Epilogue
THE STEADY BEEP of the heart monitor filled the dimly lit hospital room as Keely entered, Zoey’s hand in hers.
Donald sat hunched in the chair next to Wren’s bed, clutching her small hand like a lifeline. Stuffed animals, shiny Mylar balloons, and colorful flower arrangements covered nearly every surface. A bombardment of love from the Woodcrest community, no doubt.
A ball of heat landed in Keely’s chest. Only a month had passed since she’d left the community, but already she deeply missed them.
But she was cooking up a remedy to fix that.
Donald barely glanced up when Keely came to the bed. Red rimmed his eyes, and shadows hung under them. Clearly the man wasn’t sleeping.
Yeah, well, what parent would? Keely checked on Zoey so many times a night, she should probably make up a bed in her room.
“How’s our girl?” Keely asked softly as she leaned down to wrap Donald in a one-armed hug.
He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Better. Breathing on her own now, and the doctors think she’ll wake up any time. They’re ‘cautiously optimistic’ she’ll make a full recovery.” He shook his head, his voice roughed. “I just keep hoping . . .”
Keely squeezed his shoulder. “She’s a fighter, like her dad. And she’s got the best care.”
“I can never repay you,” Donald choked out. “What you did, that concert—it covered all her bills. I don’t know what I would have—” His voice broke, and he ducked his head.
“That’s what family does,” Keely said firmly. “We take care of each other.”
The words just tumbled out, and she caught her breath. But . . . everyone at Woodcrest had felt like family, really.
But the true family was the new and precious thing between her and Dawson and Zoey. This weird sense that, yes, she’d been waiting for this her entire life. Lost . . . and found in Alaska.
More than found, really. The future seemed bright and whole and . . . healing.
The door swung open and Dawson entered, a healing but still bandaged Caspian at his heels. The dog wore an Elizabethan collar that made him resemble a furry lamp.
Zoey instantly lit up. “Puppy!” She scampered over and threw her arms around Caspian’s neck, dodging the collar. The dog’s tail thumped against the linoleum.
Sweet.
“Gentle, Zoey.” Dawson steered her hands away from Caspian’s wrapped chest. “Remember, he’s still got owies.”
Oh, the man was too cute when he talked like a four-year-old.
Zoey nodded, then placed the gentlest of pats on the dog’s head instead. Dawson shared a grin with Keely, shaking his head. But his eyes lit with a sort of joy.
Yes, yes, this was the right decision.
“Not sure who’s gonna heal faster, him or me.” He limped slightly as he leaned across the bed to shake Donald’s hand and then pulled Keely to his side.
Oh, she loved this man.
This life. And it was just getting started.
“Any updates?” Dawson asked, nodding toward Wren.
“Doing better,” Keely said. “Doctors are optimistic.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Dawson said. He gave Donald a grim nod.
Donald blinked hard, maybe to clear the shimmer of tears from his eyes. “I can’t thank you both enough. That concert . . .”
“It was . . . well, people were really generous. And the real star was a certain hero who saved the day.” Keely shot a glance at Caspian.
“Hey,” Dawson said. “I wasn’t just eye candy.”
“No, no, that’s exactly what you were.” Keely winked.
He laughed and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.
A soft moan drew their attention to the bed where Wren had begun to stir, her brows furrowing as she surfaced from the deep pool of sleep.
Donald shot to his feet, one hand cupping Wren’s cheek. “Wren? Honey, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered once, twice, then opened fully. She blinked. “Daddy?” The little girl’s voice rasped through her oxygen mask.
“I’m right here.” He pushed her hair from her face, pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Her gaze swept the room, taking in the balloons and flowers before landing on Keely and Dawson. A shy smile peeked out. “Keely.”
“Hey there, troublemaker.” Keely perched on the edge of the bed, taking one of Wren’s small hands between her own.
Zoey had gotten up. “I brought you a present.” She held out a slightly crumpled piece of paper covered in crayon scribbles.
“Who are you?” Wren asked, taking the paper.
“I’m”—she looked at Keely—“That’s my mom.”
Wren sighed. Smiled. Her eyes closed.
Caspian settled on the floor, also with a loud sigh.
“I think that’s probably enough for right now,” Dawson said. He leaned down to pick up Zoey. “How about you color Wren another picture, huh?” He brought Zoey over to a chair and pulled up the bed table.
Like a seasoned father already, Dawson pulled out a pack of crayons, just three colors, then crouched in front of Zoey and handed them to her. “How about a picture of Caspian.”
He’d evidently grabbed the paper place mat from the burger place where they had lunch and now unfolded it onto the tray.
The man thought of everything.
Zoey leaned over the paper, began to draw.
“Who are you?” Keely said as he walked back to her. He grinned at her, winked.
Already, Wren had fallen back to sleep.
Donald wiped his eyes again and stood up. Walked away from her.
Dawson and Keely followed.
“Any updates on the Sorros front?” Donald’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
“Conan is locked down tight, awaiting trial. We all gave our testimonies, and with Keely’s account of the crash, he’s not going anywhere.
” Dawson’s hand landed on the small of Keely’s back, warm and reassuring.
“But Mars is in the wind. Sheriff Starr thinks they spotted him in Copper Mountain. My SAR buddy Jericho has a scent dog, and apparently they were here to track Conan, but Starr has asked him to help find Mars, so the hunt isn’t over. ”
Donald shook his head, his expression grim.
Yeah, she got that. She’d like to see all the brothers—and their evil cousin Sloan—behind bars. Frankly, she didn’t feel safe with any of them on the loose.
She wound her fingers between Dawson’s and held on. He tightened his around hers in response.
Dawson’s voice turned low, lethal. “They’ll get them, it’s only a matter of time.”
A knock sounded at the door and a nurse in festive Snoopy scrubs came in. She held up a digital thermometer with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, folks, but I need to check the patient’s vitals.”
Keely walked over to Zoey, still drawing with great fervor, and crouched in front of her. “We need to go, sweetie.”
Zoey held up a picture of a pink dog.
“I think that’s perfect,” Keely said. She glanced at Dawson.
“Don’t show Casp,” he said with a shake of his head. Then he grinned at Zoey. “Great job.”
Donald walked them to the door, enveloping first Keely and then Dawson in a rib-cracking hug. “Thank you. For everything,” he said gruffly. “You just say the word, anything you need, anytime.”
Dawson clasped the other man’s shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything is going to be okay.”
His words followed Keely out into the bustling hospital corridor, and she let them wash over her as they waited for the elevator. Zoey held her hand, Caspian walked with them in his cone of shame.
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
The elevator arrived with a muted ding, but Keely paused, turning to Dawson. “It is, right? Going to be okay?”
“Yes,” Dawson said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She believed him. Really, perfectly, completely.
Dawson had taken Zoey’s other hand, his gaze gentle but serious as it met Keely’s. “And you . . . just try and escape me. I have resources.”
She laughed. Looked at Caspian. “He’s not a tracking dog.”
“Tell him that.” The dog had walked into the elevator and sat next to Zoey. “My guess is that he’s never leaving her side.”
Yeah, well . . . she so got that.
Dawson pressed a kiss to her temple as the elevator descended, carrying them down, out of the dark shadow of the hospital and into the bright promise of a future together.
Otherwise known as . . . home.