Page 27 of Ghost's Revenge
"You try carrying a couch up a flight of stairs by yourself!"
"You weren't by yourself. I was there the whole—"
"Guys," I interrupt, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. "Maybe save the domestic dispute for later?"
They both look sheepish, stepping aside to let us enter. I watch Debbie and Tyler's faces as they take in the living room with its comfortable furniture and large windows, the kitchen with brand new appliances, the dining room where a vase of fresh flowers sits on the table.
"This is..." Debbie turns to me, those tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "I can't believe this is ours."
"Believe it," I tell her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. "Mortgage is paid for the first year. After that, we'll figure it out together."
Tyler is already racing up the stairs, his excited shouts echoing through the house as he discovers his room, painted blue just like he wanted, with a baseball-themed bedspread and shelves for all his toys.
"He loves it," Debbie says, leaning into me.
"What about you? Do you love it?"
She turns in my arms, reaching up to trace the scar through my eyebrow like she often does when we're alone. "I love it. I love that you did this for us. I love that you're giving Tyler the childhood he deserves."
The words she doesn't say hang between us, three simple syllables that we're both still working up to. But I see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she relaxes against me like she's finally found her way home.
"I should probably go check on the kid," Ace says, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional moment. "Make sure he's not jumping on the new bed or something."
"I'll help with the boxes," Viper adds, equally eager to escape.
They disappear, leaving Debbie and me alone in the living room of our new house. I can hear Tyler's excited chatter upstairs, Ace's patient responses, Viper moving boxes from the truck to the porch. The sounds of a life I never thought I'd have, coming together around me.
"Thank you," Debbie says, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to my jaw. "For everything."
I pull her closer, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. "Thank you for giving me a reason to come home."
And that's what they are, Debbie and Tyler. Not just people to protect or a mission to complete, but a reason to come back, to choose life over violence, future over past. A reason to be Ghost less often and Derek more.
A chance to finally, after all these years, find peace.
Epilogue - Debbie
Three years later
I still can't believe this is my life.
Standing in front of the mirror in Sarah's office at the shelter, I smooth down the simple white dress that hugs my curves in all the right places. Not a traditional wedding gown. I did that once before, and look how that turned out, but something that feels like me. Elegant but comfortable, pretty but practical. A dress I can dance in, laugh in, begin the rest of my life in.
"Mom! Are you ready yet?" Tyler peers around the door, seven years old now and impossibly handsome in his little suit. "Derek says everyone's waiting and he's getting nervous!"
"Tell him I'll be there in five minutes," I say, giving my hair one last check. "And tell him not to be nervous. I'm here."
Tyler grins: that brilliant, uninhibited smile that came back slowly after we left the shelter, after we moved into the blue house, after Derek became a daily fixture in his life rather than just the man who taught him to play baseball.
"I'll tell him. But hurry up, okay? Reaper says if we don't start soon, Ace is gonna drink all the champagne before the toast!"
He dashes off, leaving the door open behind him. Through it, I can hear the murmur of conversation from the shelter's backyard, where folding chairs have been set up in neat rows and fairy lights hang from the trees. It wasn't my idea to get married here. I would have been happy with a courthouse ceremony, but Derek insisted that this place was part of our story, that we should honor it.
"Debbie?" Sarah appears in the doorway, elegant in navy blue. "Are you ready, honey? Your groom is looking a little green around the gills out there."
I laugh, imagining Derek—six-foot-four of leather and muscle, the man who took down more men that I can count without breaking a sweat—getting nervous about a wedding. Our wedding.
"I'm ready," I tell her, taking one last look at my reflection. "How do I look?"
