My first concern is to get my kids home. I keep a lid on my fury because that’s the last thing they need as I march home. Octavia fishes for my keys in my pockets as I refuse to put the kids down even for a moment.

Not yet. Too soon. I just got them back, and I still can’t fucking believe they’re okay. I half-think I’ll step inside and be back in the nightmare, searching for them, running in the dark.

Digging graves.

Fuck, no, I don’t wanna think. So Octavia lets us in, and I head straight to the sofa and sit down, cradling my babies to my sides, trying to catch my breath.

Everything’s okay. I should be able to breathe.

Her phone rings, and she answers immediately. Her face falls. Then her brows lift.

What the hell is going on?

And I still can’t breathe.

It’s not until Octavia settles beside me, lifting Cole in her lap and leaning against me, that the pressure on my chest eases. It feels so good that I don’t even ask what the phone call was about.

“They’re so tired,” she whispers, and I put my arm around her, drawing some deep breaths into my starved lungs. “We should put them to bed.”

It’s still morning. Or midday? Not sure how long we spent looking, but I don’t argue. She’s right, they’re exhausted, lying limp in our laps. “I’m not letting them out of my sight.”

“I know.” She looks up at me, and I kiss her forehead. “Let’s just put them here on the sofa, and we sit down beside them.”

We get up, arranging the sleepy kids on the sofa, and she brings blankets from upstairs to cover them.

Then I sit in the armchair and pull her in my lap until she’s curled in my arms.

“You know John and his cops will show up at any moment to talk to us, right?” she murmurs against my neck, and I shiver. She threads her fingers in my short beard, tugging a little, and I let my head drop back.

“I’ll kick his ass.”

She snickers softly. “You’re so hard on him. He’s doing his best.”

“Not good enough.” Okay, maybe I did go kinda hard on him. “They had my goddamn kids.”

“I know.” She pets my beard, my cheek, my hair. It’s nice. Relaxing. My heart is finally starting to slow its frantic hammering. “I know.”

Even as my body starts to relax, my dick starts hardening in my pants. I mean, she’s sitting on top of me, all soft and pretty and goddamn mine. My dick notices.

I notice. Every single time. I could be in hell with a river of fire to cross and I’d still get hard just by looking at her, just from her scent.

And then I think how she stood by me every step of today’s ordeal, how she brought me back from the brink. So determined, so worried. Caring about me and my kids.

How she fits so perfectly by my side, in my house, in my family.

If I could have her straddle me now, I’d slide inside her, sink deep, fuck her so hard. Fuck her until this day brightens, until I fuck the darkness out of it.

But the kids are here, and I’m too content sitting with my girl in my arms to care.

I’m half-dozing, her soft hair tickling my nose, flashes of images passing behind my closed lids—meadows and trees and a lake, and children laughing—when she shifts against me.

“There’s something I got to tell you,” she whispers.

My heart lurches against my breastbone. “What?”

I’m leaving you. I changed my mind. I decided to go back to dating the girly boy next door. I’m going to study in New York and become an actress.

Yeah, I’m not making much sense. Hey, at this point, I don’t expect good moments to last.

Her blue eyes are wide, staring right into my face. So serious.

Making my heart race faster.

“Ross told me,” she whispers, “and Mom didn’t deny it… God, Merc was so furious, never seen him like that before. He went out last night, and fought with Ross, and the cops put them in jail to cool off... Anyway…” She blinks. “It’s true.”

In my mind I high-five Merc for taking Ross on, even as I try to make sense of her words. I hope he broke Ross’s fucking nose. “What is true, baby? What did fucking Ross tell you?”

She smiles then, a quick, fleeting thing. “You called me baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.” I lift a hand to brush a dark strand from her forehead. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

“No, I…” She flushes, shakes her head. Hesitates. “Ross told me that Jasper is my dad.”

“Jasper?” I blink. Did I hear her wrong? “Jasper Jones? You serious? That asshole is your fucking dad?”

Her gaze shutters, and she looks away.

Fuck me. I’m doing this all wrong, again, but hell, that’s a hell of a shocker. “Listen…” I put my hand under her small chin and turn her face back toward me. “Who cares, anyway?

“I do.” Her eyes fill up with tears, and I wipe them with my thumb as they start to roll. “I care.”

Shit. I wipe more tears, then just let them fall, my jaw clenched tight. “Tay…”

“All these years! The other kids calling us bastards. Ross calling me a bastard. And all this time our dad was right there, a few streets down. He never told us. Never greeted us. Never sent us a Christmas present.”

I hear it all in her voice, the betrayal. The anger. The pain. “Babe…”

“And Mom… she worked like a slave, fighting off debtors all on her own. He never stepped in to help us out, and she didn’t tell us either. I guess… she was ashamed.” A small hiccup escapes her.

“What for?”

“For falling for such a guy. Having kids with him. Ugh.”

“Hey… She’s not ashamed of you. Could never be.” I move my hand to her back and rub small circles. It soothes Cole and Mary, so I hope it works on her, too. “Your mom loves you. I only met her once and I could tell from the way she looks at you.”

Octavia leans back against me, resting her cheek on my shoulder. “Why did she choose him? He’s an asshole, you’re right. God, how could I ever hope to turn out good when he’s my dad?”

“You’re good.” I fight the growl rising in my throat. “You’re fucking awesome, baby. And I’ll say it again. Who cares who your dad is? Hell, I’m a shitty dad, but I hope my kids will turn out all right.”

“You’re a great dad,” she says against my shoulder. “You’re giving your kids so much love.”

My face warms. “What I’m trying to say is… bad parents have amazing kids all the time, just like good parents have kids that turn into fucking criminals. And hey… you’re the best thing Jasper ever did in his life, and fuck him if he doesn’t realize it. Fucking idiot.”

She lifts her head and cracks a watery smile, so I figure I’m finally saying the right things. Talking doesn’t come easily to me, not anymore, and pep talks even less, but I mean every word.

She lifts a hand to my face, strokes my beard. “Will you shave some day?” she whispers.

I arch a brow at her. “Don’t change the topic.”

She laughs silently. “The first time I saw you, I thought, I wonder what he looks like behind that bush.”

“Bullshit. You didn’t think that.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. I’m just curious. And you are hiding.”

I say nothing to that, because she’s probably right.

It’s my last wall, my last defense. What if I shave it off and I look like the man I was before Emma died? What would it mean?

How can I look the same when I’m so changed inside?

And doesn’t Octavia deserve the man I used to be, instead of the wreck left behind?

She’s here, though. Doesn’t look afraid of me. Even after the way I treated her before.

Maybe it’s time.