Page 88 of The Pact
“That works. Then we can ride together. Saint will have to take him early for warm-ups,” Presley says, leaning down to hug her niece. “I’ll see you tomorrow, peanut.”
“Bye, Aunt Pwes,” Sera says, smiling.
“Hey, I’ll go with you to take Remy to the rink,” Liam claps my shoulder at the door.
“Okay, that sounds good.”
Alie hugs me and whispers, “You’re doing great, Saint.”
I’m not sure I believe her, but I appreciate it all the same.
“Thanks, Alie,” I say. “See you tomorrow, squirt.” I ruffle Sera’s hair.
“Bye, Saint!” she says, holding her dad’s hand.
We close the door and turn to the kids.
“Okay, guys. You know what time it is.” Presley waves her arms toward the staircase.
We wrangle them up the stairs and into the bathroom.
After they both shower, it’s a war.
Rhyan didn’t want to wear pajamas with sleeves. Then Remy couldn’t find his favorite hoodie for tomorrow. He says it brings him luck, already starting with superstitions. Thankfully, Presley finds it in the laundry basket under three towels and one stuffed dinosaur.
I handle teeth while Presley gets their beds ready. We’ve tried to make their bedrooms feel as much like home as we can. We brought a lot of their things from the house in North Carolina, but we’ll let them pick out some things soon to make these rooms theirs.
We all snuggle in on Rhyan’s bed while Presley reads a story.
“Presley, you do the princess. Uncle Wyatt, you do the dragon.” Rhyan demands.
Remy rolls his eyes like she’s being ridiculous, but then corrects me. Twice. “You need to add an accent, Uncle Wyatt.”
By the time the kids are asleep, the house is quiet, like peace has been negotiated and we can finally call it a night.
I follow Presley downstairs, and she turns back to look at me over her shoulder.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” she asks.
“We have some?” I raise a brow.
I don’t remember getting any the last time I was at the store, but life’s a blur right now.
“Alie brought a few bottles over,” she says, walking into the kitchen.
“Then yes.”
She opens a bottle of red and pours two glasses.
We move from the kitchen to the couch in the family room and sit way too close.
The house is dim around us with only one lamp on in the corner. The toys are picked up, and I can hear the faint hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen.
For the first time since my sister died, my mind feels … clear. Not peaceful or even healed, but like a fog has thinned out.
Presley has one leg tucked under her, her wineglass balanced in her hand, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looks tired but beautiful.
As I look at her, my heart starts to pound.
