Chapter 45
Forty-five
Alaric
Sera and Josie wait near the edge of the parking lot, shoulders pressed close, both of them pale under the streetlamp as I approach. They look like they’re holding themselves together with threads that keep slipping through their fingers. Seeing them so shaken squeezes something in my chest.
“Let’s go,” I say quietly. “We’re done here.”
Josie steps into me first. She doesn’t cry out loud.
She never has. But she tucks her forehead against my shoulder, the way she used to when we were kids, and Evie aimed her expectations like a weapon.
I wrap an arm around her and pull her in.
She clings for a moment, then takes a breath, trying to steady herself.
Sera doesn’t move at all. She stands a few feet away, staring at nothing, hands in fists at her sides.
When she finally looks over at me, her eyes are wide and glassy.
“I can’t believe she said all that,” she whispers.
“I was prepared for her to one day disown me, as she’s done to so many others.
I wasn’t prepared for her to admit to the fire and all the sabotage of the vines. ”
I nod. I want to tell her it’s over. I want to promise that everything is going to calm down now. But I can’t. I don’t know what’s going to happen. “Come on,” I say instead. “You don’t have to think about any of that right now.”
I guide them to the car. Josie slides into the backseat without letting go of my sleeve until the last second. Sera lowers herself into the passenger seat, as if her bones hurt. She keeps both hands flat on her thighs and stares out the window.
When I pull out of the lot, I check the rearview mirror and see Liz standing next to Trinity Paradise.
Her hair blows across her cheek in the wind, and she tucks it behind her ear.
She is forever part of this day, and I think that’s a good thing.
I can’t shield anyone from any of this, so it’s good that she knows. We can only get through it together.
I drive across the vineyard to the family houses on the south side. In the backseat, Josie sniffles once and then goes still again.
Halfway home, Sera finally speaks.
“You didn’t stop her,” she says. “Not like you usually do.”
It isn’t a question. It’s a realization.
“No,” I answer. “I didn’t.”
Sera nods and presses her forehead against the window. She doesn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.
When we reach the house, Josie moves first. She climbs out of the car and drags in a long breath, trying to hide how much her hands shake. Sera lingers by the passenger door, as if she isn’t sure what to do next.
I unlock the front door and get them inside.
The house smells like old coffee and the citrus candle Josie burns in the kitchen.
Sera sinks onto the couch and folds her knees to her chest. Josie drops into the armchair and tucks her legs under her.
In the dim light they look younger, as if years have stripped off them in one brutal day.
“Do you need anything?” I ask.
They both shake their heads.
I sit between them on the edge of the coffee table. “You did nothing wrong,” I tell them. “None of this is on you. Nothing she admitted is on you.”
Josie’s eyes well up again. Sera exhales in a broken rush.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’re going to be okay.”
Sera’s voice comes out thin. “Are you?”
I nod. “Absolutely. I will be.”
Josie wipes her face with her sleeve. “You should go,” she whispers. “You look like you need air.”
I smile. She isn’t pushing me away. She’s giving me permission.
Sera lifts her gaze to mine. “We’ll be all right. Tomorrow is another day, and we’ll keep going and doing our jobs and everything else we can to keep this business afloat.”
I study them. Their exhaustion is real, but so is their resolve. They’re not collapsing. They’re regrouping. And they’re telling me, in their own way, that I don’t need to hover until dawn.
“Call me if anything changes,” I say.
They nod together.
I grab my jacket from the hook by the door. As I pull it on, I catch a final glimpse of them settling side by side on the couch, blanket pulled over their legs, heads tipping toward each other.
My mind is impossible to focus on the drive home, and the house is quiet when I arrive.
I keep thinking about the moment I turned onto Liz’s street last week and saw her with what I thought was a date at her door.
I know now it was her brother, but it still stays with me, a reminder of how long I’ve waited to say what I need to say.
And how easily someone else could step into the space I’ve left open.
Today wasn’t the time to talk, but I know now that I don’t want any more distance between us, particularly not the kind I create because I’m afraid of bringing her fully into my life.
I sit for a moment in the stillness of my living room, hands clasped loosely, breath steadying, and the decision comes without effort.
I need to see her.
Not tomorrow. Now.
I lock the door behind me and step outside.
The drive isn’t far, and for once the traffic is on my side. On the way, I try to sort out what I want to say.
A hit of caffeine is in order, so I drive through Steaming Mugs, and soon, a green tea latte and a London Fog sit in the cup holder beside me.
I can smell the bergamot and vanilla even before I pick it up.
I bought it without thinking, but the moment I held it in my hand, the intention was clear.
It isn’t a grand gesture. It’s a simple one. And that seems the best place to start.
When I step out of the car, my nerves spike.
This is it. She might open the door, listen to everything I say, and still decide she doesn’t want me in her life.
That thought sits heavy in my gut as I walk up her steps, regret and hope tangled together.
But at least I’ll know. This seems to be a day forged in fire, so I might as well get it all out there at once.
Still, as I reach the bottom step, I think about turning around. I could tell myself this isn’t the right time or that she doesn’t need more weight tonight. But those excuses don’t hold. She showed nothing but strength today, nothing but a willingness to be present for me.
So I knock.
I’m braced for her not to answer, but then the light inside shifts and the deadbolt clicks. The door opens, and there she is. Hair pulled back, a soft sweater hanging off her shoulder. Her eyes widen enough to tell me she didn’t expect me.
“Ric.”
I lift the cup. “I brought you something.”
She looks at it, then at me, and I can feel the question in her silence. It isn’t professional courtesy or politeness.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
She hesitates a second, perhaps checking in with herself first. Good. She should.
“Yeah,” she says. “Come in.”
I step in, and warmth closes around me. She moves back, giving me space to take off my coat. The room smells like her. Clean and soft. Something calming I’ve been craving.
I hand her the tea. “I wasn’t sure what else to bring.”
Her fingers brush mine as she takes the cup. The touch is small, but it sends a zing through my body.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. She wraps her hands around it, breathing in the steam.
We take our seats in her living room, her on the loveseat and me on the couch.
“I should have done a lot of things differently,” I say.
She lifts her eyes to mine.
“Back then. In Hawaii. And here too.” My voice stays low. “I know I didn’t give you what you needed. I didn’t give you clarity or honesty when you deserved it. You weren’t imagining the distance. I put it there.”
She holds the cup tighter, but not like a shield, more like an anchor.
“I’m not here to make excuses,” I continue.
“You saw what Evelyn was like today. You saw what it’s been like my whole life.
I grew up thinking loyalty meant silence, that protecting her meant disappearing parts of myself.
And she manipulated things so I would return.
” I shake my head. “You were the first thing I wanted that I knew I couldn’t let her touch.
There was no wiggle room. I didn’t know how to hold on to you without tearing everything else apart. ”
She nods. “I just needed you to give me a chance, to let me in. We could have figured out what was right together.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I’m not here to rush anything. But when everything fell apart today, you were the one person who didn’t add to the noise. You stayed steady when I couldn’t, and that mattered.”
Liz studies me for a long moment, her eyes bright. I recognize the tension in her jaw as it tightens, then eases again, her tell when she’s weighing doubt against her own instincts and choosing to trust them.
“I didn’t stay because of the vineyard,” she says. “Or even your family. I stayed because you looked like you were carrying the weight of every person in that tent. I wasn’t going to add to it. No one should have to do that alone.”
“I’m trying to be different,” I tell her.
“Not just for my sisters and not out of guilt. But for myself. I’ve realized the only way to get the life I want is to take it, to make the choices I want to make.
I can help my sisters, but I don’t have to put their needs before my own.
That’s never been what they’re asking for.
So if you’ll let me, I’d like to try to repair things for us too. But I’m not here to push you.”
A small, warm exhale leaves her chest. She moves over next to me on the couch, still holding the tea.
“I’m listening, Ric,” she says. “I’m not promising anything yet. But I’m listening now. I hear you, and I think I understand you in a way I didn’t before.”
I nod once. “That’s enough,” I tell her. “More than enough.”
She looks down at the tea in her hand, then back at me with a faint, almost shy warmth I haven’t seen from her in a long time.
“You remembered how I like it,” she says.
“I remember more than that,” I answer.
She smiles.
The space between us feels open. Not painful. Not uncertain. Just open, a place we might step into when we’re ready.
“I didn’t expect you to come tonight,” she says. “I thought you’d be with your grandmother at the police station.”
“I didn’t expect to either,” I admit. “Her lawyer is with her, and she’ll call someone to pick her up when it’s time. I don’t think it will be me. But anyway, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And not in the way that made everything complicated before. In a way that made everything clearer.”
She chews the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Today was a lot.”
“It was,” I agree. “She put things out there that can’t be unsaid. She’ll have to work with her attorney to figure it out.”
Her breath leaves her chest slowly. “And you didn’t stop her.”
“I’m not sure I could have, but I realized it only prolongs the nightmare when I do. I should have stood up to her years ago or at least stopped trying to save her from herself.”
“You weren’t ready,” she says. “You learned how to survive her, not how to confront her.”
I scoot closer to her. Not too close, just enough to stop pretending there’s nothing between us. “I can’t promise this won’t be messy,” I tell her. “I’m still figuring out who I am, how I want to be. But if we try this again, I’ll show up the way you need.”
Liz studies me for a quiet moment. “I’m not asking for perfect.
I don’t even know what trying again would look like right now.
But I want honesty. And consistency. I want to know I won’t be the first thing dropped the moment Evie demands your attention.
And that you won’t decide for me what I can and can’t handle. ”
“I won’t.”
Her breath catches, barely noticeable, but I see it. “I meant what I said,” she says finally. “I’m listening. That’s all I can offer tonight.”
“And that’s perfect,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
Her hand rests near her knee. I look at it for a moment, then let my fingers drift forward until they touch hers. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curl around mine, the way you reach for something you want but promised yourself you’d be careful with.
We sit together in the soft glow of her living room, hands lightly joined, the tea cooling on the table. There’s no rush. No urgency. Just two people finding the space between what was broken and what might come next.