Page 121 of His Greatest Treasure

He doesn’t have a chance to reply before I open the door and leave, feeling lighter than I did when I arrived. Hopeful, even. The remaining weight on my chest doesn’t have anything to do with Chris and all to do with the man he was asking about.

It’s been a brutal few days without him. My bed is cold and empty, and Nova’s laugh is missing the special jingle it has when Oliver’s helped pull it out of her.

I’ve swayed away from the takeout meals and have managed to pull myself together enough to use the air fryer, clear out the overflowing containers of leftovers from the fridge, and tuck Nova into bed on time. All of my wineglasses are washed and back in the cupboard, and when one of the local baseball teams came by asking for bottle donations, I let them load up the empty wine bottles into the truck they drove down the road.

The bill from the lawyer was hard to stomach, but paying it felt like an accomplishment. A step in the right direction.

There’s only one more thing to do now. One more person to speak to and spill the contents of my mind and soul in front of. I thought I could wait until Oliver got offshift tomorrow, but as I pick up speed down the stairs, excited at the mere thought of seeing him right now, I doubt that I can.

Breaking free of the apartment building, I jog down the sidewalk and to Gracie. She looks up from her phone the moment I open the door and fling myself in beside her.

“Can you take me to the firehouse?”

40

MATT

TWELVE YEARS AGO

“Pappa, är vi nästan frame?”

“Are you suddenly ten years old again?” I ask, turning the steering wheel with a loose hold. “And you should try to focus on speaking English when we get to the house. Nobody will be able to understand you otherwise.”

My daughter rolls her eyes at me in the rear-view mirror, and I chuckle at the attitude. It’s a new trait of hers that’s appeared over the past six months. I always thought teenagers stayed nice and sweet if they were angels as children, but apparently, that’s a load of bullshit I told myself to soothe my worries.

At least she isn’t as terrible as her mother was at eighteen. Lord help us all if that were the case.

“They could have taken Swedish lessons,” she says.

Morgan twists to look into the back seat. “Don’t start, Avery. You know that’s not fair.”

Our daughter reaches a hand up to fiddle with her nose ring. Fuck, I hate that thing. One tug from someone and it would rip right out. I’ll never let Morgan forget that she was the one who snuck her out to get it done, knowing I wouldn’t like it.

The black hair and makeup . . . fine. It makes her happy, and she’s still my beautiful princess, no matter what she wears or doeswith her hair. But the piercing is a hazard that damn well keeps me up at night.

“Do you think they still remember me?” Avery asks, voice softer, almost embarrassed.

I snap my eyes to the mirror, but she’s not looking into it this time. “Of course they do,mitt hjärta.Why would you even ask that?”

“We’ve been gone a year.”

“A year is nothing. Not to family,” Morgan murmurs, reaching back to hold Avery’s knee.

“We don’t really text that much,” Avery adds.

I’m immediately pissed off. “Who? You and Maddox?”

She shrugs, staring out the window as the highway turns to gravel. “Him and Cooper. Oliver sometimes.”

“Is that such a bad thing? You don’t need to be texting boys, anyway. Especially not Maddox,” I say.

My wife huffs. “Don’t start, Matthew.”

“Yeah,Matthew,” Avery echoes.

“I’ll pull the car over and let the two of you walk to the Huttons’ if you’d like?”

Morgan pats my arm lovingly, but I read the threat in the action. “You know I don’t walk on gravel. I’m in flip-flops.”

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