Chapter 18
Eighteen
Aldric had slain the dragon and died from his wounds.
Not only that, Nate had killed Elara too.
Seriously?
Livvie stared at her laptop screen, waiting for the triumph, the resolution, the moment when the hero would find love waiting for him in the aftermath of battle.
Instead,
He found Elara among the fallen, her eyes already closed, her hand reaching toward a future she had secured but would never grasp.
No.
Livvie scrolled back, certain she’d missed something—a twist, a resurrection, a last-minute save. But there was nothing. Just a hero walking away from a victory that had cost him everything into a future he didn’t want.
The prophecy had been fulfilled. The kingdom was saved. And Aldric walked alone into the dawn, carrying nothing but the weight of all he had lost.
And then he fell, the end taking him.
THE END?
Livvie grabbed the legal pad she’d been scribbling on and flipped to a fresh page, pen flying across the paper.
NO.
Why did you DO this?
The prophecy said TOGETHER. “Two hearts, one blade, one flame.” TOGETHER. Not alone. Not—
Elara can’t be dead. She was the whole point. The point of the journey, the reason any of it mattered.
And yes, he chose Kaela—that feels right—but to kill Elara?
Have you lost your mind?
She stopped. Stared at the notes she’d made—three pages of frantic scribbles, corrections, suggested rewrites. As if Nate would ever see them. As if he would ever speak to her again. As if she hadn’t left her heart on his porch and driven away without looking back.
She threw the pen across the room.
It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, coming to rest next to the sad plant from her desk—the one she’d carried out of Pemberton yesterday along with her laptop and the shreds of her professional dignity.
Old habits. The fixer who couldn’t stop fixing, even when there was nothing left to fix.
She closed the laptop. Pushed it away. Pressed her palms against her eyes until she saw stars.
The apartment was too small. Too quiet. Too full of reminders—her suitcase still half unpacked, the Maple Lake clothes mixed with her NYC clothes, the winter hat sitting on her dresser like an accusation.
She couldn’t stay here.
She grabbed her coat. The winter hat too—the one he’d bought her, though she tried not to think about that. And she walked out into the gray September afternoon, heading nowhere in particular, just away.
Her feet carried her toward the park without conscious decision.
Past the bodega on the corner, past the dry cleaner with the flickering neon sign, past all the places that should have anchored her to this city but somehow didn’t anymore.
Twenty minutes of walking, and the buildings gave way to bare trees, the traffic noise fading to something almost like quiet.
Central Park stretched before her, beautiful in that stark, skeletal way of late autumn.
Bejeweled branches against a pewter sky, rust and gold against the gray. Joggers in bright colors, dog walkers with their charges, families bundled against the cold.
It reminded her of Maple Lake.
Everything reminded her of Maple Lake now.
Livvie walked faster, hands shoved in her coat pockets, the winter hat warm against her ears. The paths wound through the Ramble, past the reservoir, into stretches of trees that almost seemed like wilderness if you squinted and ignored the distant taxi horns.
She missed the Brew. Mandie behind the counter, already reaching for Livvie’s usual before she’d finished ordering.
She missed the bakery. Edie’s flour-dusted apron and Remi’s knowing smile, the maple apple pie that tasted like someone had figured out how to bake autumn into a pastry. The ridiculous chapter board with its gold stars, the whole town tracking Nate’s progress like he was their local sports team.
She missed the dogs. Huck’s ridiculous obsession with the same stick, day after day. Finn’s dignified concern when either of them raised their voices.
She missed—
Stop it. Stop.
But the memories came anyway, unbidden, relentless.
The noises Nate made when he wrote. That little hum that came through the door when he was onto something good. The way he muttered dialogue under his breath, gesturing with one hand like the characters were right there in the room with him.
The way he smelled. Cedar and coffee, and when she brought him said coffee, the way he’d look up, distracted, lost in whatever world he was building. And then, his slow smile when he saw it was her.
And the way he looked at her. When she was reading. When he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
There was something more in that look. Something she hadn’t let herself see because seeing it meant hoping, and hoping meant risking, and risking meant—
Stop!
Livvie walked faster. Almost jogging now. As if she could outrun the ache in her chest, the longing that had settled into her bones and refused to leave.
And then she saw them.
A man with graying hair, pushing a high-end stroller. A woman beside him—younger, pretty, stylish in that effortless Upper East Side way. A toddler in the stroller, bundled in a puffy jacket and a tiny hat, mittens dangling from his sleeves.
Her father.
Livvie stopped dead on the path.
She could walk past. Pretend she hadn’t seen them. Avoid the awkward encounter, the forced smiles, the reminder that he’d built a whole new life without her—
No.
She was done hiding. Done pretending. Done being invisible.
She walked toward them.
“Dad?”
William Fox looked up from the stroller, and for a moment his face went through a complicated series of expressions—surprise, confusion, recognition, and then something Livvie hadn’t expected.
Joy.
“Livvie?” He straightened, stepping around the stroller, his arms already opening. “Livvie, wow—what are you doing here? I thought you were in Minnesota or—come here, let me look at you—”
And then he was hugging her.
It wasn’t the stiff, obligatory embrace she remembered from graduations and holidays. This was a real hug—tight and warm and slightly desperate, like he’d been waiting for it without knowing he was waiting.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said against her hair. “I can’t believe—Katherine, look who it is.”
The woman—Katherine, the second wife, the replacement—stepped forward with a smile that seemed genuinely warm. “Livvie! We’ve heard so much about you. I’m so glad we’re finally doing this properly.”
She hugged Livvie too. It was awkward—they’d never met, after all—but it wasn’t unwelcoming. It wasn’t hostile. It was just…kind.
“And this—” William turned to the stroller, reaching down to unbuckle the toddler. “This is your brother. Livingston.”
The little boy blinked up at Livvie with enormous brown eyes—her father’s eyes, she realized with a jolt. Chubby cheeks, a smear of something that might have been banana on his chin, a stuffed elephant clutched in one mittened hand.
“Livingston?” Livvie repeated. It was a mouthful. A very serious name for a very small person.
“We call him Vinnie,” Katherine said, smiling. “It’s a lot easier.”
Vinnie. Like Livvie.
Something twisted in her chest.
“Why Livingston?” she heard herself ask.
William lifted the boy, settling him on his hip with the ease of practice. “It’s an old family name—Katherine’s grandfather. But we liked what it means.” He smiled down at his son. “Life. It means life.”
Vinnie grabbed for his father’s nose. William laughed—actually laughed, a sound Livvie couldn’t remember hearing from him in years—and pretended to bite the tiny fingers.
“And peace,” Katherine added. “Some sources say it means ‘peace’ too. We thought that was fitting.”
Life. Peace.
Livvie watched her father with this child—the easy affection, the unguarded joy, the way he seemed to glow just from holding him. Not because Vinnie had done anything special. Not because he’d achieved anything. Just because he existed.
Just because he was loved.
He will rejoice over you with singing.
Aunt Lila’s voice echoed in her memory. The cross-stitch on the windowsill. Her mother’s handwriting.
Olivia. Your name means peace.
You were their reconciliation. Their new beginning.
She’d spent her whole life trying to earn her father’s love. Trying to achieve enough, accomplish enough, be enough. She’d measured herself against a standard she could never meet, and she’d assumed his distance meant she’d failed.
But looking at him now, she didn’t see a man who’d replaced her. She saw a man who’d been drowning in grief for so long he’d forgotten how to swim. Who’d lost his first wife, his first life, and hadn’t known how to reach across the wreckage to the daughter who was drowning too.
People do things that don’t make sense when they’re grieving.
She knew that now. She’d seen it in Nate. She’d recognized it in herself.
“Dad,” she said.
He looked up from Vinnie, his expression open in a way she couldn’t remember seeing. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
The words came out simpler than she’d expected. Lighter. Like setting down a weight she’d been carrying so long she’d forgotten it was there.
His eyes went bright. Suspiciously bright.
“I love you too, Livvie.” His voice was rough.
“I love you more than…well, I know I haven’t—I should have called more, should have—” He stopped.
Swallowed. “We need to see each other more often. Will you come to dinner? Will you meet Katherine properly and spend time with Vinnie? He should know his sister.”
His sister. Not his half sister. His sister.
“Yes,” Livvie said. “I’d like that.”
Katherine was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she’d produced from somewhere. Vinnie was oblivious, trying to feed his stuffed elephant a leaf he’d grabbed from somewhere.
William hugged her again—one-armed this time, Vinnie squashed between them and making indignant noises—and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s made my day to see you,” he said. “It really has.”
“Mine too,” Livvie said. And meant it.