Chapter 24 #3
Marcus saw something on my face and made a beeline for me.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he joined me.
“Here.” I gave him the card.
Marcus took the card from my hand, his eyes scanning it fast.
I watched his face carefully. Probably a little too carefully. I was practically analyzing every muscle movement like some deranged facial-expression detective.
Marcus folded the card once. Then again. And slipped it into his jacket pocket. “It’s over,” he said quietly.
Two simple words.
But hearing them out loud felt different. Real. Final. Over.
I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding on to that fear until it finally loosened its grip. “Yeah.”
Marcus looked toward the living room, toward Darian. Our son was currently showing off his biceps muscles to his grandmothers who were both applauding.
Oh boy.
“Looks like he’s enjoying himself,” said Marcus.
Across the room, Darian looked up and spotted his father.
“Dad!”
His grin could have powered the town. The kid practically lit up. If happiness could generate electricity, Hollow Cove would never pay another utility bill.
Marcus’s expression softened instantly. Gone was the chief, the alpha. There was only a father.
Darian spun around and bounded across the room, like some kind of oversized magical kangaroo. Or a puppy who’d suddenly discovered he had longer legs and was still figuring out how they worked.
Marcus caught him effortlessly.
The sight squeezed something deep inside my chest. For the first time since all this started, I wasn’t looking at what we’d lost. I was looking at what we still had.
Across the room, Beverly laughed, the sound warm and bright enough to cut through the buzz of conversation.
I caught sight of Ruth dancing in circles with Hildo perched on her shoulder like an accessory, and Tinker Bell zooming around her sprinkling fairy dust with reckless enthusiasm.
The fairy was throwing so much glitter into the air that I was pretty sure half the room would still be finding sparkles in their hair three weeks from now.
Dolores was now aiming a pointed finger at Martha’s face, and I caught the words “portal magic can sometimes be unpredictable” and then “you should be thankful a Davenport witch can master them.”
Master was a strong word. I was still uncovering all my new portal mojo abilities and occasionally discovering them at the worst possible moments.
So far, portal magic seemed to operate on the same principles as expensive magical appliances.
It worked beautifully right up until the moment it decided to do something completely unexpected and leave you standing there wondering if you should be impressed or concerned. Usually both.
Katherine was taking photos of Darian every thirty seconds like she was trying to document an endangered species. At this rate she’d have enough pictures to create a twenty-volume encyclopedia.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, nobody was in danger.
Nobody was running. Nobody was fighting. Nobody was dying. The crisis was over.
Life wasn’t perfect. Darian was still older than he should have been. There would be questions. School. Friends. The future. There would probably be awkward conversations too. So many awkward conversations. I was already tired thinking about them.
But we’d face those things together.
Like we always did.
Marcus slipped an arm around my waist, and I leaned into him.
Our son stood between us, talking a mile a minute about presents, cake, and why he thought he deserved another birthday next week.
Then another one after that because, apparently, he’d done the math and felt we’d fallen significantly behind.
He probably did.
I looked around at my family. My weird, crazy, dysfunctional family.
The people who’d fought beside me. The people who’d helped bring my son home.
The people who’d never stopped believing we’d find him.
The people who’d charged through a completely unstable portal with me because I asked.
Looking back on it, that was either incredibly brave or deeply concerning.
And I smiled.
Because life would keep moving forward. Yes, there would be new adventure and disasters and new mysteries. There always were. This was Hollow Cove. Trouble practically had its own mailing address.
But today wasn’t about any of that. It was about family. About second chances. About birthdays that should have happened and birthdays still to come. About the future Darian still had waiting for him.
It was about the simple fact that we were all still here.
Together.
Maybe Addison had stolen a few years. But she hadn’t stolen our future.
She hadn’t stolen Darian’s smile. She hadn’t stolen his laugh.
She hadn’t stolen this moment.
And looking around at the people I loved most in the world, watching my son argue for additional birthdays while Marcus tried—and failed—not to laugh, I knew one thing for certain.
Whatever came next, we’d face it together.
As a family.
And that future looked pretty damn good.