Chapter Sixty-Seven

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G A L L O W A Y

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“I CAN’T BELIEVE it.”

My father’s arms (the same arms I never thought I’d feel outside prison again) wrapped tight around me.

I was free.

Free.

How?

I still didn’t know.

“Did you do it?” I asked, pulling away from his embrace.

I’d been told I looked a lot like my father, but I had some of my mother, too. I’d inherited my height from him and my colouring and possibly his eyes.

Those eyes now brimmed with tears. “No. I mean...I’ve tried, Gal. So bloody long, I’ve tried. I’ve drawn up affidavits. I’ve begged for a new hearing. But nothing came of it. Not until I got the phone call.”

“What phone call?”

“The one saying they’d charged the wrong killer.”

“But, Dad. I’m the killer.”

My father slung his arm around my shoulders, leading me from the prison gates. “We both know that, but someone...someone knew that too and decided to save you. It’s a miracle, Gal. And I’m going to find the man who did this and worship him for being so damn kind.”

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SHE’D TOLD ME she would be there for me.

She didn’t lie.

I opened my eyes, and there she was. Coco dangled asleep in her arms while my woman watched me with such concentration, I felt as if she’d yanked me from my dream with pure willpower.

Pippa stood behind her, her lips parting into a smile.

Estelle clapped a hand over her mouth as our eyes met.

Tears leaked unnoticed down her cheeks.

My emotions crested and crashed, threatening to wash me away after clinging so tightly to the rock of life.

“You’re awake,” she whispered. “You’re finally here.”

“I—” I spluttered. My dry throat was out of practice. The more I woke, the weaker I became. My scratchy throat was the least of my issues. My toes tingled and limbs ached as if I’d run for weeks with no rest.

But it didn’t matter.

Estelle gave Coco to Pippa and immediately slipped into my bed. The ecstasy of her warmth as she curled into me cured me better than any sleep, swifter than any drug.

I sighed heavily as her head rested on my chest.

My left arm (the same one that’d tried to kill me) wrapped around her—needles and all.

I reached for Pippa and Coco with the other, urging them into the hug and kissing them.

Estelle’s tears soaked my white hospital gown, spreading a translucent stain.

Pippa let me go, cuddling Coco. “So good to see you, G.”

“You too...” I coughed. “Pippi.”

Estelle shuddered, clutching me tight.

Unable to stop myself, my lips landed in her hair. I’d almost lost her. I’d said goodbye. I’d forced her to leave.

“You never said it...” I breathed, nuzzling her, loving her.

Estelle stiffened.

No reminder was needed. She knew what she’d refused me on the precipice of my death.

I understood why she did (sort of). I understood she didn’t want to say farewell. Didn’t want finality on something so heart destroying.

But the fact she hadn’t said it broke me.

“I love you, G.” Her lips found mine.

The broken parts healed.

Her lips tasted of strawberry and sugar. Her mouth moved beneath mine, chanting over and over, “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

We reaffirmed that we were still here. Still together. Neither of us had left. No divorce had come true. No goodbye had been uttered.

This was hello, and I wanted it to last forever.

We hugged for the longest time.

A doctor arrived but didn’t interrupt. He allowed our moment before tiptoeing closer and checking my vitals.

Estelle sniffed back the dampness in her gaze, smiling with genuine ease at the doctor. Over the years, she’d told me tales of her struggle with crowds and strangers. I had no doubt being around so many would be hard. I was proud of her for being so brave.

Pippa and Coco moved out of the way as the doctor came closer. “Welcome back, Mr. Oak.”

I jerked.

No one had used my last name in so long. No one but Estelle and my island family had spoken to me in almost four years.

Just staring at someone who wasn’t familiar, someone I didn’t know every scar, sunburn, stretch mark, or growth spurt was the strangest sensation.

“Thank you for saving...” I coughed again. “Me.”

The nametag said my physician was Dr. Finnegan. His red hair gave away Irish roots even if his Australian accent didn’t. “Pleasure was all mine.” His eyes flickered to the machines and the drip slowly administering whatever had saved my life. “All signs are great for a full recovery. In such severe cases such as yours, I must warn you that although the infection didn’t spread to your bones, it was in your blood long enough to possibly cause complications with your lymph glands and immune system as you get older. You must be careful with any future cut or graze and continue to be vigilant with insect bites and swelling. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“The strength of the antibiotics have given your body a head start. However, you’ll need to take oral medication once we dock for twenty-one days afterward. This is the higher end of the scale, but after so long with no adequate vitamins, your system is too weak to fight on its own.”