Page 219 of Holding On To Good

But he hadn’t been cowed.

And for the first time since his parents died, he hadn’t been scared.

“Guess that explains why we stopped hearing from Uncle Greg,” Miles mused. “Glad he had enough sense to stay away after that.”

Urban couldn’t agree more.

But Verity still looked unconvinced. As if she still believed she was some burden he’d shouldered all these years out of a sense of loyalty or responsibility.

Things he’d let her believe for far too fucking long.

“I would have fought for you,” he told her. “I want you to know that if anyone had taken you away from me, from us, I would’ve fought every day of my life to get you back.”

Verity’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Did you ever regret it?”

“Never. Not once.”

He’d been afraid at times. Terrified he was going to fuck it all up. Mess her up in some irrevocable way.

He’d been overwhelmed by the way she looked to him for all things, as if he had every possible right answer when he didn’t have any of them.

He’d been humbled by her trust and faith in him.

Awed and so goddamn grateful for his love for her.

“I’ve never regretted it,” he told her again, more than willing to repeat it a hundred times, a thousand, if that’s what it took to get her to believe him.

But there was one more thing he needed to tell her. One more truth he’d kept hidden all these years.

“You were a gift to Mom and Dad,” he continued. “Mom called you her best surprise. You had Dad wrapped around your finger. I’m so sorry they were taken away from you. I hate that you barely remember them. For five years, you were a bright light in their lives. You were so loved.”

He had to stop. His voice was rough with emotion, his chest tight with guilt, but Verity was watching him, her trembling hand covering her mouth as she cried silently, her wide eyes on his, her expression so vulnerable it ripped him apart.

“You were theirs,” he said, soft and honest and earnest. “You were their daughter. But in here” —he tapped his chest— “you’re mine. You. Are. Mine. And you always will be.”

With a sob, she threw herself into his arms, pressed her face against his neck and bawled.

“Way to go,” Miles grumbled at him as he tried peeling Verity away.

She shrugged him off. Clung harder to Urban. “I… I’m… not cry-crying because I’m… sad. I’m… hap-hap-happy!”

And she wailed louder.

Urban rocked them both slightly like he used to do when she’d been little and had a bad dream or someone had hurt her feelings. Toby smoothed his hand over Bella’s head, calming their dog, his expression serene as if weeping young women were a regular part of his daily life. Miles scowled, probably hating how helpless he felt. Wanting, needing, to try and fix it so Verity never cried again.

Finally, she sniffed loudly and lifted her head. Her eyes were red and swollen, her mascara and winged eyeliner smudged beyond repair. She was so beautiful and smart and strong and so grown-up. She wasn’t that little girl who used to follow him around anymore. Would never be that little girl again.

But to him, she’d always be his little girl.

“I love you,” he murmured, and though it wasn’t the first time he’d told her that, he knew he hadn’t said it enough. Knew it couldn’t be said too much. “Are we okay?” She nodded and he shut his eyes briefly in relief. “Good. Because I have to get ready for the wedding.”

With a joyful squeak, she hugged him again, hard and joyful, before letting him go.

“Want us to wait for you?” Toby asked as Urban strode toward the door.

Urban shook his head. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Urban,” Miles said, stopping him as he reached the hallway.

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