Chapter Seventeen #2
I tell him about growing up believing I wasn’t worth loving, about the walls I built to survive, about pushing people away before they could walk out on me.
There’s a pause while I weigh whether to mention Ryder.
In the end, I do, because this wonderful green male deserves to know I’m trying—learning to trust, to believe someone might actually stay.
“I tried to keep up with you, you know,” he adds, the faintest smile in his voice. “Saw your high school graduation photos online. Even a prom picture or two on Facebook.”
I laugh, watery and surprised. “You were checking up on me?”
“Guilty,” he admits, chuckling softly. “I hope I don’t sound too much like a stalker. I just… wanted to see how you were doing.”
The warmth in his tone undoes me all over again. He didn’t stop caring. He just didn’t know how to reach me.
“You have half-siblings,” he says eventually, and I can hear the smile breaking through the tears in his voice. “Emma’s seventeen and Jake’s fifteen.”
He laughs softly, the sound thick with pride and emotion. “They’ve known about you their whole lives. Your pictures have always had a place of honor in our home,” he says softly. “The kids grew up knowing your face, your name, and how much I love you.”
My throat tightens. “They… they know about me?”
“Of course they do,” he says gently. “And they’re going to be over the moon when I tell them we finally talked. Georgia—my wife—she’s known about you from the beginning, too. She’s been hoping for this call almost as fervently as I have.”
The conversation moves on as we talk about present-day logistics—the cabin, school, and my plans.
“And the tuition?” Dad asks. “You were cutting it so close.”
The fact that he knows about my financial struggles makes my throat tight. He’s been following my life more closely than I could imagine.
“I’ll be able to pay it in full,” I tell him, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “The pet-sitting money is exactly what I needed. It will cover the spring semester with enough left over to start the sanctuary fund.”
“Your grandmother would be so proud.”
“She knew,” I say softly. “She always knew I’d figure it out.”
There’s a comfortable pause, then Dad continues. “I want to help, Laney. With school, with the sanctuary you mention sometimes on Facebook, whatever you need. I have twenty years of missed birthdays and Christmases to make up for.”
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“I want to. Let me do this. Please.”
The offer sits in my chest, warm and unfamiliar. Someone wanting to help, not because I’m failing, but because they love me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you. I’m fine now, but I’ll let you know if I need your help.”
“Promise, Sunshine, because my offer is sincere.”
“Absolutely.”
The call winds down with promises to talk again tomorrow, to maybe even meet in person once the roads clear and we can coordinate. When I finally end the call, my hands are shaking so hard I nearly drop the phone.
Ryder catches it before it slips from my fingers. Then his arms are around me, pulling me against his broad chest, and I completely fall apart.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair, one massive hand cradling the back of my head while I sob into his thermal shirt. “Let it out, Sunshine. I’ve got you.”
And I do. I sob for the twenty years stolen, for the father who never stopped fighting, for the mother whose fear destroyed so much. I cry with rage and grief and joy all tangled together until I’m empty and wrung out and somehow lighter than I’ve been in years.
When I finally pull back enough to look up at him, his amber eyes are suspiciously bright.
“He fought for me,” I manage to say. “All this time, I thought he didn’t care, but he fought for me.”
“I know.” Ryder’s thumb wipes away my tears with heartbreaking gentleness.
“And he still calls me Sunshine.” My voice breaks on the word. “After twenty years, I’m still his Sunshine.”
“You are.” Ryder’s hand cups my face, his tusks pressing lightly against my cheeks as he leans his forehead against mine. “You’re his Sunshine. And mine. And you’re going to have your father back, Laney. You’re going to have a family again.”
“I already have a family,” I whisper, looking up at him. “I have you.”
The kiss is soft, salt-tinged from my tears, and full of promise. When we break apart, he pulls me back against his chest, and we stay like that for a long time—me wrapped in his arms, him solid and sure against the chaos of my emotions.
Later, we sit on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate neither of us is really drinking. My eyes are swollen, my voice hoarse, but there’s a strange peace settling over me.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For staying with me through that. For not making me do it alone.”
“Always.” He pulls me closer, and I curl into his side, my head on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”
“Scared. Hopeful. Angry at my mother. Grateful to have him back.” I take a shaky breath. “Overwhelmed by all of it.”
“That’s a lot for one phone call.” Ryder’s quiet for a moment. “He offered to meet you. Is that what you want?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “What if it’s awkward? What if twenty years is too much to overcome? What if—”
“Laney.” He turns my face toward his. “You just took the hardest step. You made the call. Everything else? You’ll figure it out as you go. And you won’t be doing it alone.”
“You’ll come with me? When I meet him?”
“If you want me there, wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
I kiss him softly, grateful beyond words. “Merry Christmas, Ryder.”
“Merry Christmas, Sunshine.” His smile is gentle, understanding. “Your dad’s Sunshine. My Sunshine. Ours to share.”
And somehow, hearing him say it like that—acknowledging where the name came from while claiming me as his too—makes the name finally feel like mine again.
Later that evening, after the emotions have settled and we’re curled together by the fire, Ryder’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.
“I’ve been thinking about something.”
I tilt my head to look up at him. “About what?”
“About ‘Sunshine.’” He shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful.
“I love calling you that. It fits you perfectly. But after today, hearing your father use it…” He pauses, searching for words.
“I don’t want to step on something that belongs to your relationship with him.
Would you want me to find a different name? ”
That he’d even think of it, consider my feelings so carefully warms me from the inside out.
“I love when you call me Sunshine,” I tell him honestly. “But I understand what you mean. It’s his name for me, from before. And now it’s yours too, but maybe…” I trail off, not sure how to finish.
“In my language—the Orc tongue from An’Wa—we have a word.” His voice drops, becomes softer, almost reverent. “Solarin. It means ‘she who brings light.’ Or, more literally, ‘my light.’”
“Solarin,” I repeat, testing the word. It feels different on my tongue—exotic, intimate, his.
“You’d be my Solarin.” His amber eyes hold mine. “Not your father’s Sunshine, not anyone else’s. Just mine.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends heat through me. “I like that. I like being yours.”
“Then Solarin it is.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Though I might slip and call you Sunshine sometimes. Old habits.”
“I don’t mind. Both can be true. I can be my father’s Sunshine and your Solarin.”
His smile is pure warmth. “My Solarin,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. “Yes. That’s exactly what you are.”
I shift to look up at him. “Will you teach me how to say things in Orcish?”
His smile is pure warmth and something darker, more promising. “I’d love to. Starting with the most important phrase: Tha’kar zahn, Solarin.”
“What does that mean?”
“I choose you, my light.” His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone. “And I will keep choosing you, every day, for as long as you’ll have me.”
Tears prick my eyes—the good kind. “Tha’kar zahn,” I repeat carefully, the unfamiliar syllables clumsy on my tongue.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, and kisses me soft and deep.
Outside, lightly falling snow continues to transform the world into something clean and new. Inside, wrapped in his arms with a new name that belongs only to us, I feel like I’m finally becoming who I was always meant to be.
His Solarin. My father’s Sunshine. And most importantly, my own person.