Chapter Fifty Five
So Sweet to Bee One
T he air smells like sugar and sunshine, like honey and hay.
The turnout is the biggest I’ve ever seen.
Cars line the road all the way down to the river bend.
People are spilling into every corner of the property, laughing and tasting and spinning through flower fields like a Hallmark special exploded on our land.
It’s beautiful.
It’s chaos.
And it’s everything Georgia built.
I should be happy, but all I can find in me to be is silently proud because I’m hanging on by a thread here.
Aurora’s toddling around with my sisters, dressed in that tiny yellow romper Georgia ordered weeks ago, the one that says So Sweet To Bee One across her chest.
It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but all I can think is she’s not here to see it.
I keep catching myself scanning the crowd, stupidly hopeful I’ll see those freckles and that fire again. Every damn smile I fake is a crack in the dam, and when Mrs. Widdleston from the bakery downtown waves me over, I paste another one on.
“I just had to tell you, Kade,” she gushes, clutching a honey-sampler cone in one hand. “This event is stunning. One of the best community gatherings I’ve ever been to.”
“Appreciate that, ma’am.”
“And that Georgia girl?” Her eyes twinkle. “What a gem. Organized everything so beautifully. You’re lucky to have someone like that.”
My smile tightens, heart cracking.
I don’t have shit.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
She leans in, brows tight. “I haven’t seen her around today, though.”
My chest hollows out. “She’s around,” I lie. “Probably putting out a fire or helping someone settle in.”
Mrs. Widdleston nods, satisfied. “That sounds like our Georgia.”
Our Georgia.
God.
It hits like a gut punch.
Can’t stand to be here, in the middle of something covered and dripping in the one woman I’d literally kill to fuckin’ see right now. Even if it's just so she can yell at me.
Sighing, I head back toward my house, leaving the happy chaos behind me. Aurora is with my sisters, probably with the goats. It's her favorite thing these days, spending time with the animals. I shoot off a quick text, letting them know where I am just in case.
Hands in my pockets, eyes on the ground, I make my way up the new walkway. I've been throwing myself into finishing the house, the front yard. It's kept my brain busy—at least I'm pretending it has.
“You planted lilies,” a soft voice chokes out.
My head snaps up, heart racing.
“My favorite flower. You filled the yard with them.”
My neck burns, and I stumble, but quickly catch myself before I can trip.
Georgia.
My Georgia.
A long yellow dress that matches Aurora's ghosts across her body, following the flow of her curves. Her hair is a wild mess, falling around her shoulders. The sun is spilling around her, making her skin glow.
She looks… Stunning.
Perfect.
I shake my head and step closer, slowly, like I'm worried she’ll run off.
When I get close enough my shadow blocks out the sun and I can finally make out all her features.
Dark circles are under her eyes, and her face is thinner, her collarbone more pronounced. Her freckles are standing out stark against her paler than usual skin, and something about the sight of it twists my gut.
She’s beautiful, but God, she looks so sad .
“Hi,” she breathes, meadow eyes glossy as she blinks up at me.
“Hi,” I choke out, throat tight. I blink again and again, but the mirage doesn’t change. She doesn't disappear. “You’re really here.”
Why are you here, baby?
“I…” she nods, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t miss the event. I promised your mom.”
My jaw tightens, but I breathe through the hurt. “Yeah.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat, taking a step back. “Well, she’s, uh…” I rip off my Stetson and yank on my hair, looking away. “Mom’s around here somewhere.”
“I know,” she whispers, stepping into me. “I already talked to her. I came here looking for you.”
Tell me, freckles. Tell me why. Be honest with me.
“Why?” I hate that my voice is sharp. Laced with so much fuckin’ pain. She flinches and I kick myself mentally, but she doesn’t run, doesn’t back down, and pride fills me.
That’s my girl.
“I deserve your anger. I deserve for you to hate me like you used to. I ruined…” She chokes out a sob that has my shoulders tensing, body aching to wrap her up. “I ruined this.”
Oh, darlin’. It’s me who fucked up.
“Georgia—” I start, shaking my head. “No. Absolutely not. You—”
Before I can finish, a scream pierces the air.
“Kade!”
We both spin and I find Colby sprinting toward us, Aurora wrapped in her arms, eyes wide and face coated in tears.
I charge forward, Georgia hot on my heels.
“What the fuck happened?” I bark, eyes sliding over both of them. “Are you okay?”
“It’s Rory!” Colby gasps around a broken sob as she thrusts my daughter into my arms. “We were picking flowers and…and sh-she go–got—”
“Colby!” I snap above Aurora’s screams.
But it’s Georgia who gently pushes me aside and grips my little sister's face, calmly saying “Sweetheart, breathe.”
They breathe together for a beat and then Colby finally nods, letting Georgia wipe her tears. “We were picking flowers and Aurora got stung. I was bringing her home to check on the sting, but she started turning red and breathing funny and…” She swallows hard. “I think she's allergic.”
My body locks up, and I lift Aurora, frantically searching for signs of reactions, finding them immediately. The world spins and my knees buckle.
I know how fast bee stings can go south and for a baby…
“Call an ambulance,” I choke out, shaking as bad as my daughter.
Georgia kisses Colby’s head. “You did good. Now listen, I need you to run inside and go get Kade’s truck keys. Right now.”
Colby runs off and Georgia calmly turns to me. “Her seat is in your truck, so we’re going to take that. Can you strap her in or do I need to do it?”
“W-what?” My head shakes along with my limbs. “Ambu–”
“Will not get here in time.” She steps up, brushing Aurora’s cheeks, but she’s too busy screaming and gasping, every breath wheezing more than the last, to see her. “We need to go. Right now.”
Colby comes flying out with my keys and throws them at Georgia, who catches them like a fuckin’ baseball player.
“Good job, sweetheart. We’re leaving. Go tell your mom what happened and that we’re headed to the Heart Springs Clinic. And that she needs to call ahead for us and let them know what's happening. If you don't get to your mom in five minutes, call me. Got it?”
Colby disappears in a blur of frantic limbs, and Georgia doesn’t waste a second. She grabs my forearm, her grip steady but urgent, and pulls me toward the truck.
“Come on, Kade. We don’t have time.”
My feet move, but my mind doesn’t. I follow her like I’m underwater, ears ringing, heart punching the inside of my chest like it’s trying to break free. Aurora’s tiny body shakes against mine with every sob, her skin flushed, her lips starting to swell.
This can’t be happening.
Georgia wrenches open the back passenger door and holds it for me. “Strap her in,” she says gently but firmly. “I’ll drive.”
My hands tremble so badly I nearly fumble the buckles. “I—I can do it, I can—”
“I know you can, baby,” she soothes. “If you can’t, I can. It’s okay. I’ve got you both.”
I nod, or I think I do.
My fingers somehow manage the harness, clicking it into place as Aurora’s cries weaken into gasping whimpers. Georgia’s already in the driver’s seat, adjusting mirrors, sliding her phone onto the mount, starting the truck. She’s a blur of motion, calm and composed and fucking heroic.
I slam the door shut and run to the other side, climbing in next to Aurora so I can keep an eye on her. Georgia reverses the truck and catches my gaze, giving me a wobbly nod. I think I nod back, but my vision tunnels.
All I can hear is the slightly wheezing cry from next to me. All I can see is a little girl I’d kill for, hurting and helpless.
My daughter.
God, please don’t take her from me.
I can’t lose anyone else.
Georgia peels out of the gravel drive, tires spinning as we take the winding road like a bat out of hell.
I don’t take my eyes off Aurora, don’t take my hand from her chest, as I monitor the swelling and her breathing.
It’s fast, but full and not closed off. Her lips are slightly puffy, cheeks red, but her airway’s open.
I don’t think I breath or focus on a damn thing except Aurora until I feel Georgia’s touch.
She reaches back and squeezes my hand hard enough to drag me back to the present.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” she says softly, not even looking at me. Her voice is barely above a whisper, like it’s meant for someone else entirely.
And then it hits me… she’s not just talking to me, she’s talking to Aurora too.
“I’ve got you, baby girl,” she murmurs, voice cracking with love. “You’re safe. We’re almost there. I love you. I love you so much. Nothing’s going to take you away from me ever again. Nothing.”
Tears hit my face before I realize I’m crying. Her words slide under my ribs like a balm, pushing through the fear and chaos and cracking something open. She’s soothing both of us. And I didn’t even know how much I needed to be soothed until I heard it.
She’s here, strong and brave and not running.
And I never want to live a single damn second without her again.
I squeeze her hand back, tight and desperate, just as she turns into the clinic.
Georgia parks in the tiny emergency bay and throws the truck in park, exhaling like it’s the first breath she’s taken in miles. Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. And her eyes… her eyes are locked on the building’s sign like it’s a ghost.
The realization slices through me.
This is where her mom was born. The last link to a past she’s never made peace with.
She once told me this building haunted her.
That every time she drove by, she thought about stepping inside and asking if the doctors knew Lorna or the Walkers.
But she was too scared. Too terrified of what they’d say.
Or what they wouldn’t.
And now… she’s here, fighting for her own daughter. Not by blood but loved more than her family ever loved her.
More than Marlee ever loved Aurora.
She did it because it was the fastest route to saving the little girl she’s come to love like her own. She did it without hesitation, even knowing what it would cost her.
I stare at her in awe, the air punched from my lungs.
“You said you love us,” I choke out, her words trickling in like honey.
She turns to me, eyes glassy but sure, and nods. “You’re my family. Of course I love you.”
And right then, it hits me like a freight train.
This woman… this fierce, soft, wildfire of a woman… is mine.
Ours.
And we’re never letting her go again.