They were greeted at the hospital by a white-faced, perspiring Clinton, who rushed Holden to the information desk. Once Holden explained that he was the biological father of Gemma’s child, he was whisked away to see her, leaving Griselda and Clinton in the waiting room with Quint and Maudie.

After she’d exchanged concerned greetings, Griselda was informed that Gemma had quickly gone from preeclampsia to eclampsia, and the seizure this morning had been their only real warning sign of danger besides the regular aches and pains they’d all chalked up to the  pregnancy. As far as they knew—they heard this from a nurse who’d taken pity on their worried faces and shared what she could—the baby seemed to be okay, but she’d need to be delivered today. Gemma’s body simply wasn’t able to carry her any longer.

“She’s so little,” said Clinton, looking up at Griselda with red-rimmed eyes.

She sat beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders. “Thirty-four weeks is real close to term, and this looks like a good hospital. I bet they’re going to be just fine. Both of them.”

Offering to grab some coffee for the worried trio, she headed to the vending machines in the hallway and purchased four cups, then sat down with them to wait. It didn’t take long. Holden returned about an hour later.

And she knew.

She knew from his eyes that she’d been right.

He pulled the surgical mask from over his mouth, his grin lighting up the whole room. “They’re both going to be okay! Hannah was just born, and they’re sewing up Gemma now. She’s here. She’s okay!”

Clinton hung his head, sinking down into a plastic chair, his shoulders trembling with relief and thanks, and Maudie rushed to comfort him while Quint stood up and offered his hand to Holden. “Congratulations, Papa.”

“Thanks, Quint.”

Griselda hung back a little, uncertain of her place until Holden swept her into his arms, spinning her around. His face was flushed and excited as he gushed, “She’s f-fine, Gris. She’s little, but f-fine. She weighed five pounds, and she cried real loud and strong. She got a seven on her Apgar test, and then a nine. She’s got d-dark hair like Gem’s, and blue eyes . . . sorta like mine.”

Griselda’s eyes watered instantly, and she cupped Holden’s cheeks, kissing him joyfully. “Congratulations, Papa,” she said, stealing Quint’s line.

“P-papa,” he sighed. “I’m a father, G-Gris. Somebody’s related to me.”

“Yes, you are,” she said, nodding at him, her tears mixing with her smile. “And yes, she is.”

Looking over her shoulder, Holden’s expression of joy dimmed. “Gimme a sec.”

He released her and headed over to Clinton, sitting down beside his friend.

“Gemma’s gonna be okay, Clinton. She’s gonna be real good. Just fine.”

“I heard you say that,” said Clinton, taking a deep breath and sniffling. “Very glad to hear it. Got a little worried there.”

“You love her a lot.”

“I love ’em both. I love ’em both so much, if anything happened to ’em, I would’ve . . .” He paused, swiping at his eyes. “Well, I would’ve just about wanted to die.”

“I know,” said Holden, putting his hand on his friend’s knee. “I know that. W-which is why Hannah’s birth certificate says her daddy’s name is Clinton Davis.”

Clinton’s neck jerked up, his face confused. “Se—Holden. What?”

Holden nodded. “She’s yours.”

“No! No, Holden. You don’t have to do . . . She’s . . . she’s yours.”

Holden shook his head slowly. “I won’t be here for her. I’ll be in C-California. I’ll be in Hawaii. I’ll be in Afghanistan. I’ll always love her, and I’ll try to get back here to see her when I c-can. And when I do, I’d like for her to know that it was me that gave her life. But it was you that gave her a life. You’re the one that loves her mama. You’re the one who’s gonna love her. Right?”

“Already do.” Clinton swallowed, blinking furiously as he dropped his embarrassed gaze to his lap. “I’ll do right by her. I swear to God, I will love that child and protect her and give her the best life I can. And you’ll always be welcome to come see her, Holden. Always. We’re family now.”

Holden blinked too, taking a jagged breath and slapping Clinton’s knee twice before standing up. “Well, Daddy. Why don’t you go b-back there and see your girls?”

Clinton stood up, giving his parents a proud smile before clapping his arms around Holden. “Thank you. I just . . . Thank you.”

Griselda watched Holden clench his jaw tightly as he nodded, and he didn’t turn around as Clinton rushed to Gemma’s side.

***

Holden had had a lot of time to think about Hannah in boot camp, and while he’d always love her and she’d always be his biological child, he wouldn’t be able to be a proper father to her. He didn’t love her mother. He wouldn’t be living in West Virginia. And getting to her from California between deployments? He simply couldn’t guarantee that it would happen with any regularity. Sure, he’d visit her once or twice a year and send her pretty things on her birthday and at Christmas. But that wasn’t a father. That wasn’t the sort of daddy he wanted for Hannah.

Clinton Davis was the best friend Holden had ever had, and Quint was the closest thing to a father after his own. He knew the Davis family and trusted them. Truth be told? He trusted them more than he trusted Gemma. If he wanted Hannah to have the best possible life? He needed to make damn sure that Clinton had legal rights over his daughter. It was the best way to ensure her safety and her future.

It had ached to write in Clinton’s name, denying his own. But he’d learned his first lesson about being a parent on Hannah’s birth day. He’d learned that being a parent was about putting yourself second and your child first. And that’s exactly what he’d done.

He turned to Quint, who looked at him with wonder and pride. “Welcome home, Marine. I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own son. And since your baby girl just became my granddaughter, you’ll forgive me if I hug you like you are my own.”

Pulling Holden into his arms, Quint held him tightly. Holden’s chest swelled with the rightness of his decision, and he felt a surge of peace break through his sorrow.

“Thanks, Quint,” he said, finally pulling away. He caught sight of Gris over Quint’s shoulder, tears running down her face faster than she could swipe them away, her eyes so full of love, he wondered if he could be blinded by it.

“Holden,” said Maudie, clasping Holden against her massive bosom. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He leaned back. “I know y’all will love her, Maudie. You’ll be an amazing family to her. B-better than anything I could offer.”

Maudie pulled him back, rubbing his back and speaking excitedly. “Yes, we will. And I will send you pictures and footprints, and I will record her little voice saying ‘Papa Holden’ when she’s ready, and she’ll always know she had a daddy before Clinton who loved her enough to give her the family he wanted her to have. And when you come visit, she’ll know you, Holden. She’ll know you, and she’ll already love you. I can promise you that, son. Now tell me what you and that sweet gal are doing for Thanksgiving on Thursday because I . . .”

Maudie kept talking a mile a minute, but Holden’s eyes caught Griselda’s over her shoulder.

He watched her mouth the words “I love you” before sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and placing the tattoo of their initials over her heart.

***

In those dark days in the cellar, Griselda had learned of Holden’s selflessness and courage—the countless times he’d sassed Caleb intentionally to distract him from Griselda and take a beating in her place, or the times he’d simply demanded to take it for her because he couldn’t bear to see her harmed. His deeply protective nature was a hallmark of his character, and the main reason that military service was such a wise and organic choice for him. He was selfless, courageous, and protective—values that would be put to excellent use in his career of choice.

But until the moment that Holden signed over his parental rights to his best friend, Griselda hadn’t realized that the well of Holden’s goodness was actually bottomless.

People were fond of saying things like, “I consider myself to be understanding, but even I have limits.” Or, “I think of myself as a kind person, but I couldn’t let that slide.” People inherently had limits to their virtues, and as disappointing as that fact was, it was a part of life that we all came to understand as we matured, as we learned that life isn’t black and white, but a million shades of gray.

The miraculous thing Griselda realized about Holden, standing in that hospital waiting room as he gave his daughter away, was that there was no limit to his virtue. His selflessness, courage, and protectiveness knew no bounds, no tether, no limits or conditions. In short, his love knew no end.

And her ridiculous worries about being married or not being married floated away like dust in a windstorm, like they’d never even existed. Because before her was the man of every woman’s dreams, and she knew in her heart that God broke the mold after Holden Croft was born. And she knew something else:

Despite the terrible misfortunes of her life, the scales were balanced now because Holden belonged to her.

“That was amazing,” she said, as she drove them from the hospital to his apartment on Main Street. “What you did, Holden, was amazing.”

He took a deep breath. “What I did was necessary. I mean, what kind of an asshole f-father would retain his parental rights if he knew that, for the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t see his child more than once or twice a year?”

Most, she thought. Out of pride. Or selfishness. Or fear. Or misguided love.

He continued, “You know, I’m no saint, Gris. I lucked out. I’m lucky because Gemma chose Clinton, and I know Clinton and I trust him. If it was some other guy? I can’t say I w-would’ve made the same choice. But I was lucky, Gris. For once in my life, I was lucky.”

Her lips turned up a touch as she glanced at him.

“Wait. Back up,” he said, placing his hand on her thigh and smiling at her with love in his deep gray eyes. “Twice. Twice in my life I was lucky. The f-first time was when I got moved to the Fillmans’.”

“The Fillmans were terrible people,” said Griselda as she turned into the alleyway where she remembered him parking his truck.

“Yep,” he said.

“And Caleb Foster? He was a monster.”

“Yep.”

“And we got separated for ten years,” she said, cutting the engine.

“Yep.”

“And you thought I was dead.”

“Yes, I d-did.”

“And then your girlfriend got pregnant.”

“Yep.”

“And your other girlfriend got beat up.”

He flinched. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“You know what, Holden Croft?” she asked in a saucy voice, ignoring his unnecessary apology and unbuckling her seat belt to lean over the supple leather bolster between the two front seats of the McClellans’ Mercedes-Benz.

“Nope,” he said, leaning so close that she felt his breath kiss her lips.

“It was about time you had a little more good luck.”

And then it wasn’t his breath. It was his lips. And he was kissing her madly, deeply, like he was the desert and she was the rain and he couldn’t possibly quench his thirst for her in a million lifetimes. His hands reached up to cup her cheeks, his mouth slanting over hers again and again, the hot slide of his tongue against hers driving her out of her mind, and the bolster keeping him way too far away.

“Upstairs,” she gasped, drawing back from him, her breasts heaving. “Please.”

He scrubbed his hands over his hair, panting as hard as her. He got out of the car, slammed his door, and walked around to open hers. She took his hand, and he set off at a run without looking back at her, down the alley, around the corner of the building, onto the sidewalk, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, then turning the lock as quickly as he could.

Still clutching her hand in his, he took the stairs two at a time, with Griselda practically flying behind him. She was breathless and dizzy by the time he unlocked his apartment door and pulled her inside, backing her against the door and pulling her sweater over her head. There was an urgency between them borne of an intense three-month absence, and neither was prepared to wait another minute to be together.

“Naked. Now,” he said, dropping his lips to hers and kissing her savagely as he unhooked her bra behind her back. Griselda let it slip down her arms, freeing her breasts and reaching for the buttons of his shirt. Sucking his tongue into her mouth and loving his low, hot groan, she pushed the material over his broad shoulders, and it fell to the floor. He crushed her against his body, the tight points of her breasts pushing into his hard muscle, made even harder by weeks of boot camp. She could feel the difference in his body, and it made her hotter and wetter to think of lying beneath him as all that strength and power drove into her.

His fingers trailed down her back to the waistband of her pants, skating around to the front. He unbuttoned and unzipped them quickly, slipping his thumbs into the elastic of her new, white, lace panties and yanking them down. Reaching up to hold his face, she kissed him deeply as she struggled out of her boots, then stepped on her pants to free her legs.

Completely naked, she reached for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them as he pressed his lips to her throat, her neck, gently biting her earlobe and making her shiver and whimper. She slid her hand into his boxers, curling her fingers around his thick, satiny penis, which pointed straight up and pulsed against her palm. He gasped, pushing his remaining clothes over his hips and kicking off his shoes.

Holden took a step away from Griselda, and she took a step back from him, panting as she leaned against the door behind her. His chest, cut from stone, with its hard angles and ripples, heaved with every breath as he traced her body with his eyes: her hair, her eyes, her lips, resting on her breasts, sliding down her flat tummy to the tidy curls that concealed her throbbing sex, before dropping to her long legs and feet. Her feet, which, for as long as she lived, would be crisscrossed with the barely visible thin white scars, reminding them both of the sharp, dry corn husks that had sliced her skin.

Slowly, deliberately, Holden’s eyes traveled back up her body, pausing at the apex of her thighs, his breath hitching at her breasts, finally resting again on her eyes.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmured, dropping to his knees before her and reaching for her hips. His head fell forward, the close-cropped hair on the top of his head tickling her belly. She dropped her hands to his head, sliding her palms to his cheeks and tilting his face back so she could look down at him. His gaze was bewildered, worshipful, waiting for her permission to continue.

“Love me,” she whispered.

“Do you trust me, angel?” he asked, his gray eyes smoldering as he stared up at her.

“Completely.”

He leaned forward to push her back against the door, then grabbed her thighs and lifted them onto his shoulders so that his mouth was level with her sex. Still holding her eyes, his tongue dipped forward to find its mark—the tight bundle of nerves hidden behind soft, wet folds. Her shredded whimper made him groan as he stroked her more urgently, his tongue circling, then lapping, her heels pushing into his back. He looked up, and she managed to smile before letting her head fall back against the door, her breath coming in sharp pants. Her thighs tightened. Her fingers curled into his scalp. And from the back of her throat burst a sound of pure pleasure as her body went rigid then limp, trembling against him in waves as she laughed quietly above him.

“Oh my God,” she panted. “That was . . .”

He placed a palm on her tummy to hold her up as he disengaged her legs from his shoulders and stood up. Just as her knees buckled, he swept her into his arms, walked quickly through the living room and down the hallway to his bedroom, where he set her gently on the bed.

Covering her with his body, he kissed her with glistening lips that tasted of her essence, salty and sweet, a reminder of his tenderness: that her pleasure came first. Overcome with love for him, she opened her legs, running her ankles along the backs of his calves . . . thighs . . . finally resting lightly on his backside as he positioned himself to enter her.

“Holden,” she said as he leaned over her, his arms taut, his eyes dark and desperate. “I meant it. I trust you completely. I trust us completely.”

***

Her words mended whatever was left of Holden’s once-shattered heart, giving him the only thing he still longed for between them: trust.

Holden’s eyes clenched shut, and he slid forward into the tight, wet heat of her body, her quivering muscles pulling him forward until he was lodged as deep as possible, his pelvis flush against hers, one being, no room for breath between them.

He throbbed inside her, forcing himself to stay still as she accepted his length and thickness, the walls of her sex adjusting to embrace him. He reached for her face, framing it, cradling it, treasuring it, after such a long and aching absence.

“That means everything to me,” he said.

Her lips tilted up, and she leaned her head back as she arched her hips into his, an unspoken request that he move within her, and he answered her plea, finding a rhythm that was new but familiar, immediate but eternal, the good and the right and the reward and the gift, and as the wave of perfection built steadily inside him, he rocked into her faster and faster.

“I love you. I love you . . . forever,” he said, his voice strained and rough.

She opened her eyes, dark, dark, and wide blue that were the windows to the only soul he would ever want or ever love, and they locked on his without mercy.

“I jump, you jump,” she murmured.

“Now!” he bellowed, sliding his arms beneath Griselda and clasping her to his chest.

Their bodies exploded together, shattering into a million mixed pieces of forever, and two people who had always been one—from the very beginning—were finally free.

Hours later, as the sun set and the sounds of American life funneled up from the sidewalk below, Holden sat against the headboard of his bed and laughed, shaking his head as Griselda lay naked beside him, her head propped up on one bent elbow.

“I swear,” she said earnestly.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, marveling that he was here and she was here, and they were finally free: free of the Fillmans, of Caleb Foster, of Gemma, of fear, of longing, of loneliness. Free of mistrust and doubt. Free to love. Free to be together. Free to chase down their forever.

He’d left his jacket—and the ring—in the car, but it had occurred to him at least five times to get dressed and run downstairs. But was this how he wanted to propose? Lying in bed in his crappy apartment?

She was so beautiful with the dying sun backlighting her blonde hair like a halo, and he chuckled again as she held up three fingers in Scout’s honor.

“I promise. I didn’t do it—not once—until I was almost eighteen.”

He slid down until he was lying level with her, his head propped on an elbow in a mirror image of her.

“That’s impossible. You’re so gorgeous. How did you keep the boys away?”

She looked down at the sheets, then back up at him, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. “I didn’t want any of them.”

“Who’d you want?”

She gave him a saucy look through lowered lashes. “Billy. I was holding out for Billy, because he—ah!”

Holden’s fingers slipped under her arms and started tickling, and she rolled onto her back, giggling like crazy, trying to escape him, but he followed her, lying partially across her chest. He took her wrists, holding them over her head, and then stared down at her with a teasing grin.

“Answer me now. Who’d you want, Miss Griselda?”

She took a deep breath, her breasts pushing against his chest on purpose. He knew from the sassy gleam in her eyes. “Hmm. Okay. I’ll come clean.” She sighed like she’d been found out. “Mr. Fillman. Those black socks he used to wear at the beach . . .”

He pushed her wrists together and held them with one hand, the other reaching for her armpit again.

“No!” she squealed. “Don’t tickle me! You! You! I wanted you. I always wanted you.”

He stared down at her, taking in the flush of her skin, the redness of her lips from so much kissing. “And I wanted you.”

Though she was veritably trapped beneath him, she smiled so tenderly, so serenely, with such trust and love, it made his heart swell.

“You aren’t mean,” she whispered. “And you’re real pretty.”

He searched her eyes, remembering their perilous walk to a general store years and years ago, and the words he’d chosen to tell her how much he liked her. “It’s as true now as it was then.”

He let go of her wrists and dipped his head to kiss her, tangling his tongue with hers, and his erection grew thick and hard against her thigh, telling her he wanted her again.

“What comes next?” she asked.

“Hopefully you.”

She looked surprised, then smiled, raising her eyebrows. “And you.”

“Hell, yes,” he said, rubbing against her.

“Then what?” she asked, winding her arms around his neck.

He glanced at the door to his bedroom. “I could use some help packing up here. Furniture stays, but I’ll take my clothes and towels. The Xbox. We’ll take what’s mine. I’ll leave a check for two months’ rent and the key on the kitchen table.”

“I’m happy to help. What’s after that?”

“Sleep?”

“Unlikely.” She licked her lips and raised her hips just a touch, teasing him. “And then?”

He shook his head at her minxy ways. “Visit Hannah tomorrow morning before we go?”

“I’d love to meet her.” She gazed up at him, her fingers tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “Before we go where?”

“Home.”

“My home?”

He shrugged. “For this week, it’s our home, angel.”

“And when we get there?” she asked, her eyes expectant.

His mind flashed to the ring waiting for her in the car. Is that what she was asking him? Was she asking him about this week or about forever? He knew her so well, but there were moments that adult Gris threw him and he just wasn’t sure. More than anything, he wanted the moment to be perfect for her when he asked. It was important to him. She deserved that.

Will you say yes to me, sweet angel?

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, claiming her mouth with his mouth and her body with his.