Chapter Thirty Two
History in Her Bones
She’s here.
In my house, in my arms, staring up at me with a gummy smile, her chubby little fists tangled in my beard like she remembers me.
My breath is trapped in my lungs, muscles locked tight, but my heart? It’s fuckin’soaring.
“And here’s the adoption paperwork we talked about,” Ethel says softly, passing me a folder. “The probate attorney is back in the state. I’ve received all the necessary documentation. I did a deep dive into the Vernals, and there is no other living family capable of taking her. So as long as this is still something you want, the paperwork just needs to be filed. After that, it typically takes a few weeks for final approval. Could be faster, depending on the judge’s docket. But you know Romero. He’ll push it through for you if he can.”
“What about Oakley? Marlee's little sister.” My gaze slides over Aurora's face—a face so much like Marlee's, like Oakley's. “She's eighteen now, I think. Is she still around?”
Ethel's brows furrow, but she nods. “Oakley's nineteen, living in Rydell. But she's not…”
She trails off, adjusting her large wire-rimmed glasses. Her curly, gray-streaked hair is pulled back into a thick braid, a few stray curls escaping around her temples.
“She's what?” I murmur, shifting Aurora against my chest so I can hold the cold teether up to her mouth, ignoring the drool pooling against my fingers.
Ethel smiles softly at us.
“Oakley's not in a position to care for a baby right now, and I didn't feel she was the best choice.” Clicking her tongue, she shakes her head. “You're it for this little one, Kade. Still sure this is what you want?”
I meet Aurora's big brown eyes and my hands instinctively tighten around her.
“Yes.” And I am. “She’s mine.”
Ethel lets out a slow breath and squeezes my shoulder, pushing to stand. “That's what I love to hear. I'll be in touch to check on you in a few days, and I’ll continue to do that until the adoption is final.”
Chuckling, she smooths a hand down Aurora's dark, messy curls. “Honestly, I'll probably still check on this little one well after that, if that's alright with you. She's special.”
“She is,” I rasp, forcing my gaze away from her tiny face scrunched up in concentration as she gnaws on the rubber. “Anything else I need to know?”
Ethel pauses, expression falling. “Actually, yes, but…”
Her gaze slides around the room, finding the playpen I put up after I installed the car seat this morning.
“Maybe we could speak in the kitchen. In private. She may be small, but we never know what they pick up on.”
Nodding, I stand, hardly feeling the throb in my thigh from doing so much around the house today, and quickly move across the living room to the open space between the couch and kitchen. I laid a soft rug out and put the playpen around it, along with some soft, safe toys, but I still feel sick putting her down. Still feel worried she’ll get hurt the second she’s out of my arms, but I know this is just the beginning.
Bending, I gently set her down and pass her a bear I bought her a few weeks ago. She stares up at me and smacks the teether against my cheek, screaming happily. Smiling, I brush her hair back and stand to my full height, turning to Ethel at the island. My smile falls at the serious look on her face.
Clearing my throat, I join her and gesture to the coffee pot. “Coffee? Or water?”
“Coffee'll be great,” she says, heaving herself up onto a barstool. “Black, please.”
Nodding, I pour us both a cup, my hands shaking slightly. Inhaling deeply, I pass her the mug and flick my eyes back to check on Aurora, who's waving her bear around and gnawing like it's her damn job.
“What's going on?” I murmur, dragging my attention to Ethel. “Something wrong?”
She sips her coffee slowly and sighs. “I wanted to fill you in on some information I received this past week from the hospital.”
My heart skips, hands clenching on the edge of the counter. “About Aurora? She okay?”
Christ, I feel like I'm going to pass out from all the whiplash.
“Is it the concussion? The accident?” I tug on my hair. “Is she—”
