Chapter 41
Forty-One
Melissa
Olive's laughter sings through my ears. Surrounded by the pier, seagulls, and normal people out walking their dogs.
I watch them from my new bakery across the street as he continues pushing her swing.
Everyone pulled their weight in getting this place off the ground and ready for opening night.
I never thought I’d see the day Frost would be holding a paintbrush, or Ripper and Toke would argue about measurements, or even Beast build a damn counter.
Two weeks. It only took two weeks to transform this place into what I’d imagined when I first walked in.
Hella pushes her higher as she demands more. Faster. Harder. Just like her mother already, never satisfied with safe.
Serial killers line the walls. Not photos. Art prints. Stylized versions of Aileen Wuornos mid-confession. Dorothea Puente in her garden. Genene Jones in scrubs. Karla Homolka's wedding photo turned grotesque.
Westbeach location proved how much people love a little weird, even with their baking. Love the thrill of ordering a “Bloody Mary” brownie or an “Aileen's Last Meal” cinnamon roll.
The bell above the door chimes, and I turn, stuffing boxes under the counter.
Riley walks in carrying boxes of ingredients, blowing her long dark hair out of her face. She’s all ripped jeans and band T-shirts. Seventeen and already more confident than I was at twenty-four.
“Hey.” She places them on the counter. “Got the most of everything you wanted, but the store manager said he can have the rest here by tomorrow.” Riley’s Toke’s granddaughter.
She shows up whenever she wants, apparently.
I first met her last week, and after she broke Travis’ nose for touching her ass, I knew we would get along.
Pretty much offered her a job on the spot. It’s a win-win, since it’ll keep her around for Toke too. Old man will have a heart attack with all the stress she puts on him. Not intentionally, just by being a teenager in general.
“Did you finish the inventory?” I ask, shifting through the items and checking off the list.
“Yeah.” She pulls out her phone, showing me the spreadsheet. “We're short on chocolate chips. And vanilla extract. Everything else is stocked.”
“Good.” I scan the numbers. “Put in an order for double what we need. I want backup.”
“You expecting a rush?” she teases, resting her hip on the side table.
I pause, nerves chewing at my insides. “I don’t know.”
She grins. “That's what I like about you. You're paranoid.”
I glare at her. “I prefer prepared.”
“Same thing.” She waves me off. “Anyway, don’t worry.” Her hand reaches into her pocket as she pulls out her phone and flashes it at me. “I put it on TikTok and now everyone can’t wait to come check it out!”
“What?” I tilt my head to study the video. She’d made an edit of images from the Westbeach photos on my Instagram with a catchy beat and the time and place of opening.
“One-hundred and fifty thousand people liked it.” My tone flat because what. “Holy shit.”
Riley smiles at me wide and proud. “Yup! So yes, you should triple order everything!”
I shake off the buzz. “I’m giving you a raise.”
“No need!” she widens her eyes at me. “Also, what do you think about these menu boards?” Riley’s an artist by talent, and attitude.
“These look good.” I zoom in on the lettering. “But make the font bolder. I want people to see it from across the street.”
“You got it.” She saves the notes. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you!” I smile, and Riley dips behind the counter, mumbling something about an order.
The bell chimes again, and Hella walks in with Olive on his shoulders. Her small hands gripping his hair. Both their faces flushed from the sun.
“mummy!” She spots me. “Daddy pushed me so high I could see the mountains!”
“Did he?” I move toward them. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It was awesome.” Olive grins. “Can we do it again tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say, since she’ll be spending so much time here.
Hella lifts her off his shoulders and sets her down gently. She immediately runs to Riley.
I watch them together. Riley patient and genuine. Olive animated and curious. Two people from completely different worlds finding common ground.
Hella moves beside me. Close enough that I feel his heat. Smell leather and smoke and something distinctly him.
“Shop looks good.” His voice rumbles low. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“No.” An honest answer. “But I'm opening anyway.”
“That's my girl.” He pulls me under his arm, and I melt.
His girl. The words still make my stomach flip. Still makes me want to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.
He gives Riley a look before she directs Olive to the kitchen.
Hella turns me to face him. “I need to show you something, but it's gonna take a drive.”
“Now? I have—”
“It'll keep.” His hand finds the small of my back, steering me toward the door. “Please, it's important and I'm not entirely sure you're not gonna hit me or somethin' so we should do this away from Olive.”
Jesus Christ, what now? I follow him to his bike parked out the front of the bakery and side-eye him when he hands me a helmet.
“Am I going to rob Olive of her father?” It's a joke, but when Hella doesn't laugh or crack a smile, my nerves twitch. “Jesus, what? Is it Millie? Is she—”
His face changes. “Shit, no, baby. Hell no. It's not about her.”
I breathe out a sigh. “Okay.” and then climb on behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. The engine roars to life between my thighs, vibration shooting straight through me. He kicks off, and we tear into traffic, weaving between cars.
We fly through the suburbs until he takes a sharp turn through wired gates with the words Saint's Cemetery.
My stomach plummets as I replay his promise about Millie being alive. My fingers bite into his cut as he leads us down a small section that breaks off from the main.
Stopping beneath a Pohutukawa tree, my breathing levels as he cuts the engine.
I carefully pluck the helmet from my head as he helps me off the bike. “Why are we here?”
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a photo. “Sorry it took me so long to tell you this. At first, I wanted to make sure I had the facts. Maybe he was still alive and I could give you something back that the world robbed you off as a child, but—”
I recognise the photo instantly. “My father.”
“Yeah.” Hella clears his throat. “I knew him, Melissa. I know that sounds fucked up, but I knew him.”
“What?” I can't take my eyes off the photo. “Impossible. How?”
I remember that day like it were yesterday. We were at an All Blacks game, and Millie was stroppy, complaining about the heat and refusing to get in the photo, so Mum snapped it of the two of us. It was a version of him I rarely saw, but one I hold close.
“When I was a teenager, my father shot my mother dead before blowing his own brains out.” My heart drops, but he continues.
“I left for the streets. Knew I'd have shit luck int he system since I was too old and I'd rather not be controlled. Almost died one night. Bunch of assholes beat me, and it was your dad who saved me. Took me in.”
I shake my head. “Wait, no, he died in a car accident.”
Hella holds my attention in a way I know means he's going to deliver some hard truths. “He didn't, baby. He never spoke often of his life before, but he mentioned you all once. Said something about being better off without him and at least your ma had the insurance money, Melissa, listen—”
His arm snakes around my waist as he kisses my forehead.
“The night I was taken by Vanguard, they hurt him bad.
At the time, I thought he was dead, but the world we live in, people come back more often than not so after I'd figured out who you were, I tried to find him. Looked fucking everywhere I could.”
“And did you?” I ask, a whisper that can be felt right down to my toes. “Find him?”
He brushes my cheek gently. “I did, baby, and I'm sorry.”
Hope crushes my lungs as I rest against his chest. “Thank you for trying but fuck you for keeping this from me.”
It would have been nice to have him around right now. Especially with Millie, but that means I'd have another person to lie to, just like I am to my mum.
I sniff. “What are we doing here?”
He pulls back a little. “Well, this might sound fucking stupid, but since I can't physically bring him to you, I did something. I thought about Olive, and how she should know the people who would have loved her.” He takes my hand and leads me through gravestones and flowers.
The headstone sits under a twisted oak, its roots clawing through the earth like desperate fingers.
Joshua “Tippy” Hart
Loved by all who knew him, cherished and lived on through his girls Melissa, Millie, and Olive.
My knees hit the dirt before I realize I’m falling. The letters blur through the wetness in my eyes, each one a knife twist. My chest caves in, ribs too tight around lungs that won’t expand.
I dig my fingers into the dirt like I could anchor myself to the ground, to this moment, to the ghost of a man who should’ve been here, and to my sister who I've lost more than once in a lifetime.
“Hey!” Hella scoops me up, kissing my head. “I know.”
I don't know how long we sit there, but it's dark and the tears have dried. “Thank you.”
Hella tightens his grip around me. “Always.”
I sniff, pushing up from his chest and staring down at him. “We should probably go.”
He leans up and kisses me on the cheek. “Yeah, you're right. Olive has probably talked Riley's ears right off.”
I stifle a laugh. “I think they're best friends.”
As Hella leads me away from a grave I know my father isn't physically beneath, a weight finally lifts from my shoulders that I didn't realize I was carrying.
Closure.
I swing my leg over the bike, helmet in hand. Just as Hella’s about to turn the bike over, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket, and I quickly answer it, thinking it’s Riley.
“Everything okay?” I say, and Hella turns a little, waiting for me to hang up.
“Lissa?”
Time stops, including my heart. “Millie!”
Hella flies off the bike, standing directly in front of me.
“Are you okay?” My throat constricts.
She sighs, but the line is uneven. “Yes, I’m fine. Listen, I can’t talk right now but I wanted you to know that I’m okay.”
“Millie…” words fail me. It’s like I’ve spent too much time obsessing over what to say that now that I need to say it, it doesn’t come.
“It’s okay, Melissa. I see you opened in Devonport?” Her tone is casual, too casual. Ever the queen of deflection.
Annoyance bubbles beneath the surface. “I’ve been worried, Millie. I thought—I—”
“I’m fine. It’s too complicated but when I can, I’ll come see you and Olive, okay?”
I don’t answer.
“Melissa.”
There was a time I thought she was dead. I’d take this over feeling that pain again, so I exhale, looking up at Hella. “Fine. You’re an asshole.”
She chuckles. “I know. Tell Hella to get back on the damn bike. He needs to chill a little.”
Laughter ripples off my chest, and then dies. “Wait, how’d?”
The line goes dead.
I stare down at my phone, flicking through the recent call history.
“What’d she say?” Hella asks, but I’m too focused. Unknown caller. Of course.
My hands land on my lap and, for the first time since we were both taken, I feel that final bit of darkness release itself from me. “That she’s fine.” He doesn’t need to know the last thing she said. It would only make him try to find her, and clearly, she doesn’t need to be found. “Take me home.”
He swings back onto the bike and peels us away from the curve.
I breathe in every corner, stare at every glow of lights illuminating from the city.
I have known loss, pain, and trauma, but I’d go through it all again if it took me to the exact place I am in this moment.
On the back of Hella’s bike, heading toward our daughter, and—my smile spreads over his cut as he drives us through familiar streets, completely oblivious.
Carrying his baby.