Page 72 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

One Year Later

“You think they’ll do a cavity search?” I ask Wren as one guard pats me down while the other examines the contents of the manila envelope—the only item we were permitted to bring—in a bin off to the side. “I wore my best undies.”

Nobody laughs.

Losers.

The guard looking through the envelope gives it to Wren before guiding us into a large room with stainless-steel tables and chairs, gesturing to the table by the window. “That one,” he says with a gruff tone. “Break the rules and you’re out.”

At the table, a woman is already waiting.

Except, it’s not just a woman, it’s Riley. Next to me, Wren’s face goes ashen.

I grab her hand, stopping her in the middle of the room between tables of other prisoners visiting their loved ones.

“You got this,” I tell her, rounding my spine so our eyes meet.

“No matter what she says, that’s on her, not you.

We don’t have to be our mothers.” I know that one from experience.

“We can be better. We can be . . . someone else’s mother,” I joke.

She nods, almost smiling as her eyes ping around before taking the final steps across the room.

We sit across from Riley, the three of us looking at each other in silence. Even in an orange prison uniform, no makeup, and the dark roots of her hair grown out to the blonde tips, she’s pretty. Outside of a cage, she’d probably be beautiful.

“I’m surprised to see you,” she finally says to Wren. Looking at me: “Who’s this?”

Wren clears her throat. “Scotty.” She puts the envelope of photos on the table.

I smile slightly and offer a greeting Riley ignores.

“I wanted to come here so you know I’m fine,” Wren tells her. “In case you ever wondered. And I wanted to see if you were fine, because I do wonder.”

Riley remains silent; I stay out of it like I promised Wren on the drive.

“None of your colorful language,” Wren said about forty-nine times.

I told her I’d stay quiet, but it’s a struggle.

Under the table, my knee bounces and I snap the shit out of my wrist with a rubber band; Wren threw hers away months ago.

“I’m friends with the mom of the girl you killed.” Wren’s voice teeters just slightly. “And she’s”—a breath comes out of her in a gust—“ incredible.”

Riley’s eyes widen slightly, but she says nothing. I wish Mel were here to witness it.

“Anyway.” Wren slides the envelope toward her. “I have some pictures. Of me, if you want them. And there’s some paperwork in there I’d like you to sign. I brought a pen.”

My eyebrows pinch—I only knew about the photos. Riley wordlessly empties the envelope onto the table, picking up the papers first and skimming them. Her eyes flick to us as she flips a page. To me: “Who are you again?”

“Uh.” My chin pulls back. “I’m Ford’s . . .” My eyes swing to Wren. “Person.”

“She’s my best friend,” Wren says in the wake of my lame answer.

“She took me to therapy when I started cutting myself after you went away.” I stop bouncing and snapping; my jaw drops.

Riley stares at her. “She helped me talk to a boy. My boyfriend now. Luke. She kept me out of trouble. She took me shopping. She bought me a record. Lots of records, actually.” Wren laughs softly.

“She let me pick out furniture for her house. Our house.” She looks at me; I don’t argue.

Six months ago, she and Ford stayed the night at the A-frame and never left.

“She defended me when kids at school made me feel ashamed. She helps me do my homework even though she’s really bad at it.

She’s teaching me to drive even though I’m not sure anything she does is legal.

She loves my dad, and he loves her so much it’s disgusting. ”

At my recited resumé of skills, I bite back a proud smile.

Riley eyes me before picking up the pen, hovering it over the papers. “You got any other kids? ”

I look at Wren. What the hell?

“Uh—”

“She does,” Wren says to Riley, voice strong. “A son. She was a selfless mother to him.” She glances at me. “And that’s why I want you to sign over your rights. So she can adopt me.”

My jaw drops.

Wren adds, “If she’ll have me.”

I press my tongue into the back of my teeth to keep from crying, swallowing twice. Three times. Finally, I look at Riley. “I could probably do that.”

Wren’s lips twitch, amused brightness in her eyes. Little shit.

Riley doesn’t hesitate; she scribbles her name on the papers and slides them across the table.

“I never wanted to be a mom,” she says to Wren, the familiarity of them to what Glory said smacking me across the face.

“You were a mistake.” Under the table, my hand grips Wren’s.

Tight. “But you seemed to have turned out okay.” Her gaze flicks to me.

“Ford kept a picture of you in his house. You’re the one with the brother, right? ”

At her words, I understand why prison shanks are a thing. I hate this bitch.

I clear my throat and nod. “I’m sure a lot of people have brothers, but yes, I had a brother.”

She thumbs through the pictures Wren brought—her at various stages of life—then haphazardly tosses them onto the envelope, looking at her daughter again. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” Wren says, indifferent as she shuffles everything her mom doesn’t want back into the envelope. I open my mouth to tell this woman that she can go fuck a rusty razor blade, but Wren stops me, standing abruptly and taking a moral high ground I loathe. “I hope you have a nice life.”

Wren looks toward the guard and gestures we’re done. We leave—without looking back. The visit is over. Deep down I think it will be the last time Wren will ever see her.

The conversation replays in my head—what Wren must be thinking. Feeling. Me adopting her—Ford must know. Everything jumbles together like dice in a cup.

At my Bronco—a brand-new one that’s fire-engine red and fully loaded—she opens the door. I sit without starting it. Without moving or speaking. Heart galloping in my chest.

When I look at her, I expect to see tears, but instead, she’s . . . fine.

“You okay?” I ask.

“She’s exactly how I remember,” she says with a slight shrug. “She never wanted kids—guess I can’t blame her for not caring.”

My chest swells with pride as my phone vibrates with a text from June. Unhinged and a mom. Welcome to the dark side. I smile to myself; of course she already knows.

“You know,” I say to Wren, putting the key in the ignition and looking at her sideways. “I expect to be called Mommy.”

At this, Wren laughs, and violins scream in the speakers as we take off down the highway.

I wave at Ford across the gym, wide smile on his face. Next to him, Blue lifts a gloved hand my way.

I grin; twins born twenty years apart.

After the deal with the Sellecks went through, Ford, after twenty years of trying to save people the way neither of us could save my brother, retired from the police department. We are now the proud owners of Fight Club . . . where Blue is a member with the family discount.

“How’d it go?” Ford asks, pinching off his gloves as he approaches me, knowing look on his face.

I raise my eyebrows. “How do you think it went when your daughter announced she wanted me to adopt her in the middle of a prison visit?”

“She wanted to surprise you,” he says, working his teeth over his bottom lip. Sexy bastard. “You going to?”

“Eh.” I shrug. “The dad might be a deal-breaker.”

He chuckles, smacking me on the ass as we head next door. Where we opened . . . a birding store.

Ford made the case for it being a necessity for anyone who goes through an intense round of sparring to also need a new bird feeder and bag of seed.

I laughed when he said it—thought it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard of—but it didn’t take long for the idea to grow wings inside of me and soar.

Because he loved it so much. Because I wanted to be wherever he was with that smile on his face.

And because ultimately, the birds were kind of growing on me.

We named the bird store Pecker Heads .

Believe it or not, that was all me.

At the end of the aisles of bird feeders, bird baths, birdseed, and more books about birds than I ever care to read, Glory stands behind the counter wearing a T-shirt covered in woodpeckers, slight scowl on her lips.

Along with seeing her and Lydia for regular Sunday dinners, she’s here a few days a week when she works in the store. She’s almost bearable.

“About time you showed up,” she barks, untying her apron. “I can’t be on my feet so long, Scotty Ann.” She doesn’t bother asking me how it went before marching outside to light a Lucky. Some things never change .

I chuckle, leaning a hip behind the register, Ford mirroring my movement and running his fingers through my hair, blue eyes smiling bright.

“You know,” he says, lowering his hands to mine and bringing my thumb to his lips. “Probably wouldn’t be too good for Wren to grow up in a home with an unwed mother.”

I fight a smile.

“Who am I to stand in the way of what’s best for the youth of the nation?”

“Yeah?” he asks, coy. Like he hasn’t known I was theirs all along.

I lean into him, angling my head so our eyes meet. “I’m not getting rid of you. What do I care if you want to be legally obligated to be my on-demand sure thing?”

He booms a laugh, vibrating all of me as his arms wrap around my waist and he presses his lips to mine .

It turns out, I’m not as doomed as I once thought. My grandpa Archie was right, there are a lot more things in this world than bodies to set on fire. Even though my brother is still gone. Even though my life had a starting point I wouldn’t wish on anyone except Jessicunt.

Wanda was on to something when she told me about her choice of living in the now to forever. In my now, I choose this. Ford. Wren. June. Hell, maybe even Glory. Over and over again.

“A man and a viper,” he says against my mouth. “Isn’t there a book about that?”

I smile—wide. There most definitely is.