Chapter 32
Makari
Istand at the end of David and Katherine’s driveway longer than I need to, my hands in the pockets of my coat, my attention fixed on the narrow path that leads up to the front steps.
The house looks like it belongs in a different life than mine—all pale siding and neat lines, hydrangeas blooming too brightly along the porch rail.
It smells like freshly cut grass and warm pavement, summer pressing in from all sides, and I have the strange sense that if I don’t move soon, I’ll be rooted here forever.
Two days.
That’s how long it’s been since the woods swallowed blood and secrets again, since Eric’s voice went quiet and the ground closed over another problem that can never be spoken of.
Two days since I brought Roxanne home broken and shaking.
Two days since I promised myself that whatever I was before her, would never touch her again.
Dima did what I asked. He always does. He returned her family to Cambridge quietly, efficiently.
Now they’ll be knit back together, without the threat of Eric and his past hanging over them.
Roxanne steps onto the front walk, her pace slowing the closer she gets to the house, and I can see the moment her composure cracks. She presses a hand to her mouth, her shoulders hitching slightly as the front door opens and Andrea appears in the doorway like a burst of light.
“Mama!”
The word hits me square in the chest.
Roxy drops her bag and sinks to her knees just in time to catch Andrea as she barrels forward, arms flung wide, hair flying loose behind her.
They collide with a laugh and a sob all tangled together, Roxy’s arms wrapping tight around her daughter as if she’s afraid she might disappear again if she loosens her grip.
“I thought I dreamed you,” Andrea says breathlessly, her hands clutching at Roxy’s shirt. “Grandma said you were coming, but I thought—”
“I’m here,” Roxy murmurs, pressing her face into Andrea’s hair. “I promise. I’m here. I’m sorry we had to be away from each other.”
I stay where I am, suddenly unsure of my place in this moment, acutely aware of the weight of my boots on the driveway, the width of my shoulders, the way I don’t belong in scenes like this.
I’ve commanded rooms full of men without blinking. I’ve signed off on things that would make decent people recoil. Yet, the thought of stepping closer to my own daughter feels like crossing a line.
What if I ruin her?
Then Andrea lifts her head.
Her gaze skims past her mother’s shoulder and locks onto me with startling clarity. Her face lights up, recognition dawning instantly, and before I can brace myself she wriggles free of Roxy’s arms and points.
“Bear!”
I don’t have time to react before she’s running toward me, her sneakers slapping against the pavement, her laugh ringing out bright and fearless.
I crouch automatically, arms opening, and she launches herself into me without hesitation, small body colliding with my chest as she wraps her arms around my neck.
“You came back,” she says into my collar, as if it was never in doubt.
I lift her easily, settling her against my hip, and the world rearranges itself around the simple, devastating rightness of her weight in my arms. She smells like laundry soap and sunshine, and she fits there like she was always meant to.
Something inside me gives way quietly, something I didn’t know I was holding back.
“Of course I did,” I manage, my voice rougher than I expect.
Roxy watches us, her eyes bright with emotion, and when she stands and steps closer, she does something that steals the air from my lungs. She rests her hand lightly against Andrea’s back and looks up at me, her expression gentle and steady.
“Andi,” she says softly. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Andrea leans back just enough to look between us, her brow furrowing. She knows the way children do—has sensed it—that the last few days, the last week, have been off. “Okay.”
Roxy takes a breath. “Makari isn’t just our friend. He’s your father.”
Andrea tilts her head, studying my face with solemn intensity, as if weighing this new information against everything she already knows. For a moment I imagine her suddenly wanting to wriggle free from my grip, to get away and step back. Put distance between us.
I’d let her, even if it broke my heart. If she wanted nothing to do with me—I’d let her go.
The pause stretches, my heart hammering in my chest, and I brace myself for questions I don’t know how to answer.
Instead, she smiles.
“Oh,” she says, as if it explains everything. Then she tightens her arms around my neck and presses her cheek to mine. “I like that.”
I close my eyes, just for a second, because I don’t trust myself not to break apart otherwise.
Over Andrea’s shoulder, I see Louise standing in the doorway, her gaze fixed on me with an expression I can’t quite read. There’s calculation there, yes, but also something softer. When our eyes meet, she gives me a small, measured nod.
Later inside the house, the air is filled with the quiet chaos of reunion.
David, home on a Saturday, seems uncomfortable with me here—stiff, glancing my way occasionally.
Their son Peter is on the couch lost in an iPad, but Kat and Louise linger nearby, laughing with Roxy and letting Andi tell stories about their time outside of Boston.
Andrea chatters happily as she gathers her things, narrating every item she packs as if we might otherwise lose track of it, and Roxy hovers nearby, listening with a smile that never quite leaves her face.
Louise corners me in the kitchen while Andrea’s distracted, her presence kind but firm.
Direct. The way Roxy talks about her, I would have thought she’d be more worn out; tired, and lonely maybe.
Instead, I can see where Roxy gets her stubbornness.
She pours herself a glass of water, then gestures for me to sit, her gaze never leaving mine.
“I won’t pretend I don’t know who you are,” she says plainly. “Or what kind of world you come from.”
I incline my head slightly. I owe her that respect; that truth.
“But I also won’t pretend I didn’t see how you looked at my daughter on that stoop,” she continues. “Or how Andrea looked at you.”
She pauses, letting the weight of that settle.
“You have my blessing,” she says finally, “as long as you always keep them safe. Not just alive. Cared for. Loved.”
The words feel like a charge laid directly at my feet.
“I will,” I say without hesitation. “With everything I have.”
She studies me for a long moment, then nods once, satisfied.
The drive back to Bar Harbor is quiet in a way that only shared peace can create.
Roxy dozes lightly in the passenger seat, her hand resting on my thigh, the sun dipping low enough to paint the road ahead in gold and pink.
I keep glancing at her, at the way her brow smooths when she sleeps, at the faint curve of her smile, and I’m struck again by how thoroughly she has undone me.
But the cut on her forehead still makes heat light up in my chest. If I could, I’d bury Eric all over again for ever daring to touch her.
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of my own nerves.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” I say.
She hums softly, eyes still closed. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” I assure her, then hesitate anyway. “I was thinking about where I live. About the estate.”
Her eyes open, curious now.
“If you wanted,” I continue, words coming faster as I commit to them, “we could make it yours too. Or I could sell it. We could go anywhere. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere that feels like home.”
The more I talk, the wider her smile grows, until she’s laughing softly and turning toward me in her seat.
“You’re nervous,” she says, delighted.
“Only with you,” I admit.
She leans across the console and kisses me, slow and sure, and when she pulls back her eyes are warm and bright.
“Not yet,” she says gently, “but soon.”
The relief that floods me is profound, settling deep in my bones. In the back seat, Andrea stirs—sleeping comfortably with both of us close now. The Bear and her mother, planning a future.