Page 177 of Unravel Me

“That was you?” I ask quietly. “You did this?”

“Rather easily, my man. And quite frankly, I’m insulted you two didn’t notice me. Yes, I had my big sunglasses on, and yes, I was wearing Emmett’s hideous scarf his nana knit him that I’d usually never be caught dead in. But there’s no one alive with hair this gorgeous, and you should be able to spot it from a mile away.”

“You did this for Adam?” Rosie whispers, green eyes glassy.

“I did it for my family. For Adam, and Connor, and you. Because nobody gets away with hurting the people I love.”

Rosie throws herself at Cara, wrapping her arms around her neck, burying her face in Cara’s long blonde hair, while I stand here, too shocked to move.

“There’s one more thing,” Cara says. “Search the hashtagdeportcourt.”

My feed floods with pictures of my ex. The same picture, over and over again, of her with a baseball cap pulled down low, a baggy sweater, and a scarf wrapped around her neck, covering half her face, like she’s trying to go unnoticed.

There’s no mistaking that red hair, though.

Just like there’s no mistaking the luggage at her feet.

Or the runway behind her.

My feed updates, a new tweet appearing with the same hashtag. A simple picture of a plane taking off, and two words I was beginning to think I’d never see.

She’s gone.

I toss my phone at Carter’s chest, wrap Cara in the tightest, best hug, and take Rosie’s face in my hands.

“She’s gone?” she whispers. “Really?”

“She’s fucking gone.”

A sprig of mistletoe appears above us, held up by Carter. “I really wanna have a group hug, so we all need you to hurry up and kiss.”

Rosie giggles, that adorable scrunch of her nose making me smile. I kiss that first, then the dimple in her chin, before finally—fucking finally—taking her mouth. It’s soft and sweet, unhurried and tender, and it tastes like freedom. Freedom to love with everything I have. Freedom in letting go. Freedom to be who I am and to know with certainty that all of me is loved.

Then, our friends come around us, winding arms and tender squeezes.

And this? This feels like family.

CHAPTER41

PUZZLE PIECES

ROSIE

“And here’sAdam at eight years old, passed out in the pantry.”

“Is he wearing underwear with dog Santas on them?” He definitely is, and it’s theonlything he’s wearing. He’s also halfway toppled out of the pantry, folded onto the bottom shelf, his cheek on the floor, dark curls scattered around him.

“Those were his Santa Paws underwear,” his mom, Bev, tells me. “They were his favorite. He wore them every day. I had to fight with him to let me wash them. Such a strong-willed boy.”

“And he’s in the pantry because…?”

“He wanted to catch Santa in the act. And he’s wearing only underwear because he wanted to show them to Santa.

“Mom.” Adam levels her with awhat the fucklook from across the room. “Who actually travels with photo albums to show off?”

“I do.” She flips the page. “Oh, oh my God! Look at him here! He was thirteen and started growing this precious little mustache.”

“Oh my God.” I look at my gangly boyfriend, his shaggy hair in desperate need of a cut, wide grin finished with braces, and about eight strands of facial hair he lookssoproud of. When I find Adam’s scowl, he narrows his eyes.

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