Chapter 38

Before Rex has a chance to whip back around, Lainey lands him one in the head with the bat. I get him in the face with the pepper spray the instant after his eyes register surprised recognition. He lifts his hands up instantly, dropping the gun, and I kick it, squealing, a primal sound ripping out of me as it skitters away across the ground.

"And we didn't bring you any milk, you asshole," Lainey says, "because you didn't deserve any." She hits him again with the bat while he's wailing and clutching his face, screaming obscenities. He goes down hard, and Nicole, who's freed herself from the knots securing her wrists—which means she probably could have slipped them at any time—jumps onto his back and twists his arms in a way that's probably painful.

That's when Declan and Damien come racing around the side of the greenhouse. Relief radiates through me, because it's over. It's over, and we're all alive, and…

Oh, fuck. I just told Declan I love him.

I distantly register Damien hurrying over to Nicole while Lainey wields the bat, ready to take another crack at Rex if he makes the mistake of trying to get up. He won't. I'm pretty sure he's only half-conscious after that last hit. But my mind is elsewhere, because Declan's sweeping me up off my feet, wrapping his arms around me, both of us sweaty and fearful and so damn relieved.

"You're okay," he says, his voice breaking, his eyes intent on my face. He runs his hands over my cheeks, my arms. "You're okay."

That last time, it sounded like he was assuring himself, and I kiss his nose, his cheek, his lips. "I'm okay."

"I love you too, you insane woman. I've never been so afraid in my life. You do this to me, every time. You're the single most terrifying person I've ever met."

I laugh, riding my adrenaline high for as long as it lasts, and he kisses me hard, squeezing me like he has something to prove to himself—safe, safe. I squeeze him back the same way—comforting him and myself. Because he makes me feel alive, and I make him feel at peace, and I want us both to have those things, always.

Then he sets me down, and I almost laugh, because Lainey is snapping a photo of us with her cell phone. Her feet are filthy, and the Yankees bat she used to pummel a man is lying at them, but she still has her cell phone.

"You are not putting this on Instagram," I threaten.

"No," she says, "but I figured you'd want some photos to memorialize the occasion."

Honestly, she's right. It's not every day you help apprehend your father's murderer when he comes to dig up buried treasure on the land you've inherited…

It's crazy that this is my life now. All those years of calm, of waiting, were building up to one hell of a storm.

"You're Lainey?" Declan asks her, because I've shown him photographs.

"Yes, and you're Declan. Pleased to meet you," she says after pocketing her phone. She holds out a dirty, sweaty hand, but he doesn't hesitate to shake it.

Nicole and Damien are murmuring in low tones, and we turn to join them, Declan holding on to me like he doesn't plan to let go, ever. Fine by me.

Damien has his knee planted none-too-gently into Rex's back—his hands trussed with the same rope he'd used on Nicole—and I can hear the sound of sirens in the distance, suggesting that someone, somewhere, took this seriously.

"There you are, lovebirds," Nicole says, looking pleased with herself.

"Why didn't you free yourself sooner?" I ask, because she obviously could have.

She gives a shrug. "I wanted to see if he'd talk." Damien gives her a knowing look, and she sighs. "And fine, he's taller and stronger than me. I was pretty sure I could take him, but I figured it would be easier if I had backup." Casting a glance at Lainey, she says, "What's with the milk?"

"We'd discussed bringing some down as a pepper spray antidote," I explain, "you know, in case we were wrong. But we concluded that if he came down here with you, he probably didn't deserve it."

Nicole rolls her eyes but grins as she turns back to Lainey. "You've got a good arm. Welcome to the inner circle."

She obviously recognizes her, too, probably because she was all over my Instagram like the sort-of stalker she is. Right now, I can't find it in myself to be mad about it.

Then Nicole surprises me by reaching over and grabbing my hand. Squeezing it. "Thank you, Claire," she says, and I get the feeling she hasn't uttered that phrase more than a dozen times in her whole life.

I nod, slowly, feeling a knot in my throat. It's true that Declan and Damien were seconds away, and they almost certainly would have stopped Rex without anyone else getting hurt. But it's Lainey and I are the ones who did it. We didn't sit back and let someone else take the risks. It feels like I just threw my office chair and set fire to the copier machine. It's magnificent and freeing, and terrifying. And I hope I never have to do it again.

"Someone had to show him," I say, swallowing back a lump and leaning into Declan's strong arm wrapped around me. "You fuck with my sister, you fuck with me. And nobody fucks with me."

"I've created a monster," Nicole says with something like pride.

Several hours later,after we finally leave the police station, we're all sitting around the table in Dick Ricci's kitchen. Declan and me. Lainey. Nicole and Damien. And Rosie, who's still pissed she missed everything because Declan "abandoned" her at his job site. Damien poured bourbon for everyone, and Nicole told us what she'd learned from Rex.

She'd gotten him talking, more or less, and we'd added some pieces to the story over the hours since we were released from the police station.

Turned out he'd taken down those Christmas wreaths the day before Dick and a few other people would have won a lot of money, so Dick had suggested a different bet to the small pool of people who'd lost out—that Rex's dad wasn't his biological father. Half had sided with Rex, half with Dick.

Dick, of course, had been right, and we had the fat wad of cash in the lockbox to prove it.

Who knows what had tipped him off—maybe he was a philanderer who recognized other philanderers. As Nicole pointed out, it would have been perfectly in keeping with his personality if he'd done it simply to be a dick, not knowing whether he was right or wrong.

The end result was that Rex was out the money for the bet, and also out his inheritance, since his wealthy father had cut him off without a cent.

He'd been pissed.

He'd figured that Dick's winnings, at least, were his due.

He claimed Dick's death was an accident, unplanned, and he'd only run from the scene without reporting it because he was spooked.

But Nicole and Damien think the timing—and the amount of drugs in Dick's system, more than what Mrs. Rosings said he usually took—suggest otherwise. He thought he'd put together the perfect murder, one no one would feel called upon to solve, since so few people had liked our biological father.

And we all knew what had happened from there.

Mark and the other high-stakes gamblers had stayed quiet about the feud between Dick and Rex because that had been their deal—none of them talked about their secret bets. But when Nicole had questioned Mark again this afternoon, making it clear that she believed Dick had been murdered over blood money and we might still be in danger, he'd told her about a few of the last bets he'd made. This one was the only one someone might be motivated to kill over, unless someone felt surprisingly strongly about when the daffodils would bloom.

The question we were left with now was how far would he have gone to get that money? Would he have killed Nicole? How about Lainey and me?

He's claiming he had no intention to harm any of us—that he wanted to take his money and run, but there's no way of knowing. He had that gun, after all, and he's proven himself to be someone whose word should be taken with five pounds of salt.

Now, sitting around the table, Declan's big palm on my thigh, steadying me, I feel the full weight of everything that went down this afternoon and over the last month. I feel how much my life has changed—and how much I've gained. I remember, for five seconds, that I was supposed to meet Anthony Smith four hours ago, and he's probably pissed. Something tells me he's not the kind of man who will take "I almost got murdered" as an excuse for not showing.

Oh well.

Nicole smiles at me, then lifts her glass. "Here's to Dick. You were definitely an asshole, but you brought us together, so you weren't an entire waste."

Damien, whose lap she's currently sitting in, hoists his drink up and says, "Here's to Dick. You didn't treat my wife well, so fuck you very much for that, but there's no denying you knew how to make an exit."

It's Lainey's turn, and she lifts her glass. "Here's to Dick, I didn't know you, and your daughter sure didn't know you, but it has to be said you had interesting taste in DVDs."

I snort as Rosie lifts her glass. "Here's to Dick. You meant something to my brother, which means you meant something to me too."

Holding Declan's hand, I lift my glass. "Here's to Dick. You may not have been a good guy, but you were definitely an interesting one." Declan squeezes my hand, his gaze on me, as I swallow the lump in my throat and finish. "I wish you'd given me a chance to know you."

It's Declan's turn, and we all turn toward him, watching him. It's as if we've collectively realized we have one true mourner among us. His eyes are on me as he lifts his glass. "To Dick. I didn't really want a neighbor. I didn't think I wanted anyone, but you proved me wrong. If not for you, I never would have met Claire. I wouldn't have her, and I wouldn't have Rocket, and Rosie wouldn't be sitting here with me. I wouldn't have anything. So thank you, man. Thank you for noticing that I was suffering, and for caring. You might have been a terrible father, and I can't like you for that, but you were a good friend. For a while, you were my only friend. I've missed you, and I will continue to miss you."

There are tears in his eyes, which automatically puts tears in my eyes. Even though we're surrounded by our friends and family, I pull him to me and kiss him.

In that moment, I feel a little love for the father I never knew. While he might not have done anything for me until he died, he gave me the man I love, and my sister, and this house to live in. He gave me the push I needed to do something with my life and the scaffolding to make it possible.

"All right, all right, we get it," Nicole deadpans. "You're in love and shit. It's fucking beautiful. Now, can we drink?"

I pull away, smiling, but Declan tugs me into his lap and kisses the side of my neck.

"Disgusting," Nicole says with a gleam in her eyes, then turns to Rosie. "Aren't you going to heckle them with me?"

"Give me a few weeks. Right now, I'm too happy to see my brother smiling again. I thought he'd forgotten how."

"Well, hallelujah," Nicole says with a grin. Then she theatrically glances downward, "You heard that, you old sinner? Hallelujah, you did something right."

If anyone tried to call her on it, she'd insist there's an onion hidden somewhere in the room, but Nicole's eyes are shining too.

We laugh and we drink. Then Declan and Nicole tell us a few stories about Dick. As moments go, it's beautiful.

We're a little drunk by the time Lainey remembers she hasn't moved any of her stuff inside, and even though the logical thing to do would be to help her with just her suitcase, someone suggests we move everything now, and so we do. She has the smallest bedroom in the house, and the boxes wedged inside fill up the space around the bed.

"You don't want to just throw all this stuff away and start fresh?" Nicole asks.

"I tried to do that," she says, laughing. "Claire wouldn't let me."

"She can sell some of this stuff," I insist. "A lot of these things are expensive gifts from her ex-fiancé. He might be a dick, but he has expensive taste."

"She could just burn them," Nicole says.

"Don't let my wife burn anything," Damien interjects, his eyes dancing as he wraps his arm around her. "She doesn"t have a good idea of what constitutes flammable."

I hiccup. "That's true. She tried to burn my Chanel No. 5."

"Hiding it works better," Lainey says, which deserves a shove, so I give her one. I can feel Declan's laughter rumbling against my back.

Rosie, who was looking into one of the boxes with unconcealed curiosity, says, "I've burned things after a breakup before."

"That's what I want to do for a living," Lainey blurts.

"Be a professional pyromaniac?"

"No," she replies, smiling. "I want to help people refresh and move on after a breakup. Everyone says therapy is the way to go, but I just wailed on that guy with my ex-fiancé's prized Yankees bat, and I have to say they're wrong."

Called it.

Nicole snaps her fingers, then points at Lainey. "I think you've got something there, Claire's friend. I'm going to help you with that."

"Here we go," Declan whispers in my ear, and I laugh, feeling fizzy with good will toward everyone.

"I still think it's a bad idea, for the record," I say.

"Yeah," Nicole says dismissively, "but you think everything's a bad idea until someone forces you to see sense."

I could be offended, but she's at least partially right.

Still…

"Maybe we shouldn't make business plans when we're drunk?"

"I come up with my best ideas when tipsy," Nicole says, which seems like an even better reason not to do it. I don't necessarily want Nicole at top form.

"Even so," I say, "I think I'm going to bed."

"I'm staying," Declan says. "I'm not ready to let you out of my sight."

"What about me?" Rosie says, raising her eyebrows.

"There's a perfectly good couch," he tells her with a grin. "I figured we could bring Rocket over too."

"Oh, goody, a sleepover," Nicole says flatly. "Should I get out the face masks?" But she doesn't seem displeased. I think we all feel the urge to burrow in, together.

"I vote for raiding the pantry," Lainey says. "I want some Bronuts, and knowing Claire, there has to be a box of them hidden away somewhere."

I groan, because I'd very much wanted to keep that nickname from Nicole.

"Bronuts?" she asks, sounding delighted. "Tell me more."

Then she throws up a finger as everyone starts filtering out of the room and into the hall. "I need a second with Claire."

Declan gives me a look, and I nod, so he leaves the room with everyone else after giving me a final squeeze. Nicole tugs a folded piece of paper out of her pocket, so apparently she was planning this. My gut tells me what it is.

Her letter from Dick.

"Is it going to make me cry?" I ask with trepidation.

A smile flickers across her face. "I don't fucking know. You seem to cry at the drop of a hat."

I've only cried once in our acquaintance, but I take the paper without commentary. She smiles at me, surprises me by squeezing my hand, then returns to our friends, shouting something, as is her habit.

I unfold the paper, take a deep breath, and read the letter from our father. The last letter I'll probably ever read from him.

Nicole—

If you're reading this, then I'm dead. Fuck, I've always wanted to write that. I don't want to die, but you've got to admit it's a good line. Maybe I died of natural causes—I've never been particularly careful about mixing drugs or going to the doctor, and I've been feeling some chest pain. Or maybe someone finally decided I've pulled enough bullshit and decided to save the rest of the world some trouble by getting rid of me (ha!).

I was a fuckup, wasn't I?

My father was a shitty father, too, and I figured I'd do okay if I could do better than him. But seven years in, I realized I wasn't doing better than him. That I couldn't. Your mother is such a good parent—it always came naturally to her—but it didn't to me. How do you teach good lessons when your natural inclination is to steal the candy instead of buying it, to hit people who deserve it, and to always bite back?

I knew I wasn't any good for your mother, and I realized I wasn't any good for you either. So I figured we'd better cut our losses while you were still young enough to learn some good shit from her. Maybe I was wrong. Probably, I was, and I don't expect you to forgive me. You shouldn't. But I love you the only way I know how. From a distance.

I'm proud of you. I've always been able to find the information I want, so I've followed along. You're pretty good at staying out of the papers, but there are vital records, and I know you're married. I know you have a private investigator's license. That made your old man chuckle. I've always been too curious for my own good, and in that way you're a chip off the old block. Hopefully for you it's only in that way.

The one thing I've regretted is that you and your half-sister never met. (Surprise!) That might sound rich seeing as I've never met her either, but one thing no one ever accused me of is consistency.

I've kept track of Claire, too, and she's a good kid. Smart. Dedicated. But if there's one thing that runs in our blood, Nicky, it's chaos, and something tells me she needs a little push. Someone to challenge her.

That's you, kid. I feel it in my bones.

I know you'll take care of Claire, and I'm hoping she'll take care of you too. That's why I'm being a dick for one last time and asking you both to stay in this house for a month if you want to inherit it.

Spend time together. Do what I couldn't, and be a family. I believe in you, kid. I believe in both of you more than I ever believed in myself. If I did one thing right in this world, it was helping to bring you two into it. I was a shit father, but you're good kids anyway.

Here I am, getting off my soapbox.

Have a party when the month's up, if you would.

Love you,

D

P.S. If I died in embarrassing way, please cover it up.

P.P.S. Be good to Declan, if he still lives next door. He was a friend when I needed one, and this is going to be hard on him.

By the time I finish, there are tears in my eyes. Because, damn him, he was right. Nicole and I did need each other. We do. And even though I resent him for keeping us apart for all these years, he finally righted that wrong. I wish it weren't in death. I wish we'd met. But not every wish has a chance to take flight—some we're fated to carry with us, feeling their weight and knowing we'll never have them.

I tuck the letter into my pocket and leave the room, finding Declan standing out in the hall waiting for me. He doesn't speak, he just traces away my tears and then kisses the pathways on my cheeks, which only makes me cry harder.

Because he's a wish I didn't even know I had until it was granted.

"You waited," I say through tears.

"Of course I did." He swallows, tracing the line of my jaw, my neck. "I love you, Claire. Whatever fate put me next to you on that plane—"

I laugh. I can't help it. "It was Nicole. She did it. I don't know how. She put me next to you and Mrs. Rosings because you both knew Dick. She thought you might know something about what happened to him."

"Well, shit," he says, caressing my neck. "Does this mean I have to thank Nicole for something?"

"You're not pissed?" I ask.

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No, Sandra Dee, I'm not pissed. I thought I was going to die, and kissing you was the last thing I wanted to do on this planet. It still is, but now I'm hoping it's at least fifty years off."

"You want to die kissing me?" I ask. The way he's looking at me…the way he's always looked at me fills me up with joy—so much of it I'm sickening to myself. "That's both the sweetest and most morbid thing anyone's ever said to me."

"It's true," he says, his eyes boring into mine, inches away. "But I think we need to put in plenty of practice first."

I inch closer, pushing up on my toes. "Practice makes perfect."

"Spoken like a true Sandra Dee," he says, and then he kisses me like it's the last thing either of us will ever do.