Chapter 40
Forty
Melissa
Two months.
Sixty-three days since they took Millie.
Sixty-three nights of pretending everything's fine when Olive asks where her aunt is.
“She got a new job, baby. Far away. But she'll be back soon.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie, if I take Hella’s word, but it still didn’t feel good to say it.
My phone buzzes against the counter. I wipe my hands on my apron before checking the screen.
Need you and Olive in Tāwaha tomorrow. Have something to show you.
My chest tightens. We haven't seen each other for almost a week. The longest stretch since—since everything fell apart.
What kind of something?
The good kind. Trust me.
What time?
Noon. I'll text you the address.
Okay.
I set the phone down, staring at it for a moment. The dough blurs in front of me. I blink hard. Force the tears back down where they belong.
The kitchen door creaks open—too loud in the quiet. Karian’s head appears, her dark curls catching the overhead light. “Hey, boss. You good?”
My fingers flex around the rolling pin. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
I exhale through my nose. “Hella texted. Wants us in Tāwaha tomorrow. Says he’s got something to show me.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Good something or bad something?”
I grumble under my breath about never really knowing when it comes to him.
She studies me, arms crossed over her apron. “You believe him?”
The weight of the rolling pin grounds me. Hella’s voice echoes in my head—Trust me. He hasn’t given me a reason not to. Not lately. “Yeah. I believe him.”
Karian nods, shifting her weight against the doorframe. “You know I’ve got this place, right? If you need to be in Tāwaha.”
I pause. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” Her grin flashes, quick and warm. “Billy’s finally nailing the morning pastries. Kid’s got hands and skill.”
I snort. “He torched three batches of croissants last week.”
“Details.” Karian waves a hand. “He's learning. And honestly? Having him here means you don't have to be. Which means you can focus on—” She stops. “On what you need to focus on.”
On Olive. On Hella. On pretending my sister isn't being trained to be-whatever it is.
“Thanks.” Guilt hits me. “I mean it. You’ve been so great lately. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
“Anytime, boss.” She pushes off the doorframe. “Now finish that dough in time for the lunch rush.”
She disappears back into the front. I hear her greeting another customer. That bright, cheerful voice she uses.
I look down at the dough. It's overworked now. Too warm from my hands. Won't rise properly.
Doesn't matter. I'll start over.
That's what I'm good at now. Starting over.
Olive bounces in her car seat the entire drive to Tāwaha, questions coming in rapid fire. I learned quickly that this was Olive excited.
“Are we seeing Daddy?”
I change the song. “Yeah, baby. We're seeing Daddy.”
“And Garret?” Her foot connects to the back of my chair. “And Nan-nan?”
“Probably.” Fucking MGK? Who put this shit on my playlist.
“And Aunty Millie?”
My finger pauses over the button on my steering wheel. “No, baby. Remember? Aunt Millie's working.”
“But it's been forever.” She drags out the word like only a five-year-old can. “When's she coming back?”
Skip, skip, skippidy skip. “I don't know.”
“But you said soon,” she whines, kicking the back of my chair again.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“So when's soon?”
“Olive.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “I said I don't know. Okay?”
She goes quiet, and I glance in the rear-view mirror in time to catch her lip quiver.
Crap..
“Hey.” I soften my tone, feeling like shit. “I'm sorry, baby. Mummy's tired.”
Her eyes drift out the window. “You're always tired now.”
“I know.” I wince, sinking into my seat.
“Is it because of Aunt Millie?”
My throat closes. “No. It's because I work a lot.”
“Daddy says you work too much.”
“Daddy talks too much.”
That makes her giggle, and the sound remixes with an old Bone-Thugs song.
This time I don’t skip.
At this moment, everything feels less heavy.
My phone buzzes holder, a text flashing across the screen.
Take the Northshore exit toward Devonport.
Auckland city spreads out before us. Tāwaha is a twenty-minute drive out from the city, but close enough to live here or there and it not be a big deal.
Hella's bike appears in my rearview mirror. He must have been waiting at the exit. Following us in.
Something in my chest loosens. Seeing him. Knowing he's there.
I follow his directions, skipping the Harbour Bridge and driving toward the Northshore.
Slowly the streets blend and spread out through the suburbs you drive through to get to Devonport, before finally widening out onto Victorian-style boutiques and homes and village cafés and sidewalks. Trees are planted at regular intervals. Shops with clean windows and fresh paint.
Hella pulls ahead. Parks his bike outside a large building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
I pull in beside him and cut the engine.
The shop is gorgeous. Black walls. A chandelier is visible through the front window. Elegant script on the glass that I can't quite read from this angle.
“Where are we?” Olive unbuckles herself before I can stop her.
“I don't know, baby. Let's find out.”
Hella's off his bike. Pulling his helmet free. His hair's longer than it was two months ago. Dark, messy, and perfect, but not long enough to push him into a barber.
He grins when he sees us. That real smile he only gives us. Not the club. Not anyone else.
“Hey, princess.” He scoops Olive into his arms, and she squeals. I’m way out of my depth here. These two far outnumber me.
“Daddy! You didn't tell me we were having an adventure!”
“That's because it's a surprise.” He looks at me over her head. “For both of you.”
My stomach flips. “What kind of surprise?”
“The kind you're going to love.” He sets Olive down, reaching into his cut and pulling out a set of keys. “Come on.”
He walks to the front door. Unlocks it. Pushes it open and gestures inside. What is he doing?
I step through onto hardwood floors. The space is wide and empty but clean.
It's beautiful. Stunning. Exactly the kind of place I'd — Oh.
“What is this?” My voice sounds distant. Like it's coming from someone else.
Hella leans against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Watching me with those eyes that see too much. “Your new shop.”
I shuffle on my feet. “My what?”
“Your new franchise location.” He pushes off the frame. “For Cyanide & Sugar Auckland.”
Olive gasps. “Mummy, you're opening a shop here?”
I can't speak. Can't process.
Hella moves to stand in front of me. Close enough that I can smell leather and engine oil and him.
“You said Karian was a powerhouse manager.” His voice is low, clearly for me alone. “You said she could handle Westbeach on her own.”
“I did.” I cross my arms.
“So let her.” He reaches out. Tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Branch out here. Build something new.”
“Hella—”
“This area is protected by the club.” He continues, cutting me off. “Every business on this street knows us. Respects us. You'll be safe here. Olive will be safe here.”
“I don't know if I can—”
“You can.” He cups my face. Forces me to look at him.
“Melissa, this is Devonport. It’s fucking safe.
Got good schools for Olive too just up the road.
I'm fucking sick of being away from you both.
Sick of phone calls and texts and only seeing you on weekends.
We're a family, Melissa. And I want us in the same city. Same house. Same life.”
My eyes burn. “This is—it's a lot.”
“It's what I want.” His voice drops. “What we want. Right, princess?”
“Right!” Olive bounces on her toes. “Say yes, Mummy! Please say yes!”
I look around the space again, trying to imagine it filled with display cases and tables and the smell of fresh pastries. Trying to imagine mornings here instead of Westbeach. Olive going to a school nearby. Coming home to Hella every night at the cabin instead of just some nights.
“I already bought it.” Hella adds, shrugging.
“That's—you can't—”
“I can.” He grins. “And I did.”
“Hella—”
“Please.” The word stops me cold. Hella doesn't say please. Doesn't beg. Doesn't ask for things he can demand.
But he's asking now. Pleading with his eyes even as his jaw stays tight.
“I fucking love our family.” His voice cracks on the words. “Love you. Love Olive. Love this life we're building even when it's hard. Even when it hurts. And I'm done being apart from it. From you. So please. Please say yes.”
The tears I've been holding back break free before I can stop them.
Olive makes a worried sound. Hella's thumb brushes the wetness away.
“They're happy tears, baby.” I force the words past the knot in my throat. “Mummy's—”
“Overwhelmed?” Hella supplies.
“Yeah. That.”
He kisses my forehead. Gentle. Careful. Like I'm something precious instead of something broken.
“So is that a yes?”
I look around the space one more time. At the chandelier. The windows. The empty floors waiting to be filled.
At Olive's hopeful face.
At Hella's eyes that see all my cracks and love me anyway.
“Yes.” The word comes out barely above a whisper. “Yes, it's a yes.”
Olive shrieks. Launches herself at both of us. We catch her together. A tangle of arms and laughter and something that feels dangerously close to happiness.
For a moment—a moment—the weight lifts.
Then Millie's face flashes through my mind. Her smile. Her laugh. Her hand in mine that last night before — The weight crashes back down. Heavier than before.
Because I'm moving on. Building something new. But creating a life without her in it feels like betrayal. Like acceptance. Like admitting she's not coming back.
Hella notices my panic, his arms tightening around me. “Hey. You okay?”
I nod. Even though I'm not. Even though I'll never be okay again until I hear from her.
I smile, waving him off. “Tired.”
“We can look at the space another day. If you want to head back—”
“No.” I pull myself together and force a smile, because my kid is way too perceptive. “No, I want to see everything. Show me.”
He searches my face, searching for a lie. There isn’t one. I want to see it and I want this life.
Finally, he takes both mine and Olive’s hands. “I’ll show you the kitchen.”
I follow him deeper into the space and listen as he explains the history of the place and how we can use some of the old paintings to decorate the walls.
Olive asks a million questions and Hella answers every single one with patience, like always.
And I stand there. Half present. Half somewhere else.
Half building a future. Half mourning a past that won't let me go. Hella senses it, because he’s back in front of me in an instant, tucking me under his arm. “Come on, princess. Lets get mummy home.”