The Long and Winding Road (The Seafare Chronicles 4)

Ben doesn’t say anything, but then I don’t expect him to. I haven’t seen him in a couple of months, and it always takes him time to get used to everyone again.

Dom’s up the stairs, pausing next to Ty. He leans down and whispers something in his ear. Ty listens, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s still smiling, and he nods when Dom straightens back up. He kisses Dom’s jaw, just once, and Dom rubs his hand over the back of his head.

And then Dom’s inside, the door closing behind him.

“We just going to stand on the porch?” Ty asks. “Or are we going to go inside and have me act surprised for the party I’m not supposed to know we’re having.”

I smile weakly. “How’d you know?”

“The cars in the driveway,” he says as if I’m stupid. “And it’s almost my birthday, and I’m coming home for the first time in almost six months.” His eyes widen a little. “Is there a jumping castle in the backyard? Because if there is, you two cannot do anything gross in it. I didn’t just drive across the country to watch you two mack all over each other.”

“Mack,” I say, my distaste evident. “Kids these days. Mack.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for? Look, here’s the surprised face I’ll make.” His jaw drops, and he looks terribly surprised. “For me? You really, really should have.”

And he’s happy. God, he’s so fucking happy.

I hate her now more than I ever have.

“We gotta talk, Ty,” Otter says. “Some stuff came up. But after that, yeah. We can go inside and act surprised.”

Ty’s smile fades just a little. “What happened now? Is everyone okay?” He looks over his shoulder toward the house, as if he can see through the door. His hands are curling into fists at his sides. He’s not breathing heavy, but it could get there. So, so easily.

But maybe it won’t. I have to remind myself that he’s not as fragile as he once was. Neither of us are. We are stronger than most people ever gave us credit for. Sure, we shattered sometimes, but we always found ways to put ourselves back together. I have to trust him to be okay, because he’s shown he can stand on his own. There’d been late-night phone calls—though they’d been rare—while he’d been gone. When he needed to hear my voice. Or Otter’s voice. Or to just talk something through. But his panic attacks, while not cured because they probably wouldn’t ever be, are sparse things now. He takes care of himself. He knows how to breathe.

“It’s okay,” I say, because in the end, I hope it will be. These are nothing but the bumps in the road. “Everyone here in Seafare is just fine. No one is hurt or sick or anything like that.”

He nods tightly. “But then why do you—” He shakes his head, laughing a little bitterly. “It’s still something, though. Because it always is.”

“Some of these things can be good,” Otter tells him. “Though it might take some time to figure out how to see them that way.”

He looks at Otter for a long moment before he turns back to me. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s done something again. Is Izzie—oh god, please tell me Izzie’s okay. She’s just a little girl, Bear. Please tell me she’s—”

“She’s fine,” I say, overriding him. “Izzie is fine.”

He narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because she’s here.”

He makes a hurt sound, and there’s actual fear on his face. “Is—Mom… is she here—”

“No,” I say from the bottom of the stairs. “She’s not here. And she won’t be. She won’t ever be. She can’t touch you or me or Izzie ever again.”

He nods. His face crumples just a little. He takes a stuttering breath. And then he says, “Is she dead?”

Oh, it whispers. This. This. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? Do you remember that, Bear? He was so tiny the last time he asked you that question. He was sitting on your lap and looking at you with those wide eyes of his. And he asked you if she was dead, and you choked on it, didn’t you? You just choked. And he’d asked you what was going to happen to him, didn’t he? That he was just a little guy, that he wasn’t as big as you, and what was going to happen to him? Do you remember that? I do.

Of course I remember.

I remember everything.

Otter had been there to

o, and his big hands had gone to the Kid’s face, and he’d told him that he knew it was scary but that Tyson would always have someone there to take care of him. Anna. And Creed. Their parents. And Otter too, though he’d end up breaking that promise for a little while. But I haven’t blamed Otter for that for a very long time.

So I say, “Yeah, Ty,” because it’s the only thing I can say. And I’ve said it out loud before multiple times in the previous hours, but this is the first time it’s actually felt real. Not when Izzie was in my arms, not when our family gathered in the kitchen. But here.

This moment.