Page 89 of Waiting For A Girl Like You (Haven House #4)

T hey were waiting for her.

With Simone at the front and the rest of them fanned out across the porch, her family was waiting for her.

The wind chimes hanging from the eaves jingled softly as she stepped out of her father’s car, their melody so familiar it resonated deep in her bones, as steady and constant as her own heartbeat.

She ran up the stone walkway, past the twin oaks standing guard, and past the rainbow blooms in Ty’s Garden.

And only when she stumbled up the steps to fall into Simone’s open arms did she believe she was home.

Her family surrounded her, holding her close and telling her everything would be okay.

She cried in their arms, hysterically relaying the entire ordeal from the start.

She told them about Michael. She told Simone that CeCe had been loved and how that love had been twisted into something unrecognizable after her death.

She told them about Taylor and those horrible people.

She told them about her cousins and the things they had endured.

They listened. They asked questions. They cried with her. And when she finally began to quiet, they moved her into the parlor.

Abe held Izzy’s hand; the two of them hadn’t let go of each other since she’d walked through the door.

Lenora kept a tight grip on Xavier, while Selah stood behind his wife with both hands on her shoulders.

Simone and Annabeth sat on either side of her on the parlor sofa, with her father and Rowan flanking them in quiet solidarity.

“Tell us what you need, Jamison,” Abe said when the silence turned too heavy to bear. “Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen.”

She needed Liam. But since that wasn’t possible, she asked for the next best thing.

“I’d like to see my sister.”

Bernie suggested she take a shower first, but Simone was a little more forceful about the matter, even going after her father. “You are wrinkled, Benjamin, and that is no way to greet your grandson.”

Once she and her dad were ready, they rode to the hospital together, a caravan of chaos descending on the maternity wing. Samuel heard them coming and was already in the hallway when they turned the corner.

Seeing him had Jamison getting emotional again, and she didn’t resist when her big brother pulled her in for a hug.

“Just let me hold you, brat.”

Unable to breathe and perfectly fine being in such a state, she hugged Samuel back.

“Okay, you big jerk.”

Carter waited at the door, looking better than when she’d last seen him, and she hugged him next.

“Thank you for protecting them. I hope you haven’t been too bored.”

A little startled, Carter returned the hug. “The word boring will never cross my lips again.”

Everyone stayed in the hall while she and her father slipped quietly into Evie’s room. Upon entering, they both grinned at the girls sprawled out asleep on the hospital room’s pullout sofa.

And Evie promptly burst into tears when she caught sight of them.

Not caring about propriety or hospital rules, Jamison crawled into the bed with her sister and snuggled close. “Let me see my nephew.”

Still sniffling, Evie turned the bundle in her arms. “He’s hungry all the time and is already so demanding.”

Albert Benjamin Fairweather was perfect, and Jamison sighed over his beautiful face. “He is a Fairweather, you know.”

“I know.” Evie swiped at her tears. “Ben, would you like to hold him?”

“Absolutely.” With his hands out, Benjamin Fairweather was already a goner over the kid. “Give me my new grandson.”

Jamison grinned at his eagerness. But then the dark thoughts that would likely forever creep around in the back of her mind edged closer.

They whispered the truth, reminding her that the excitement and complete adoration coming from her father as he gazed down at Albie would be something she could never give him.

The soft maternal glow Evie exuded was something she would never experience.

The firsts. The failures. The fun of being a parent… she would never have it.

It hurt. Especially now, when she needed Liam at her side, but it would be okay. One day. It would be okay.

Evie shifted to face her, their foreheads nearly touching.

“Talk to me.”

“Not yet.” Jamison shook her head. “This is a place of happiness, and I don’t want to bring all that in here today.”

“Liam?”

Jamison wrinkled her nose. “Working.”

“For how long?”

“Too long.”

Evie stroked her cheek. “You can take care of me in the meantime.”

“I think that sounds like a great idea.”

And it was too long.

Evie went home from the hospital a few days later, and Jamison stayed busy helping her.

She talked to Liam every chance she could, which was at least twice a day.

They were making progress. The smoke had cleared, so to speak, and body retrieval had begun.

Excluding Michael and Taylor, they were up to—they thought—thirty-six.

It was hard to tell, of course. Liam had kept the details limited for her sanity’s sake, and she was thankful for it.

And while the news coming from Liam was in short supply, Agent Anderson was a little more forthcoming about how they could proceed with their lives.

The buzz of activity surrounding Zanmi’s highest members died off on the day of the bombing, and he assured them the threat to their safety had likely been neutralized.

She didn’t want to ask Liam about Michael’s body. He would do what he thought was best. The promise to try talking with Simone about it hung heavy in her heart, and one afternoon, she got brave enough to broach the subject.

But she made Annabeth come with her .

Which meant Rowan was there, too. He was keeping the security around them high, but allowing for less monitoring inside the homes.

Most of his days were spent figuring out security details for a full return to the offices and running background checks on the new security personnel hires.

They were increasing their numbers every day, vetting men and women who would keep their employees and themselves safe.

Annabeth, naturally, was right in the thick of it. Working alongside Rowan day and night, Jamison watched in awe as her friend found her footing amidst the paperwork. She kept Rowan organized, and when he didn’t need her, she filled in as the personal assistant to the CEO of Fairweather Holdings.

The bookstore wouldn’t reopen until closer to Christmas, which was just around the corner, yet Annabeth was taking her new temporary job seriously.

“Ben, you need to keep better records. Samuel is up all night helping Evie with feedings, and you’re over here messing up his project notes for next Tuesday's meeting!”

Jamison thought her father almost looked relieved when she stuck her head into the dining room and asked to borrow Annabeth for her dreaded chat with Simone. “Take as long as you need, girls.”

“What are we doing?” Annabeth asked.

“Talking to your mom about something,” Jamison explained as they went to corner Simone in the parlor. “Michael Sinclair had a request, and I promised him I would honor it if he released us.”

Annabeth stopped dead in her tracks. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

“I get that, but I still feel like I need to do my part and leave it up to Simone.”

Surprising them both, Simone listened. She didn’t shut it down. She wanted details—much more than Jamison had shared before—about her time with Michael. They talked for hours, going back and forth between the information she’d learned and the details Rowan had pieced together through his search.

Halfway through the conversation, Rowan slipped into the room and took a quiet seat in the corner. When Jamison reached the part where Parker knocked her out, she realized her father had joined them, too. He sat silently in the second wingback, listening to it all.

“Keep going,” her father told her when she paused. “I want to hear it. ”

Recalling as many details as possible, Jamison stared at the floor as she spoke, not wanting to be distracted by their expressions. “He said he would only lead us out if I made the request to Simone personally.”

“And now you’ve done just that.” Simone turned in her seat to face Rowan. “What would you do?”

Rowan appeared mildly surprised. “Me?”

“Yes. I know what Ben would do. So, I’m asking you, Rowan McIntyre. What would you do?”

Rowan thought for a moment, clearly weighing his words. “He loved CeCe, obviously. But to bury him here, at Haven House? That doesn’t feel right—”

“That wasn’t the question,” Simone said, lifting a hand, effectively cutting him off.

“I asked what you would have done if you were in Michael Sinclair’s shoes.

What if Annabeth had been hurt the way CeCe had been hurt?

What if she had been forced into a situation where she thought it was better to kill herself than go on living without you? What would you have done then?”

The confused expression on Rowan’s face faded, his gaze darting between Simone and Ben. “You’ve made your point.”

“She didn’t make any point,” Annabeth scoffed. “And I think you’re all being ridiculous.”

Simone regarded her daughter for a moment and then told Jamison she would think on the matter. “I’ll let you know as soon as I decide.”