“I didn’t agree yet,” said Michael. “I want to know where you plan to take them, first.”

“That’s easy,” said Marshal Faulkner. “I plan to take them to my house.”

CHAPTER 32

Hannah arrived home to find her mother carrying a stack of pillows and blankets into the basement.

She stopped short in the foyer. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Shh.” Her mother tilted her head at the kitchen. “Talk to your father.”

Like that’s what she wanted to do after the night she’d had. Hannah considered springing up the steps and locking herself in her bedroom, but she kept hearing Irish’s words. You are an adult. It’s okay to act like it.

Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway before she could decide what to do. The early morning sunlight filtering through the window was still weak, so she couldn’t make out his expression, but it sure didn’t feature a big ol’ jolly smile.

“Where’ve you been?” he said.

She wanted to snap at him, because it wasn’t any of his business, but maybe she could start working on that whole communication thing.

“Went for coffee with Irish.” She hesitated, thinking of all she’d learned, about Elementals and Guides and all the reasons Michael had hidden the truth from her. “I needed to unwind.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began.

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “Do you want to come sit in the kitchen so we can talk?”

She opened her mouth to say not really, but now her father’s words were an echo in her head.

You’re impossible to talk to.

I’m not the only one.

She shut her mouth and headed for the kitchen. Instead of sitting, she leaned against the cooking island. “Don’t tell me. Mom found out about the shooting and you have to sleep in the basement.”

“No.” His eyebrows went up. “You haven’t talked to Michael?”

“No.” She shrugged but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Tonight . . . he kept a lot of secrets, Dad. I don’t . . . I don’t even understand all of it.”

But she understood some of it. Thanks to Irish.

She had no idea what to do. At least she’d been able to make a coherent statement to the cops.

She had no idea where things stood with Michael—or where she wanted them to stand. He had a second life. A secret life, full of magic and danger and mystery. In a movie or a book it would have made him sexy and desirable.

To a real live woman with a young child to raise, it made him terrifying.

Her father gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand much either.” He paused. “That’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Fine.” She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade. “What, then?”

“I don’t hate that you’re a firefighter. And I don’t hate that you got pregnant.” A moment passed. “And I didn’t mean for you to think I was trying to pin anything on your mother.”

She stood there with the refrigerator door open, unsure how to respond. He was so direct. She kept her eyes on the bright white shelves and didn’t say anything.

“I was disappointed,” he continued. “I won’t sugarcoat it. I think any father would be. I think any parent would be.”

“Trust me,” she said, slamming the refrigerator door. “I got the memo.”

“I don’t think you did,” he said. “I don’t think you understand me at all.”

She waited, listening.

“When you went to that party, when you got arrested—” He shook his head. “You acted like I was the one who showed up and shoved you into a cop car. You wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.”

Her cheeks warmed. She remembered that.

“I was worried,” her father said. “I didn’t want you to miss out on anything you wanted to do, because of one mistake.”

“James isn’t a mistake.” The words came out of her mouth like an attack.

“I didn’t say he was.” He paused. “Going to that party to prove a point to your overbearing father was a mistake.”

She flinched. He was right. “I didn’t miss out on anything,” she said. Her voice was small.

“I know. You’ve worked very hard. I’m proud of you.”

Anything she could have said was trapped in her throat by sudden emotion. He said it so simply, like anything else. Like he didn’t realize how long she’d been waiting to hear him say those exact words.

Before she could change her mind, she crossed the kitchen and threw her arms around his neck.

If he was surprised, she didn’t feel it. He hugged her back as if he held her every day. His arms were warm and secure and familiar, despite the fact that she hadn’t hugged him in years.

“I missed this,” she said.

“Me too.” He didn’t let go.

Then she remembered the pillows and blankets. “If Mom’s not making you sleep in the basement, then what’s going on?”

James came bursting into the kitchen, full of the energy only kindergartners could find at five o’clock in the morning. He tackled her and her father at the same time, as if they did group hugs on a daily basis. “Mommy! Mommy! The big kids are here for a sleepover, and they said we could play the Lego game on Xbox later!”

“The Lego game?” She drew back to look at him. “The big kids? What—”

“I took your advice,” said her father. “You were right. I should have been more compassionate.”

She was too tired. Her brain couldn’t process this. “What?”

“Michael still doesn’t have custody. So his brothers are staying with us.”

CHAPTER 33

The day had been overcast for the funeral, but now the sun was peeking through the clouds. Michael took that as a sign. He turned his suit coat inside out, laid it on the grass, and sat.

Casper curled up at his feet.

He’d tried to give the dog back to Hunter’s mother, but Casper kept escaping from her house—and showing up on Tyler’s doorstep, scratching and whining to be let in.

After the third time, Mrs. Garrity had asked Michael if he’d like to keep him.

It hadn’t seemed as if it was up to him—and how could he refuse?

Anyway, it was nice to have company.

He felt someone coming across the field at about the same time as Casper raised his head, his ears alert. The service had been over for hours and his brothers had all gone home with the fire marshal. He wasn’t sure who else would be walking out this way.

He glanced over his shoulder, expecting Hunter’s mother.

No. Hannah.

Surprised, he got to his feet and brushed dried grass from his pants. He’d seen her at the funeral, of course, but she’d stood with her parents and James while he’d stood with his brothers.

They’d barely spoken all week—and when they had talked, it had seemed accidental, as if he’d caught her by surprise when he was stopping in to see his brothers.

Here he’d thought it was awkward before.

“Hey,” he said, when she drew close. He couldn’t keep the confusion out of his voice.

“Hey yourself,” she said in return. She gave him a clear once-over. “You look good in a suit.”

Michael found himself blushing and told himself to knock it off. “I had to buy it for court.” He wanted to tell her she looked good in her wool skirt and boots, but he wasn’t sure how that would come across.

But she did. She somehow looked soft and gentle, yet strong and fearless at the same time.

His brothers had offered to talk to Hannah on his behalf, and he’d told them to stay out of it and keep their mouths shut. Right now, facing her, he regretted that. He’d do anything for a little insight.

Hannah looked around. “At first I thought this was an odd place for a funeral, but now I think I kind of get it.”

They stood at the edge of a large, open field by the water, part of Lake Waterford Park. Hunter’s mother had chosen the location—she’d wanted to have a service somewhere her son would have enjoyed spending time.

A gravestone would be going next to his father’s, back at some cemetery in Pennsylvania.

Michael preferred the atmosphere here. He was glad there’d been no body to bury. Watching a box get lowered into the ground, feeling every shovelful of dirt—he wouldn’t have been able to take it. His parents’ funeral had been bad for exactly that reason, but Hunter was different. Hunter was a kid. He’d trusted Michael. Relied on him.

Michael wouldn’t get over this easily.

He cleared his throat. “I get it, too.”

Hannah looked up at him, wincing a bit at the sunlight. “Want to go for a walk?”

He blinked, surprised, then grabbed his coat. “Sure.”

So they walked, Casper ambling along between them. Maybe she wanted closure. Maybe his brothers were making her crazy. Michael had no idea. He expected her to talk, but she walked in silence.

He didn’t mind.

Eventually, she glanced up at him. “I’m sorry the judge denied custody.”

That had happened yesterday. After everything he’d lost, Michael had hoped fate would cut him some slack.

Fate had punched him in the gut. He still felt the blow.

But it wasn’t permanent. The judge had given him thirty days to figure out a suitable living situation.

A month without his brothers. He thought back to his dad’s mantra: You can do anything for fifteen minutes.

Thirty days was a hell of a lot longer than fifteen minutes.

But he understood it. When he’d been eighteen, he would have fought like hell to challenge even that. Now? His brothers’ lecture the night they’d lost Hunter still echoed in his mind. They were old enough to take care of themselves—a little.

He needed the time anyway. To get his life back together.

He glanced at Hannah. “I understand why the judge did what she did. Your dad—he’s been amazing. It’s a relief knowing they’ll stay together, and that I know where they are... ” He stopped walking and looked at her. “Wait. This isn’t why you came out here, is it? Have your parents changed their minds about letting them stay? I know a month is a long time, and—”

“No! No, Michael, they didn’t change their minds. Are you kidding? My mother has practically adopted them already. It might break her heart when they leave.”

Michael smiled. His brothers could be charming when they wanted to be. “The guys said she bakes them cookies every day.”

“Just about.”

“That’s good. They could use some mothering.”

She didn’t answer, and he lost the smile. They fell into silence again.

He peeked over at her. The sunlight was bright on her hair, and the chill in the air had thrown pink on her cheeks. She rubbed at her arms, and he realized he’d been an idiot.

“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. “It’s cold with the wind.”

She straightened in surprise when he dropped it around her shoulders, and he thought she might refuse. But then she grabbed the lapels and pulled it closer.

Her eyes flicked up at him. “Too bad we don’t have Nick to make it stop, right?”

That felt a little too pointed. Michael frowned.

She looked up at him. “What’s with the look?”

“I wish I’d told you,” he said. “If I could go back and do it over, I would.”

She didn’t say anything to that.

She kept walking, though, so he kept pace with her.

“That night you came to Tyler’s,” he said, “when you implied that I didn’t think you could take care of yourself . . . that’s not what I think, Hannah.” He paused. “That’s not what I think at all.”