Page 130 of Riptide
"I understand her." Cara met the girl's eyes. "That's different. And scarier, maybe. Because I know exactly how far grief and desperation can push someone. I've felt that edge myself."
"But you didn't go over it," Reagan said softly.
"No. Because I have you." Cara looked around the room, her throat tightening. "Jessica didn't have anyone. Maybe if she'd had a team like this one..."
She couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
The basement fell quiet again. Outside, the evening was settling in—the light through the small windows fading from gold to gray.
"I think we should pray," Tom said quietly. "Before we scatter. This feels like a moment that needs it."
Nods around the room. Even Wade, who usually hung back during these moments, moved closer to the circle.
They gathered around the table. Cara reached for Reagan's hand on one side, Piper's on the other. The circle closed, all of them connected.
Tom bowed his head.
"Lord, we're tired. We're confused. We've seen things these past few weeks that don't fit into neat boxes, and we've made choices we're still not sure about." His voice was steady, grounded. "We don't understand why You let things happen the way they did. Why Blaire existed. Why Jessica had to lose her brother. Why any of this had to hurt so much."
Piper's hand tightened in Cara's.
"But we trust You anyway. Even when we don't understand. Even when the answers don't come." Tom paused. "Thank You for keeping us safe. Thank You for this team—this weird, wonderful, slightly dysfunctional family You've somehow built out of broken people."
A wet laugh escaped Reagan. Wade's mouth twitched.
"Help us do the next right thing," Tom continued. "Help us offer mercy where we can. Help us be the kind of people who make the world a little less dark, even when the darkness feels like it's winning."
"And help us not kill each other when we're hangry," Piper added.
"Piper," Tom said, without opening his eyes.
"What? It's a real concern. Wade gets scary when his blood sugar drops."
"She's not wrong," Wade muttered.
Tom sighed—the long-suffering sigh of a father who'd lost control of the prayer circle. "Lord, please also grant me patience. Lots and lots of patience."
"Amen to that," Reagan said.
"Amen," the others echoed, laughter threading through the word.
The circle broke apart, but the warmth lingered. Cara wiped her eyes, not bothering to hide the tears.
"One more thing," she said. "Gabe asked me to dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us."
Reagan's eyebrow quirked. "Oh really?"
"Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything." But Reagan was grinning. "It's about time, that's all. I was starting to think I'd have to lock you two in a closet."
"There's still... a lot between us. Things I haven't told him. Things I might never be able to tell him."
"But you're going to dinner," Wade said.
"Yeah." Cara felt something warm bloom in her chest, fragile and new. "I'm going to dinner."
"Good." Wade's voice was gruff, but his eyes were kind. "You deserve something good, Cara. We all do."
