The Watcher Girl(67)
For the first time in my life, I’m willing to accept the family I have and stop wasting precious energy wishing anything could have been different.
I’m also making peace with the fact that I’ll likely never find my biological mother. If she were still alive and had she wanted to be found, I imagine it would have happened by now.
Maybe I’ll never meet a blood relative, but Bliss likes to remind me that it doesn’t make me any less complete. I’m whole just the way I am, she tells me in the inspirational texts she sends me several times a day.
Jonah clears his throat, blanketing me with a weighted stare.
“You still going to send me those god-awful cards?” he asks.
“Only if you want me to.”
We exchange a wordless smile, our eyes catching.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, as if he knew I needed to hear it. Lifting a balled fist, he offers me a bump instead of a handshake.
I push it aside and hug him instead.
He’s tense. I’m tense.
It’s unnatural and awkward and wonderful and sad. It’s all the things, all at once.
I breathe him in—peppermint and aftershave—and I realize that in all these years of knowing him, I never got close enough to know what he smelled like. It’s a strange thought, but I make a silent resolution from this day forward: to allow myself to get close to people. It won’t happen overnight, of course, but it’s something to think about as I drive east and start this new phase in my life.
I’m shunning my darkness and shedding my armor.
“I should get on the road if I’m going to avoid rush hour,” I say, letting him go.
“Right. Yeah.” He draws in a long breath and looks at me as if it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance. “Good luck with everything.”
“Thanks, Jonah.”
I climb into the truck, plug in my phone, program my GPS, and cue my playlist. In a couple of days, I’ll be back in Monarch Falls. I text Rose to let her know I’m leaving, and she texts me back saying she found me the “cutest little apartment.”
The other day I was browsing the housing market online, and I happened to notice Sutton’s house was for sale. I imagine he wants nothing to do with that place. The house, the town, the life he created. All that it represents.
I think of Gigi sometimes—my little namesake. And I think about her mother rotting in a prison cell, same as mine. While Campbell isn’t serving a life sentence, she’s going to miss out on the next twenty-five years of her daughter’s life. I only hope for Gigi’s sake that she’s a better person when she gets out.
Sutton’s a single father now, but I doubt he’ll stay single for long.
He’s a good man.
Some would even say he’s perfect.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my agent, Jill Marsal, whose calm, no-nonsense demeanor and top-notch professionalism are always appreciated. To Jessica Tribble-Wells, an ace at taking a manuscript and seeing the whole picture when I’m in too deep. To the entire team at Thomas & Mercer—thank you for your continued support, cheerleading, and all the behind-the-scenes craziness that goes into putting my stories in the hands of readers all over the world. To Charlotte—your discerning eye for detail and invaluable feedback are second to none. To Ashley, thank you for your brutally honest feedback that always manages to stroke my ego at the same time. Ha! To Max and Kat—thank you for always being there when I get stuck on something (or when I’m in a procrastinating mood). To my husband, Jamel, and our three beautiful kids—thank you for eating frozen pizza when you’d much rather be eating something I found on Pinterest. To my readers, bloggers, and bookstagrammers—thank you so, so much for spreading the word about my books and for your kind and supportive messages and emails. I truly couldn’t do this without you. Lastly, to the lovely and talented Jennifer Jaynes, who supported, encouraged, and advised me long before anyone had ever heard my name. I’d give anything for a chance to thank you one last time. This book was written in your memory.