Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"I thought I might go to a meeting," I murmur, tracing patterns on Isla's skin. "And after that, I planned to come back here and coax you back into this bed. Once I'm done making sure you're satisfied…maybe I'll hire someone to go through his office and clean it out. I'm done struggling through it, pretending I can handle it. I can't."
"I like this plan," she whispers, smiling up at me. "But you forgot an important part."
"What's that?"
"The part where you finally get to breathe."
"I didn't forget." I tip her head back, brushing my lips against hers. "I've been doing that since we decided to release the statement."
She smiles against my lips, squeezing me tight. "Do you think Bella will be okay, Brantley?" she asks a moment later, snuggling back up in my arms. "I don't think she's very okay with knowing what he did to you and your mom. It made her sad."
"That's because it is sad, little bird." It's a fucking tragedy. But unlike most tragedies, this one ends happily. At least it does for me. It does for my mother too. We survived what should have broken us. And little by little, we're picking up the pieces and building something new. Something stronger. Something beautiful.
"I imagine a lot of people are probably going to feel like she does right now," I murmur. "He lied to everyone, tricked everyone into thinking he was something he wasn't. But your sister is going to be okay. Cormac will make sure of it."
"You're going to be okay now too, you know," Isla says, pressing a sweet kiss to my chest. "I'll make sure of."
I smile, my heart pulsing in my chest because I know she means it. And because I know she's right. It doesn't fucking matter what anyone else thinks when they read my mom's statement tomorrow. The important part—the part we desperately needed to do—was tell it. And we've done that. The only thing left now is this right here. It's Isla in my arms with my ring on her finger. And it's freedom.
Fucking hell, I can't wait to spend a lifetime drowning in it.
Epilogue
Isla
Six Years Later
"Mama."
I blink my eyes open as a little hand lands against my arm, gently shaking me. I gasp quietly when I see a little face inches from mine, big green eyes peering intently.
"Are you awake now, Mama?" she asks, trying to whisper even though she's not very good at that. At four, she still hasn't quite mastered the whole concept.
"What are you doing out of bed, baby girl?" I run my hand down her arm.
"There's a monster in my cwoset again."
"Oh, dear," I whisper, helping to lift her into the bed with me. "Another one?"
"Uh-huh," she sniffles, snuggling up against me with one arm thrown over me. "He's big and scary, Mama."
The bed dips as Brantley rolls toward us. "Did I hear you say there's a monster in your closet?"
"Uh-huh, daddy," Corbin repeats. "He's big and scary."
Brantley and I share a look. Ever since we told her that she's going to be a big sister, she's been sneaking into bed with us, claiming there's a monster in her closet. I think she's worried about sharing us with a new baby. As if we could ever love her any less.
She's the center of our world. Brantley is wrapped around her tiny little finger. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her. And my god, watching him love her is something beautiful. I always knew he'd be an incredible father. After everything he went through, he knows exactly how important it is to love a child with his whole soul. But I did not expect to fall even harder for him watching him become that man.
He owns so damn much of my heart there's no way a single piece of it will ever not belong to him. I live and breathe for him. And I know he feels the exact same way. He tells me every chance he gets. He shows me every day.
The last six years haven't always been easy, but they've been worth every single minute. He's had highs and lows. PTSD is like that. There are long periods of time where everything is going perfectly, and then something—some memory or reminder of the past will pop up unexpectedly—and he struggles again.
It's not like it was when we met, though. He's put in so much work and fought so hard to never slip back into that place and that headspace. He still attends meetings periodically. He's still in therapy with Daniel—though Daniel no longer follows him everywhere. And he still sees a psychiatrist too.
He knows he's worthy now. And that confidence on him? Well, he's always been gorgeous. But he's something else altogether now. And it's sexy as hell.
"Well, maybe we should go chase this monster out of the closet, baby girl," he suggests, the same way he always does. Six years ago, he wouldn't have even tried it. He didn't step foot in closets. All his clothes hung in a portable closet in a corner of his bedroom. Every single other closet in his house was empty. I cried the first time I realized that. It was like coming face to face with the wreckage of his past, seeing it in vivid color. It killed me.