he turns to face me, and a tense silence descends. We could stand here and do this all day, but I’d much rather get this out of the way. I have a family to get home to.
“If you come near them again, either of them, I’m going to kill you.”
He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to. He knows how serious I am. This isn’t a request. It’s a demand.
His jaw sets in a hard line, and he gives me the barest hint of a nod.
“Leave and never come back.”
He turns, giving me his back. The muscles tense there as he grips the edges of his suitcase. His grip is tight, white-knuckling the material. With a clear view of his profile, I see him grinding his jaw, I see him compartmentalizing the pain. His anger.
“Watch over her for me.”
I don’t need to ask who he’s talking about. Mackenzie told me he knows. That’s what she was most afraid of, that Vincent would come back and somehow try to take his daughter from us. I am here to make sure that never happens. For all his faults, I know Vincent has a decent heart somewhere in there. Even though he’s had a hard life, he shows compassion when it means the most. And I know losing his daughter has got to be painful. Knowing that she’s his, but he’ll never be able to have a relationship with her, is probably killing him.
“Always.”
He glances at me over his shoulder, and even though his face is tight with anger, his eyes glimmer with sadness. Sadness over a daughter he’ll never get to meet.
“What about Trent?”
A surge of anger sparks in my chest when I think of him. “He’s being taken care of. I’m doing what should’ve been done a long time ago.”
He turns away, refocusing on his task. “See you around, brother.”
“You won’t.” Is my last parting response. The last words I’ll ever utter to Vincent Hawthorne in this lifetime.
With that crushing weight lifted off my chest, I head home to my girls. I’ve washed my hands clean of the last standing Savage. I am done.
It is over.
One Year Later
Finally summoning the strength to do so, I rap my knuckles on the door. I’ve been standing just outside of the doorway for what feels like hours, trying to process how to say or do this. I’ve never had to deal with trauma like this. Sure, I’ve done it on my own, but I’ve never had to take on anyone else’s, and that’s essentially what I’ll be doing right now with Ava.
She turns toward me at the sound of the rapping, a small smile lighting her face. That little smile is all I need to give me the strength to do what I came here for. I walk into her bedroom that’s been artfully decorated to her liking, all thanks to Baz.
We’ve given it some time, but after everything that happened, Baz went caveman on the both of us and demanded we move in with him at his home. I didn’t argue because, for once, it was what I wanted, too. It was the best decision I’ve ever made, next to adopting this gorgeous little girl.
I settle on the floor, right next to her, and scoot close, hovering near her shoulder, staring down at her drawing. For a ten-year-old, Ava is a talented artist. All clean lines and nearly perfect shading, she’s incredible, and I love her to death. At these moments when I look at her, I realize how much of Madison lives inside her. She lives in her carefree spirit, her joyous laughter, and the uniqueness that is truly her.
When I feel the emotion clog my throat, I blink, trying to pull myself together. I haven’t even done what I came here to do yet, and I’m already on the verge of turning into a blubbering mess. We sit in silence for a beat while I admire her work. A frown suddenly tugs low on my brows when I take a closer look at myself in the photograph she drew. The drawing is a picture of the three of us at the beach.
Of its own accord, my mind drifts to better days—the ones I’d spent with Madison at the beach. It seems fitting, almost coming full circle, that her daughter would want to go there. I make a mental note to speak to Baz about the possibility of taking a vacation there. Just the three of us.
In her photo, Baz is holding me