Chapter 8 #2
“I’m guessing Jag said that was good because it keeps the suspect pool low. If he can find a suspect, that is.”
“I have faith in your brother. He’s a good cop.”
“He is.”
Silence settled between them. It wasn’t the kind of quiet she could find on the island. This one had a heaviness, as if it were weighed down by things still unsaid.
The fire popped. A few floors below, someone's music floated faintly through an open window. The stars were still there, which, in Seattle, always felt worth noticing, even when everything else was a mess.
“I need to discuss something,” she said. “About Sunday. After everyone left."
"Cormac didn't leave," Noah said. "He was outside. He’s somewhere watching right now.”
"Stop deflecting."
He inhaled sharply and pushed it out through his nose before tilting his head in her direction. “What is it that you want to say?”
"I won’t be shoved to the sidelines because things get tough.
” She kept her voice even, which took effort.
"I understand what's at stake. I understand what your father is capable of, and I understand that when any of this gets too close, your instinct is to put distance between yourself and the people you care about." She held his gaze. "I don’t think it’s too much to ask you not to run away. Or to hide what you're feeling, even if you think you’re doing it for some noble reason. We both know I don’t need you to protect me from this.”
He picked up his chair and shifted it so they faced each other. "I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t mean to do that. I love you. I just—I'm still figuring out what it looks like to let someone in while all of this is happening at the same time."
"You don't have to figure it out alone."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
“I know it up here.” He tapped his temple.
“I struggle to realize it here.” He took her hand and pressed it against his heart.
“I’ll work on it.” He kissed her—slow and deliberate and warm.
It was the kind of kiss that told her he was completely present with her while the fire snapped at the sky, and the city moved forty floors below.
This kiss was the foundation of love. The basis for everything she’d waited five long years for, and there was no way she was ever letting go.
"Isn't this cozy," her mother said in her soft, sweet voice. But it also had that ring to it that told Ziggy the next half hour would be a discussion about her and Noah.
Ziggy pulled back, and Noah wiped her lower lip with his thumb. He gave her a gentle smile refusing to tear his gaze from hers. He could be so damn charming when he wanted.
But it was time to face her parents.
They stood at the rooftop door—her father holding a box of what looked like chocolate treats from Crystal Morning’s bakery.
Her mother wore an off-white blouse with dark slacks and the widest grin.
She’d always had a soft spot for Noah. Everyone in her family did, and they all believed she and Noah belonged together.
Even her father—and he was always right about matters of the heart.
“Cormac let us in,” her father said. “I didn’t know that young man was back in town. We know his parents.”
“Good people,” her mom said.
“I’m glad you could join us.” Noah stood, gave her mom a quick kiss on the cheek and shook her father’s hand—because Noah was always a gentleman. Taking the box from her father, he set it on the table. “Wine?”
“We’d love some,” her mom said with that cheeky, all-knowing smile. “Thank you.”
Ziggy watched them settle in—the blissful ease of two people who had been moving through the world together long enough that they didn't need to negotiate the small things anymore.
They just knew where the other one was going to land, and if they miscalculated, it was never awkward.
No, it was as if it had been planned from the beginning.
Ziggy had always admired her parents and what they’d built together.
It hadn’t always been easy. They’d been young and often struggled financially in the beginning.
But Ziggy and her siblings had never felt unloved, and they certainly had never gone without.
Darcie might have struggled the most, but that was because she flopped around, not knowing what she really wanted out of life.
But their parents had taught them they could do anything, be anything—as long as they had a good foundation and kept their family close. Not necessarily literally, but somehow, they’d all ended up neighbors.
Noah eased back into his chair and topped off Ziggy’s glass without being asked.
That was one of the things she loved about him. He paid attention. He didn’t do it in a performative way but in the quiet, functional way of someone who'd spent years watching how a room worked and did his best to cater to those around him.
“I babysat this morning for Stephanie and Steve.” Her mother lifted her wine glass toward Noah. “Stephanie asked specifically about you. She wanted to know if Noah—her future husband—was coming to the family gathering this weekend.”
Noah dropped his head back and laughed. Hard. “She’s a sweet little girl, that one.”
“She wanted me to tell you, since I mentioned I’d be seeing you tonight, that she would save you a seat right next to her.”
“She’s barely four.” Noah smiled and shook his head. “Jag and Callie are in trouble with that one.”
“Stephanie is quite the opinionated little girl, and she has some serious goals,” her father said, staring right at Ziggy. “She reminds me of someone else when they were little.” He waved his finger. “You were always so outspoken as a child, and when you wanted something, you went for it.”
“We all did,” Ziggy said. “We got that from our mother.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her mom looked at her wine. “And Steve is quite the little charmer, too, you know. He takes after his grandfather.”
“That little boy is a hoot,” her dad said.
“He decided it was his turn to take care of Cooper the other day. Just walked over and stuck his bottle in his mouth. The boy isn’t even two yet, and he's decided he's in charge of everyone younger than him, and a few older people, too.” Her father waved a hand over his head. “The little rascal had the nerve to tell me I was changing diapers all wrong. He went on to explain to me how you need to cover up little boys, so they don’t spray ya.”
“And then Cooper sprayed them both.” Her mother covered her mouth and giggled. “And Steve blamed it all on grandpa. It was hilarious.”
“Until Callie broke out all the cleaning and disinfectant things.” Her dad leaned back.
"To be fair," Ziggy said, "Callie wipes down the counters after our fingers touch them.”
"She and your brother deserve each other," her father said, with the kind of affection that accompanied a genuine compliment.
This was the kind of family conversation Ziggy lived for. When no one held anything back and just said what they were thinking when it popped into their brain. And there was no judgment.
Noah laughed again, and she realized she hadn’t heard it nearly enough during the last few years. Her dad looked at him, his expression the same as it was when he looked at everyone in his family—as if Noah belonged.
Her father wasn’t a demonstrative man. He didn't often share his feelings. But he always showed up, because that’s what good men did. And he'd been showing up for Noah for as long as she could remember.
She thought about that, sometimes. What it cost Noah to let her family in.
How it had to remind him of the father he’d loved.
The father who’d showed up for him day in and day out.
Then one day, everything flipped in an instant, and Noah’s world had changed in ways only a handful of people could understand.
“Want to hear something really funny?” Her mother didn’t wait for anyone to answer. “Priela told me that this morning that Skye told Troy she didn't like his singing right in the middle of a song.”
“Oh, good lord.” Ziggy rolled her eyes. “Troy can’t carry a tune.”
“You’re absolutely right about that,” her father agreed. “And Priela recorded it."
Ziggy sat up taller. “I need a copy of that recording for the next time my darling little brother decides to play a stupid joke on me. He’s not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.”
“She promised to send it to the family chat when Troy goes to the base later this week and can’t check his phone,” her mother said with more satisfaction than a mother probably should. Especially since her other children were going to use it to pick on Troy for as long as they could.
Somewhere in the middle of the laughter, Noah reached out and took her hand.
It wasn’t a big gesture. Just his fingers laced with hers, easy and warm.
Her mother saw it because she saw everything.
She said nothing, which, from her, was the loudest possible statement.
She did smile, though, and Ziggy had to admit that was nice.
All her warm, fuzzy feelings were rudely interrupted when her phone dinged.
She thought about not reaching for it but grabbed it anyway. There was too much going on to ignore anything.
She glanced at her screen. A text message from an unknown number. She opened it, and her heart lurched to the back of her throat.
Be careful. Your boyfriend isn't the person you think he is.
And below the words, an image.
A woman. Her face was…
The phone slipped from her fingertips.
“I’ll get that,” Noah said.
“No. It’s okay.” She bent over, but it was too late.
He glanced at the screen, then at her, then back at the screen.
She watched his face contort, and his eyes widen, as every muscle in his body went rigid.
“What the hell?” He turned the screen toward her. “Who sent this? Who is that?”