Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 44

Forty-Four

Dare

T he sun glints off the sea. I shade my eyes and look out as the yacht beneath me sails ahead.

Who knew that a chance meeting with Talia a year and a half ago would lead me where I’m standing today?

The sea churns beneath us, azure swells rolling under the bow of the sleek white yacht. Talia stands at the railing, wind whipping her red hair as she stares out at the approaching island. For now, it's just a dark smudge on the horizon. Beside her, I slide an arm around her waist, feeling comfort in the familiarity of that gesture.

I nuzzle her neck and take a moment to kiss her hot skin.

"Almost there," I say quietly.

Behind them, the Hope House kids race around the deck, laughing and shouting. Solana sits tucked against the cabin wall, knees to her chest, watching the others play. Her dark ponytail sways in the breeze.

Magda emerges from below deck, gray hair escaping her bun and her neon green track suit nearly blinding me.

"Children, shh," she scolds lightly, her Eastern European accent rounding her vowels. "Wait until we get off the boat."

The kids gradually settle as the island nears. Clive stands by watchfully as the captain steers the yacht into a small cove, his slender frame bent over the wheel. Clive's eyes meet mine, a moment of silent understanding passing between us.

We disembark onto a beach of sugar-white sand. Remy hobbles down the gangplank, stooped frame leaning heavily on his cane. His icy blue eyes study the island dispassionately.

He doesn't say a word, but I can read the frown on his face. Remy doesn't think any good can come from visiting my mother's grave.

He's wrong, though.

I take Talia's hand as we walk towards the shaded grave site. My thoughts drift to my mother. Her kind smile, her gentle laughter, her warm embrace. The wound inflicted by her death still feels raw, even after all these years.

Burn waits silently by the white marble headstone, shoulders slumped. Beside him, my father sobs silently, tears tracking through the wrinkles on his weathered face. Tripp looks small, diminished. But his eyes are clear when they meet mine.

Talia and I approach the grave and my eyes never leave my father.

"Four months sober today," he says hoarsely.

My eyebrows knit. I glance at Burn, but he only nods.

"He's off the booze."

The kids gather behind Talia and me, their faces solemn. Solana slips her small hand into Talia's and peers up at her with big brown eyes.

Talia kneels down and looks Solana in the eyes.

"This is Dare's mother, honey," Talia murmurs. "She is so special that she got her very own island. Isn't that nice?"

Solana screws her face up and looks at the grave.

"I guess so."

Aunt Minnie appears beside Talia, cradling baby Hope. "We'll look at some pictures of Dare's mom later. I think it's kind of hard for you to think of someone you have never met, huh?"

"Yeah." Solana favors Aunt Minnie with a beaming smile. "Can we go explore?"

Minnie looks at Talia for approval. She nods and reaches out to take the baby from Aunt Minnie's arms. Then she bounces and rocks Hope, whispering to her.

"That's your grandma. She died when Daddy was little, but we still come to her grave to pay our respects. Right?"

Talia coos to the baby nestled against her and my heart gives a squeeze.Hope gurgles happily, then laughs, a clear bright sound that seems to chase the shadows from this place. The sun is warm on our skin. The waves lap in the background, gentle and soothing.

Talia's eyes meet mine, soft with understanding. My family surrounds me, finally whole. All is not perfect but hope blooms like the white lilies adorning my mother's grave. I breathe deep, taking in the scent of flowers and sea air.

This is healing.

Talia bounces little Hope in her arms, cooing softly to the baby as she takes in our surroundings.

"Look at the pretty water, sweet girl," she murmurs, brushing a finger over Hope's downy cheek. The baby turns her head, nuzzling against Talia's chest, eyelids drooping sleepily.

A shout rings out as the Hope House kids race across the stony ground of the small island.

"Children, please show some respect!" Clive calls out, a bit breathless. "Mr. Dare's mother is buried here."

The kids skid to a halt, chastened. Solana walks over to Clive, chewing her lip.

"I didn't mean to be bad," she says earnestly. "I just wanted to explore the island. It's so pretty here."

Clive's expression softens. He lays a hand on Solana's shoulder. "I know, dear. But this is a solemn place. We must be quiet and well behaved to honor our ancestors."

Solana nods, blinking back tears. The other children gather around her, faces serious.

"We're sorry," says one little boy. "We'll be good now."

The kids clasp hands, united in contrition. Watching them, my heart swells.

I clear my throat and take Talia's hand in mine. "It's alright," I say gently. "Just walk softly around the grave."

Hope stirs, then settles against Talia once more. The waves shush rhythmically along the shore.

I glance over at my father. He stands before my mother's grave, shoulders hunched, staring down at the simple stone marker. Grief carves deep lines into his face.

I approach slowly, not wanting to startle him. "Dad," I say softly.

He looks up, eyes bright with tears. Seeing his pain lances through me. I pull him into a fierce embrace.

"I miss her so much, Dare," he chokes out. "Every damn day."

"I miss her, too." I swallow hard. "But she'd be so proud of you. Four months sober now, right?"

He nods, swiping at his eyes. "It's been hard. But I'm trying, son. For you and your brother."

I clasp his shoulder, emotion threatening to overwhelm me. In this serene place, it feels like healing can finally begin. That the wounds of the past can scab over, scars fading with time.

We stand in silence then, father and son, gazing at the marker engraved with my mother's name. The one who brought us into this world, gone too soon. Though her body rests here, her spirit lives on in her sons. That bond can never be broken.

Talia approaches me, holding Hope against her chest. The baby is swaddled in a soft pink blanket, little fists waving as she babbles happily.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," Talia says softly.

My father looks up, eyes widening as he takes in the tiny bundle. "Is that...is that my granddaughter?"

His voice cracks with emotion.

Talia's smile is radiant. "Yes. This is Hope. Your first grandchild."

She passes the baby gently into my father's arms. He cradles her against his chest, tears flowing freely now. "She's beautiful," he breathes. "Absolutely perfect."

Hope gazes up at her grandfather, entranced. Then she gives him a toothless grin, waving her hands.

He lets out a watery chuckle. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing?"

Talia slips her arm around my waist. We watch together as my father bonds with his granddaughter, hope and joy shining on his face. The others gather around, oohing and ahhing over Hope. She laughs happily at all the attention.

The sun beats down on us as we stand clustered around my mother's grave. The breeze carries the scent of salt and sea, rustling through the willow branches that shade this peaceful place. Hope burbles happily in my father's arms, oblivious to the somber mood that surrounds her.

I glance over at Talia, taking in the serene expression on her face as she watches Tripp with the baby. Her inner strength astounds me, even now.

Looking at my father, I see a light in his eyes that has been absent for far too long. Holding his grandchild has brought him joy, but even more than that, it has reignited his will to live. I can tell just from the determination in his posture that he plans to stick with his sobriety, if only to remain a part of Hope's life.

My own heart feels uncomfortably full.

Talia slips her hand in mine, squeezing gently. I squeeze back, letting her know I'm here.

Hope babbles again, and we all laugh. The sound seems to lift years of sorrow from this little island. I know my mother is smiling down on us.

"Thank you for this," I whisper, too low for anyone else to hear.She smiles and leans against me, sighing.

As we walk back to the yacht hand in hand, I know Talia is thinking the same thing. The past can't be changed, but the present is ours to shape.

This family has been given a second chance. It has grown by multiples and simultaneously been cobbled together, creating a mishmash of found family and blood relations. It’s a bit unwieldy and oddly shaped, but harder than granite where it counts.

This is my family.

And I'll do everything in my power to embrace it.