explain. “Okay.”
“It’s three hims,” I say, choking on a laugh that’s half terror, half joy. “Nixon. Reed. Finn. They’re brothers—” I search for the right shape, the truest one. “They’re good men. The best kind. They run a lumberyard and build beautiful furniture. Their cabin is in the forest, and we’re surrounded by the most beautiful trees. It’s peaceful, and they love what I love… they see me… All of me.”
“Three,” she repeats, voice even. “Is this safe?”
“Yes.” I don’t let the word wobble. “I feel safer than I have in years. Not because they’re… big and ridiculously strong—though they are—but because they protect me and listen. They’re the best men I’ve ever met. And there’s a little girl, this baby, here who needs us. I know you’re about to tell me to beware of strangers, and you’re not wrong. I heard you in my head the whole time.” A huff of a laugh. “But they’re not strangers anymore.”
“A baby?” Her gasp is watery, and if I had any doubts that she would accept this, they fly out of the window. She knows how hard I grieved after my diagnosis, and how devastated I was to have to let my dreams of a family slip through my fingers.
“Ahya,” I say. “She’s got red hair like mine, and she’s the sweetest little thing. Hang on. I’ll send you a picture.”
I flick to my photo app and forward the picture to my mom. It’s of me, holding Ahya, a close up where I’m staring at her beautiful sleeping face.
“Oh, Scarlet.” My mother makes a sound I’ve heard in kitchens and car rides and doctor offices—when she changes gears from protection to support. “She’s gorgeous… and look at you.”
“She’s happy with me, Momma. She looks at me like I light up her world.”
“It’s the best, isn’t it?”
I smile at Ahya, holding her a little closer.
“Do they love you, baby?” Mom asks. “Do they put you first? Do they support your dreams? Do they make you feel like you can grow and thrive with them?”
“They do.” My throat gets tight. “I love them.”
“Okay,” she says again, and I can hear her smile now, thin but real. “Then I’m happy for you, baby.”
I bite my lip. “I’ll still need to come back and pack up my life. Tools. Contracts. The ugly chair I keep because it was my first commission.”
“You can take your grandmother’s quilt,” she says, practical through the emotion, like always. “And the muffin basket.”