Chapter 16 #2
It was possessive, irrational, and completely inappropriate given the circumstances.
And then Marie looked back at me.
Over her father's shoulder, her dark eyes found mine, red-rimmed and wet with tears, but seeking. Needing to know I was still there, that I hadn't left, that I was keeping my promise to stay with her through this.
Something settled in me. Eased, because that look told me everything I needed to know.
She was his daughter, would always be his daughter, but she was also mine now, beyond the few days we'd known each other. She'd looked at me for reassurance while in her father's arms, had needed to confirm I was there even in the midst of the reunion she'd been dreaming about for years.
She was mine. And I was hers.
I gave a small nod, just for her. A silent promise that I wasn't going anywhere, that I'd be right here when she needed me.
She turned back to her father, but her shoulders relaxed slightly. Grounded by knowing I was there.
"Let me look at you." Nigel pulled back, his hands still on her shoulders like he couldn't stop feeling her, making sure she was real.
He looked her over, his gaze catching on the bandages, the slight sway of her body as she shifted her weight between her feet. He took in how she reached back for my hand, seeking my support.
I saw the heartbreak in his eyes. He was happy she was home, yes, but he was realizing that the playful, vibrant girl who’d left had come back quiet and needing to be held up.
"You're so tired, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of it. "And these cuts—" His voice broke looking at the marks on her skin, the bandage on her arm. "What did they do to you?"
"Papa, I'm okay." Marie's hands covered his, squeezing. "I'm safe now. Wade helped the other girls and me.”
"Wade." Nigel's eyes found mine, and I saw the emotion there. Gratitude, pain, and a fierce protectiveness. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home. For keeping her safe. I don't—I can't—"
"You don't need to thank me, Mr. Rivers." I stepped slightly closer, close enough that Marie could reach for me if she needed to. "Marie is extraordinary. Taking care of her has been an honor."
His expression flickered as he looked between us. Understanding, maybe. Recognition of what was already developing between his daughter and me, but he didn't comment on it. He just pulled Marie back into his arms.
A bark erupted from inside the house—excited, frantic, the kind of sound that could only mean one thing.
Marie's head snapped up. "Honey?"
The screen door burst open, and a golden retriever bounded out—big, golden, and moving with the energy of a dog who knew something important was happening. She made a beeline straight for Marie, tail wagging so hard her whole body shook.
"Honey!" Marie dropped to her knees, and the dog was on her immediately. Licking her face, whining, pressing her whole body against Marie like she could merge with her through sheer force of love. "Oh my god, Honey. You remember me. You remember me!"
I watched Marie sob into her dog's fur, watched Honey plant herself firmly in Marie's lap despite being far too big for it, watched father, daughter, and dog create a reunion that was almost too beautiful to witness.
Nigel met my eyes over Marie's head, and I saw his gratitude there. He mouthed “thank you" one more time, and I understood that this bittersweet, profoundly beautiful moment was because of the choices Marie had made. The courage she'd found, the strength she'd always had.
I'd just been lucky enough to be the one she'd run to.
"Come inside," Nigel said, his voice rough with emotion. "Both of you. Please." He gestured at the house. "I kept everything the same. Her room, her things. I couldn't—"
"Papa." Marie looked up at him, Honey still pressed against her. "Can you help me up? My feet are still healing."
But before Nigel could move, I was there, scooping Marie up, Honey dancing around my legs, barking happily. Marie's arms went around my neck, her face pressing against my shoulder even as she kept one hand reaching down to pet her dog.
"Thank you," she whispered against my neck.
"Always, darling." I carried her toward the house, following Nigel up the porch steps.
Thomas appeared with the thermos of soup, handing it to Nigel with a respectful nod. "Mr. Rivers. Compliments of Mr. Easton's chef. Marie enjoys this.”
Nigel took it with shaking hands, tears falling fresh. "Oxtail soup. She loved this as a child. She used to beg me to make it all the time.” He looked at me, memories in his expression. “You brought her home food."
"She's been asking for it all week," I replied, adjusting Marie in my arms. "I thought she'd want to eat it here, in her house.”
"Thank you." The words were thick, heartfelt. "For bringing my daughter home, for taking care of her." He stopped, looked at how Marie was clinging to me, how I was holding her like treasure. "For being what she needs right now."
I met his eyes and let him see the truth there, that this wasn't temporary. That I wasn't just helping her through trauma and then walking away—that his daughter had become mine.
"She's special," I said quietly. "Your daughter is extraordinary, Mr. Rivers, and if she'll have me, I'd like to keep taking care of her."
Various emotions flickered across his face before he gestured. "Come inside, both of you. Let me show her home."
I carried Marie across the threshold, Honey at my heels. The house had photographs covering every surface, most of them of Marie and her mother. She was younger, smiling, sun-brightened, and carefree.
The daughter Nigel had lost. The woman I was helping heal.
I set Marie down in a living room that smelled like home, and she smiled while her father sat beside her and her dog pressed against her legs.
She was finding her way home, and when she was ready, she'd find her way back to me, too. And nothing, not distance, not time, not even her past, was going to change that.