Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Laney
I’ve spent twenty years imagining this moment.
Still, none of my imagined scenarios prepared me for the real thing.
“You’re sure about this?” Ryder asks as we pull up to the modest house in a quiet Sacramento neighborhood. His hand finds mine across the console, steady and warm. “We could reschedule. Give you more time to—”
“I’m sure.” The words come out stronger than I feel. “I’ve waited twenty years. I’m not waiting one second more.”
The house is exactly what I pictured from Dad’s descriptions on the phone—single story, pale yellow siding, a small garden out front that someone clearly tends with care.
There’s a basketball hoop over the garage, a welcome mat that says “Home Sweet Home,” and wind chimes that catch the afternoon breeze.
This is where he’s built his life. The life that went on without me.
The front door opens before we reach the landing, and my heart stops.
He’s older—of course he is. Graying hair where I remember dark brown, weathered lines around eyes that are still the same brown as mine.
But when his face breaks into a wide smile, I see it.
The dad who called me Sunshine. The dad who taught me to be gentle with scared animals. The dad I thought abandoned me.
“Laney,” he says, and his voice cracks on my name.
My feet carry me up the steps without conscious thought. Twenty years of imagined reunions, and all I can manage is: “Hi, Dad.”
Then his arms are around me, and I’m eight years old again, crying over a scraped knee while he holds me and promises everything will be okay. Except I’m twenty-eight and we’ve lost two decades, and nothing will ever be fully okay again, but somehow his hug still feels like safety.
He smells different—a different aftershave from the Old Spice I remember, laundry detergent that’s not the brand Mom used—but underneath it, something familiar. Something that makes my throat close with emotion.
“My Sunshine,” he whispers into my hair. “You’re really here.”
I can’t speak. Can only hold on and try not to fall apart completely on his front porch.
A throat clears politely, and we pull apart to find a teenage girl in the doorway, watching us with undisguised curiosity and something that might be excitement.
“Are you the famous Laney?” she asks bluntly. “Dad’s been freaking out all morning. He changed his shirt like four times.”
“Nadira, manners!” A woman’s voice from inside, warm with exasperation.
But Nadira—my half-sister, I realize with a jolt—just grins. “What? It’s true. I’m Nadira, by the way. The cool sister. Jake’s inside trying to act like he doesn’t care about meeting you, but he’s been staring out the window for an hour.”
Despite everything, I laugh. The sound comes out watery, but it’s genuine. “Nice to meet you, Nadira.”
“Is that the orc?” She peers past me to where Ryder’s approaching, having hung back to give us space. “Wow, you’re even bigger than I imagined. I mean, in a good way. A very impressive way.”
“Nadira!” The woman appears now—petite, dark-haired, with kind eyes and an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. She has no filter.”
“I have a filter,” Nadira protests. “I just choose not to use it.”
“I’m Georgia,” the woman says, extending her hand to me. “Your father’s wife. And I’m so, so happy to finally meet you.”
There’s no resentment in her expression, no territoriality. Just genuine warmth. This woman, who married my father, who birthed and raised his other children, who could reasonably see me as a complication—she looks at me like I’m a gift.
“Come inside,” Dad says, his hand on my shoulder like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. “Please. Everyone’s here. Georgia’s been cooking for two days.”
The moment I step inside, I’m hit by a wave of warmth and scent—buttery rolls, cinnamon, roasted something that makes my stomach growl. The house smells like comfort itself, like a holiday you didn’t know you missed until it wrapped around you and refused to let go.
The interior of the house looks lived in and loved.
Family photos cover every surface—Nadira at various ages, a gangly teenage boy who must be Jake, several of Dad and Georgia on their wedding day.
And there, on the mantle, in a place of honor: a photo of Dad with a tiny blonde girl on his shoulders.
Me. Age seven, maybe. Gap-toothed and grinning, absolutely certain that my daddy could do anything.
“That was the last photo I had,” Dad says quietly, following my gaze.
“Before everything fell apart. I had it enlarged and have kept it in every apartment, every house, every place I’ve lived for twenty years.
” His voice drops to a whisper. “So I wouldn’t forget what you looked like.
So you’d know, if you ever came back, that I never stopped being your dad. ”
The careful control I’ve been maintaining shatters as hot tears spill down my cheeks. I don’t even try to stem them. For some reason, they feel good, like a new beginning.
Behind us, Ryder’s solid presence. Not intervening, but there. Ready to catch me if I fall.
Georgia quietly shepherds Nadira away, giving us space. I hear her whisper, “Give them a minute,” and Nadira’s softer, “But I want to meet her properly.”
“You will. Let them have this first.”
Dad and I stand in his living room, crying and holding each other, trying to bridge twenty years with an embrace that can’t possibly be long enough.
When we finally pull apart, he cups my face in his hands—hands I remember as bigger, but they’re still gentle, still his—and gazes at me like a man who’s been holding his breath for years.
“You grew up so beautiful,” he says. “Not just beautiful—strong. I can see it in you. The strength it took to call me, to come here. Your grandmother would be so proud.”
“She would’ve liked hearing that,” I whisper. “She always said I got my stubborn streak from you.”
He laughs softly, the sound rough with emotion. “Then she was right about that, too.” He exhales, voice breaking. “I missed so much of your life, Laney. But I never stopped hoping for this—for you.”
Fresh tears well up. “I always wanted you, Dad. I just thought you didn’t want me.”
“Never,” he says fiercely. “Not for one second, Sunshine. Not ever.”
A crash from the kitchen makes us both turn. Jake—and it’s definitely Jake, with Dad’s build and that same crooked grin—appears in the doorway, trying to look casual while holding a basketball he clearly just dropped.
“Sorry,” he mutters, ears going red. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Dad says, waving him over. “Laney, this is your brother, Jake. Jake, this is your sister Laney.”
Jake shifts his weight, suddenly awkward in that particularly teenage-boy way. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I manage, and then, because I don’t know what else to do, I hold out my arms.
He looks at Dad, who nods, and then I have an armful of fifteen-year-old boy who’s trying very hard not to cry and failing.
“I always wanted a nice sister,” he mumbles into my shoulder.
Nadira must have heard him, because she gives his shoulder a punch that I’m not sure is playful. It’s only when they both laugh that I realize no blood will be spilled today.
“I always wanted siblings,” I tell them both. How am I not dehydrated yet?
When Nadira can’t contain herself anymore and joins the hug, pulling Ryder in too (“You’re family now, you have to hug”), I start laughing through the tears. This is ridiculous and wonderful and nothing like I imagined.
This is real.
“Okay,” Georgia says, her voice warm with amusement. “Before you all flood my living room with tears, why don’t we eat? I made pot roast, and if it gets cold, I’ll never forgive you.”
Dinner is chaotic in the best way. Nadira asks a thousand questions about pre-vet school, animals, the cabin, and what it was like growing up.
Jake wants to know everything about Ryder—the fires, the Zone, what it’s like being an orc firefighter.
Georgia keeps passing dishes and making sure everyone has more than enough, while Dad just watches me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
Ryder handles it all with patient grace, answering Jake’s questions about the fire department, bantering with Nadira about whether firefighters or veterinarians see weirder situations. When Georgia asks how we met, his description of me “saving him from a snake” makes everyone laugh.
“I did not save you,” I protest.
“You absolutely saved me. I was terrified.”
“You’re the one who saved me. How could I have managed all those animals and a record-breaking snowstorm without a big, strong orc to help me?”
The easy banter, the laughter, the way Ryder’s hand finds mine under the table—it all feels surreal. Like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. Someone who has a family that teases and laughs and passes third helpings of mashed potatoes without judgment.
After dinner, while Georgia and the kids are clearing dishes despite my offers to help (“You’re the guest of honor, sit”), Dad asks if he can speak with Ryder privately. They step out onto the back patio, and I’m left with a sudden spike of anxiety.
Nadira plops down next to me on the couch. “He’s going to give your boyfriend the dad talk.”
“I’m almost thirty.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re his daughter. He’s been waiting twenty years to give someone the dad talk.” She grins. “Don’t worry. Your orc looks like he can handle it.”
My first impulse is to argue, to say, “He’s not my orc,” but that’s a lie. He is my orc now, after our soulbond. In fact, if I tune in, I can feel him out there with Dad (that word seems strange). Nadira’s right; my orc is handling it fine.
Nadira’s smile is knowing as she adds, “He looks at you like you hung the moon.”
After a nanosecond of thought, I have to agree. “Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?”
Through the patio door, I can see Dad and Ryder talking. Ryder’s posture is attentive, respectful. Dad’s face is serious but not angry. When Ryder says something that makes Dad’s eyes get misty, I nearly go out there.
Nadira puts a hand on my arm. “Let them have this. Dad needs it. Needs to feel like he gets to protect you, even if he’s twenty years late.”
“That’s not fair to him. None of this was his fault.”
“I know. He knows. But he still feels like he failed you,” she says wisely as she squeezes my hand. “Let him do this. Let him be your dad again.”
So I wait, watching through the glass as my father has whatever conversation he’s having with the male I love. When they shake hands and Dad pulls Ryder into a quick, back-slapping hug, something in my chest settles.
They come back inside, both looking suspiciously emotional, and Jake immediately suggests board games.
The next hour dissolves into competitive chaos. Nadira and I are paired against Jake and Ryder, with Dad and Georgia refereeing. Nadira’s ruthless, Jake tries to cheat, and Ryder turns out to be surprisingly good at strategy games for someone who claims he’s never played before.
“You’re calculating probabilities in your head, aren’t you?” I accuse him during a particularly clever move.
“Maybe.”
“Nerd.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah,” I admit quietly, just for him. “I really do.”
During a heated debate about whether Jake’s last move was legal, I lean into Ryder’s side and whisper, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being patient while I figured out how to be brave. For waiting while I learned to want this.”
His arm comes around me, solid and sure. “I’d wait forever for you, Solarin.”
Later, as we’re leaving, Nadira hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. “You’re coming back, right? This isn’t a one-time thing?”
“I’m coming back,” I promise, and mean it with everything I have. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Good.” She pulls back to look at me seriously. “Jake won’t admit it, but he’s been hoping for an older sister who actually laughs at his jokes. So far, you’re doing great.”
Dad walks us to the truck, his hand on my shoulder one last time. “Drive safe,” he says, then adds quietly, “I love you, Laney. I never stopped. Not for one day in twenty years.”
“I love you too, Dad.” The words come easier than I expected. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be waiting.”
In the truck, I’m quiet for a long time, watching the Sacramento city lights shrink in the rearview mirror. Processing. Absorbing. Trying to fit this new reality into my understanding of the world.
“You okay?” Ryder asks finally.
“Better than okay.” I look at him, this man who somehow became essential to my life in less than two weeks. “I have a family again. Two families, actually. Yours and mine.”
“Ours,” he corrects gently. “We’re building our family now.”
“Yeah.” I settle into my seat, reaching for his hand. “We really are.”
Ahead, the mountains and cabin are waiting for us. But for the first time in my life, going home doesn’t feel like going back to isolation.
It feels like going forward. Together.
“What did Dad say to you?” I ask. “On the patio?”
Ryder’s quiet for a moment. “He asked me not to give up on you when you get scared. Said you’ve been taught that people leave, and he doesn’t want me to be another person who proves that lesson true.”
“What did you say?”
“That I’ll always come back. For as long as you’ll have me.”
The simple certainty in his voice undoes me.
“Forever, then,” I whisper. “I’ll have you forever.”
His hand tightens on mine, and we drive through the darkness toward home, toward the future, toward whatever comes next.
Together.
Because that’s what family does. They stay. They choose each other. They show up.
And for the first time in twenty years, I finally understand what that means.