When her eyes lit on mine, I finally understood why I couldn’t move, why my chest felt like it was going to explode, and why I was as silent as she was. I knew the reason she didn’t look like Brenna. She surprised everyone in the courtyard by reaching her hands toward me. She didn’t say a word, but her intention was clear. Poet looked back and forth between the two of us several times before realization dawned. The fury on his face would have concerned me if I was aware of it, but as I took her into my arms, she was my sole focus. Her face was mine. Her dark brown eyes were mine. The dimple that showed when she bit the inside of her cheek was mine. She was mine. She didn’t look like her mother because she was a replica of me.

Fuckin’ Brenna. The fuckin’ bitch had kept my kid from me.

When Dragon and Trix walked through the door, my breath caught on a painful gasp. How many times had I dreamed of this? It was both a nightmare and a fantasy. I’d ached for him while my belly grew, when I felt little arms and legs reaching for the surface, when I went into labor far too soon, when they put my face under the mask and asked me to count backward, and when I woke up after my emergency C-section. The first time I’d held our child to my breast, and every moment, every milestone, every smile Trix had given me reminded me of him.

He’d been the face I sought in my memory every time my husband hit me. Every time I thought I had reached my breaking point, I’d pictured the crinkles at the sides of his eyes and the feel of his beard on my neck. He’d been my strength but also the reason I had waited so long to leave. I’d used him to keep me strong because the man I had known would have been everything I needed. He was also everything we had to stay away from. This life was not what I wanted for my girl, and I knew once he saw her, we would never be able to leave—ever.

I sat motionless as I watched Trix with her arms wrapped tightly around Dragon’s neck. Had she ever held anyone but me like that? I didn’t think so. As soon as she caught a glimpse of me, she wiggled to be let down. Dragon held her a little tighter, and she turned to him with a questioning gaze. He finally gave her back a little rub and set her on the hardwood floor.

“Mama!” she called quietly as she ran to the bed.

Before she could reach me, Pop raised his arm as if to slow her down. “Be careful, lass!”

Trix stopped instantly. It would have been comical if not for the sheer terror on her face, her little arms quickly shielding her head. She looked at me for direction.

“Aw, Pop,” I whispered, “my girl is always careful. Aren’t you, baby? Climb on up here with Mama. I need a snuggle from my favorite girl.”

She hesitated for a moment before rushing toward me again. I felt Pop’s body tense as she stumbled, but she did exactly as I knew she would. As soon as she reached the side of the bed, opposite of Pop, she slowed to a crawl and gingerly climbed up next to me.

“There’s my girl. Mama fell asleep. Did you see that outside? I’m such a dork. We’ve been driving so long, and once we got here, I just fell right asleep in my pop’s arms, just like you do with me! I’m sorry if you got scared, honey. Did I freak you out?”

She was so snug against me, and I couldn’t see her face, but I felt her slowly nod her head into my side.

“Ah, well, there’s nothing to be scared of here. This is my pop’s house. Remember I told you about him and his long beard that’s just like Santa? You can just stay right here by me for a while until you get comfortable, yeah? Then, maybe we can go outside and play for a bit,” I whispered to her.

While I spoke softly to Trix, Dragon watched us from the doorway. I could feel his gaze on me, but I stubbornly refused to look up. Call it cowardice, but I wasn’t ready to see his reaction to Trix. I knew he was pissed, and frankly, I had enough on my plate at the moment.

For a couple of minutes, we all sat in silence, and I used that time to take inventory of Pop’s room. Other than the god-awful yellow walls, things hadn’t changed much. While I was growing up, we’d had a house in town, so I’d rarely seen the inside of this room. The few times I had been in here, I’d tried to memorize everything.

Pop had bookshelves filled to overflowing with everything from Tolstoy to Kerouac. That was how he’d gotten his name. I never knew what he did in Ireland or how he’d ended up here. We didn’t speak of it, but I knew that the old president had started calling him Poet because of the books he carried around folded in half in the back pocket of his jeans. The man may have spent his life running guns, but he sure as hell was well-read.

Trix finally raised her head from my armpit and started talking. I thought she was trying to whisper, but as any parent with a four-year-old knew, four-year-old whispering was her talking at a normal level with her hand covering half of her face.

“Is that Dragon? Like you told me? The Dragon that rides on a motorcycle? He said his name was Dragon.” She paused for a second, her little eyebrows raised to her wispy hairline. “Is it?”

At her words, Dragon took two steps into the room and then stopped. I slowly lifted my head and met his eyes, but I couldn’t read his expression. “Yeah, baby,” I replied, not looking away from his face, “he’s the one I told you about.” For a moment, I thought I saw surprise and a flash of pain, but whatever emotions he was feeling were quickly masked.

“Okay. Who’s that?” she whispered again, pointing at my father.

“Ah, that’s my pop. Your gramps. I bet if you said hello he’d give you a licorice.”