Chapter 26
Remy
Boston hits me like a punch to the gut the second I step out of the truck. Finn is finishing up the library today, and I have something to take care of. Unfinished business that needs taken care of.
The air is damp, smelling like wet pavement, exhaust, and old coffee. Horns honk down the street, a siren wails somewhere blocks away, and a man in a suit rushes past me, almost knocking into me with his phone glued to his hand, not looking where he’s going. It is loud, frantic, nothing like home.
I stand there for a second, just breathing it in, letting the weight of it settle over me. The last time I was here, I was still wearing a tie every day. I was still trying to convince myself that this city, this life, was what I wanted.
Turns out, I never really wanted it.
I think about Junie back home, sitting at Mom or Lilith’s table and probably eating cake for lunch.
I think about Ivy, about the way her laugh sounds, about how her hands felt on my chest the night I kissed her like I’d been starving for years.
I miss the way she looks at me like she really sees me.
All of me. Even the broken pieces, and she still doesn’t care.
She just loves me for me. She trusted me, and I broke that trust. Because I let Sloane get in my head again.
I let her mess up our world, and I’m going to put a stop to that.
I know what I need to do, and I know what Sloane needs to do. We all need this.
I am not here for me. I am here for them.
I pull open the glass door and step inside Sloane’s office building.
The lobby smells of disinfectant and printer toner, and the buzz of fluorescent lights hums faintly overhead.
My boots click against the marble floor.
People look at me sideways, men in pressed suits, women with sleek hair and expensive shoes like they can tell I don’t belong here anymore.
I wait for the elevator, my reflection in the stainless-steel doors staring back at me. My shoulders look tight, my jaw locked. I roll it out, force myself to breathe, but my pulse is still pounding when a voice cuts through the air behind me.
“Bennett?”
I turn slowly.
Derek stands there clutching his messenger bag like it’s a life raft.
If I thought he was smug before, he isn’t now. His suit is too tight across the stomach, his skin is pale and shiny, and what’s left of his hair is trying and failing to form some kind of comb over. He looks older than the last time I saw him over six weeks ago. Smaller.
What the hell happened to this guy?
“Derek,” I say. My voice is flat, but I can feel my blood heating.
He swallows so hard I see his Adam’s apple bob. “Uh. Hey. Good to see you.”
I raise a brow. “Is it?”
He takes a step back, clutching the briefcase tighter. “I have a big meeting.”
I say nothing, just stare at him blankly.
His face goes even paler. “Yeah, so, I better…”
He spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time like the devil is chasing him.
I watch him go, jaw tight, and almost laugh. Guess I made my point the last time I warned him to stay the hell away from Ivy. Good. He deserves to sweat a little. But whatever else happened to him…holy shit.
The elevator dings, and I step inside, bracing my forearms against the railing. My reflection watches me in the metal walls as we climb, and for a second, I think about turning around. Walking away.
But then I picture Junie again.
Her face when she asked if her mom was coming to see her, again and again. Always left disappointed and upset.
No. I am not walking away.
When the elevator opens, I make my way down the hallway until I am standing outside Sloane’s door. My hands are sweating. I rub them against my jeans and knock.
She calls, “Come in.”
Her office smells of coffee and paper. Sunlight streams in through the floor to ceiling windows behind her desk, catching in her dark hair. She looks up, surprise flashing across her face before she smoothes it into a neutral expression.
“Remy,” she says calmly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I sit down across her desk, leaning forward, elbows braced on my knees.
It’s not lost on me she didn’t ask if Junie was okay, which is what my first reaction would be.
But she never asks if Junie is okay. She doesn’t think like that.
And no matter how many times I’ve tried to get her to care and think like that, she just doesn’t.
My heart feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest, but I force my voice steady. “We need to talk.”
Her shoulders tense, her hands curling together in her lap. “Is this about Junie?”
“Yes.” I drag a hand down my face. “About Junie.”
She waits and folds her hands in front of her on her desk, not meeting my eyes, as if she’s unsure of where this conversation is going to go.
I take a breath so deep it feels like it scrapes my ribs and just put it out there. “What if you didn’t have to worry about Junie anymore?”
Her head snaps up, her eyes wide.
“Not because you don’t love her,” I say quickly. “But because you love her enough to let her have the mom who shows up every time. Someone who wants to be there for her school plays and birthdays. Someone who doesn’t make her sit by the window wondering if she’s coming.”
Her face crumples. She looks down at the papers on her desk, blinking hard. “What would people think of me?”
And again, it’s not lost on me that she isn’t worrying about what Junie will think. Only what other people will think.
“They’d think you were the bravest, most unselfish person for doing that,” I say, my voice rough.
Telling her this and putting into words something that I could never wrap my head around as a father is hard.
But they need to be said because I think deep down this is the best for both of them.
She needs to let Junie go. She needs to let go of the expectations and hurt that she’s only going to continue to cause.
I continue, “They’d think you gave her a chance to grow up without wondering why she isn’t enough for you.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she swipes it away fast. “I tried, Remy. I swear to God I tried. I thought I could do it, but every time I think I’m ready, I choke. I freeze. I cannot be who she needs me to be.”
The words hurt, but there is something freeing in hearing her say them. And I would much rather have her tell me this now so that we can move forward accordingly so this never has to be a conversation that my five-year-old has with her.
“Then let her have that with someone else,” I say gently. “Let her have the chance to be loved by a mom who chooses her every single day.”
She turns and looks out the window, another tear slipping down her cheek. She turns back to me and looks relieved and sad at the same time. She nods once, then again, slower. Her fingers twist together. “How does this work? Do you need money?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t need money, Sloane. I just need you to sign the papers. For Junie.”
She stares out the window for a long time, the city reflected in her glassy eyes. Finally she nods. “I’ll have them drawn up. Come back in an hour?”
Relief hits me so hard I almost sag in the chair. “Yeah. You’re doing the right thing.”
Her lips tremble. “You’re a good dad. I wish I could be like you. Tell her I’m sorry.”
I stand slowly. “I know. I’ll come back.”
Outside, the air feels sharper, almost clean. I shove my hands into my coat pockets and walk aimlessly until I find myself near an old coffee shop I used to go to back when I worked cases late into the night.
I buy a black coffee and sit outside at a little metal table, watching the city rush around me. The noise is constant with buses rumbling past, people shouting into phones, car horns blaring, but it all feels far away. Like I’m watching a movie and not a part of this.
I take a slow sip of coffee and let myself really think. I used to think this was what I wanted. The city. The suits. The grind. The idea of being someone important in a place that never sleeps.
But sitting here now, I don’t miss any of it.
I miss the tree farm with the smell of fresh pine and sawdust. The sound of Junie’s laughter echoing through the house. Ivy’s hair loose over her shoulders, the soft sound she makes when I pull her close.
I miss coming home to them and asking how their days went. I miss the small things like new pictures Junie drew on the fridge, proudly on display. I miss seeing what new crafts Junie and Ivy have been working on.
Today isn’t as much about Ivy, but more about Junie.
It’s doing what needs to be done so that Junie can be free of being let down continuously.
And not have her mom randomly showing up and upsetting her.
Junie will probably have a lot of questions someday when she’s older and fully understands the situation.
But I know in my gut this needs to happen.
I don’t know whether Ivy will come back. I don’t know if I can fix what I broke between us.
But I am damn sure going to try.
When I get back to Sloane’s office, the papers are ready. She hands them across the desk, her fingers trembling.
“Here,” she says quietly.
I look them over, then meet her gaze.
“Can I still check in sometimes?” she asks. “Just email. I won’t bother her. I just… want to know how she’s doing.”
“Yes,” I say. “Of course you can.”
She nods, takes a deep breath, and stands. “Oh, and Remy?”
I glance back.
“What did you do to Derek? He’s terrified of you.”
I shrug. “No clue. Don’t really know the guy.”
For the first time, she smiles just a little, then says. “Take care of her.”
“I will.”
I tuck the papers under my arm and walk out, my steps lighter.
On the drive home, I crank up the heat and breathe easier.
The past is finally settled. No more wondering, no more waiting.
No more watching my little girl get crushed and then scared when her mom shows up and is angry that she is even there, as if that was somehow Junie’s fault.
The whole situation is sad. And I have to think about how I’m going to explain it to Junie in a way that makes sense to her at this time.
When I get back to Wisteria Cove, I am going to keep working on that library until it is perfect.
Because the next step is proving to Ivy that I am all in for her, for Junie, for the life we deserve.
And I will not waste this second chance.
By the time I pull into the drive, the sky is streaked with pink and gold. My headlights sweep over the porch, and I see the boxes stacked there.
I kill the engine and climb out, boots crunching on gravel. There are three big boxes labeled BOOKS. FRAGILE. And one thinner box with my name on it.
I haul the boxes inside, the cardboard biting into my palms, and set them down in the middle of the empty office. The room still smells faintly of fresh paint. The bay windows catch the last light, making the whole space look soft and warm.
The thin package catches my eye. I crouch, tear the tape open carefully, and pull out the canvas print.
It’s the photo from the tree farm with Ivy and Junie, all of us grinning, Junie between us, Ivy smiling and leaning into me. It hits me square in the chest, so hard I have to sit back on my heels.
I love this picture.
I can already see it hanging on the wall, right above a cozy reading chair. I want her to walk in here and feel like she belongs, like she is home.
Headlights sweep across the yard outside, pulling me from my thoughts. A moment later, Willa and Tate come up the porch carrying more boxes.
“Delivery service,” Tate calls as they step inside.
“Donna had these shipped straight from her publisher,” Willa says, setting her box down. “She called me and said, ‘Make sure Remy has these tonight. We’re not letting him half-ass this.’”
I huff out a laugh and shake my head. “She never does anything halfway. And I love that she has connections to make this happen.”
Willa steps into the office and takes it in, her eyes going wide. “Remy… this is perfect.”
“Not yet,” I say, glancing around at the empty shelves we built last night. “But it will be. I want her to have everything.”
Tate leans against the doorway, grinning. “Hell of a gesture. This is going to blow her away.”
“I need it to,” I admit. “I need her to see I’m not just saying I’m sorry. I’m proving it.”
Willa sets a hand on my arm, her smile warm. “Then let’s make it perfect. I’ll help you unpack. Tate can put together the chair you bought.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
She glances at me as she kneels to open a box. “You want me to get her out here tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice low but steady. “If she won’t come for me, maybe she’ll come for you or for Junie.”
Willa’s smile turns knowing. “She’ll come. She’s been miserable without you, you know. It sucks having you two on the outs. Everyone in town knows you’re meant to be together. You just have to get it together.”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m trying.”
“Good,” Willa says, handing me a stack of books.
We work until the sky goes dark and the moonlight streams through the bay windows. Willa stacks books by color, Tate curses softly as he fights with the Allen wrench, and I hang the canvas photo on the far wall.
When I step back to look at it, my throat tightens. It already feels like Ivy’s room. Like Junie’s room. Like ours.
When Willa and Tate finally head home, I stay in the office, unpacking until the floor is covered with stacks of books.
I stand in the middle of the room, breathing hard, and whisper it into the quiet house.
“I’m going to fix this.”
Then I roll up my sleeves, open another box, and keep going until there’s nothing left but the faint smell of paper and the hum of hope in my chest.