“You guys are going to make me cry.”

“Too late,” I chuckle, and Mila releases me to give her a hug.

We start back down the hall, Levi walking beside me and Mila with Paulina up ahead. I’m slow due to the bullet hole in my side, but I’ll be damned if I roll around on one of those electric scooters like Mila suggested. Can you picture a six-foot-three man crammed on a motorized scooter? I fucking can’t.

“I’m leaving,” Levi says quietly so the women won’t hear.

To be honest, I expected it. He’s been here long enough. The lodge has never felt like home to him. Only a prison.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Job?”

“Something like that,” he shrugs.

All I can do is shake my head when Levi’s jaw tightens.

“Keep an eye on her.”

I don’t have to ask who theheris that he’s referring to. I can see it even if he can’t. As if on cue, Ava walks out of her room up ahead of us, her eyes going wide when she sees us. She looks between Levi and me before she turns away with a flush to her cheeks.

“Don’t run from this place because of him,” I say, stopping at the door to my office. I have the task of finding the shittiest nursing home I can find to shove Willaim Cross into for the remainder of his days.

Bonus points if there are fleas.

Levi pauses, his hands in his pockets. His jaw tightens, and he looks away.

“You should have killed him.”

“No . . .” I start, my eyes landing on Mila, where she stands at the foot of the stairs, hugging a crying Bella. “Think I’ve killed enough for one lifetime, don’t you?”

“It’s what we’re good at,” he shrugs. “Besides . . . he tried to kill Mila. He tried to killyou.”

“Don’t you know?” I cock a smile. “I’m unkillable.”

“Hey . . .” Mila says, stepping out onto the back porch of our house where I’m sitting and watching the sun fade behind the trees. “I couldn’t find you. I got worried.”

I hold out a hand for her, and hesitantly, she comes to me, sinking into the bench beside me and nestling into the crook of my arm. She’s so careful; it’s like she’s afraid that if I make one wrong move, I’ll break.

“Just needed to think.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her head resting over my heart. “About your father. I know it must be hard.”

I shake my head. “No . . . he was the easy part. He was dead to me the moment I was born. He never knew how to be a father.”

She’s quiet for a moment, studying me. Abruptly, she sits back and takes my chin, forcing my gaze to hers.

“You aren’t him. You’ll never be him.”

“No?”

“Christian Alexander Cross,” she scolds softly, raising up on her knees to face me. She cups my cheeks in her hands, the soft scent of her perfume washing over me.

Fuck. Dr Roberts at the hospital is a dick for telling Mila I had to wait eight weeks to have her. It’s been one, and I’m already pissed off.

“You may be an asshole sometimes. You may leave the toilet seat up too often, and you may have almost died—I’m still mad at you for that, by the way—” She shoots me a look that has me chuckling under my breath. “—But you’re also so intuitive, sometimes I wonder if you can read my mind. You saved my life. You saved so many others from an even worse fate. You’re . . . everything.”