Page 73 of Mending Hearts
I straighten. “What now?”
“Word’s out that you’re headed to SF,” he says. “Private terminal, but fans are already gathering. Paparazzi too.”
Ollie’s jaw clenches again.
“And the hotel?” Vinny continues. “I’m not thrilled about it. Too many moving parts. Too much visibility.”
I don’t hesitate, especially when Ollie looks at his niece with concern.
“Stay with me,” I say. The words are out before I can overthink them.
Ollie blinks. Lindy looks up. Phil freezes mid-snack.
“With you?” Ollie asks carefully.
“Yes,” I say. “My place is secure. Gated. Private. You’ll be safer there.”
“And the rumors?” Lindy asks gently.
I shrug. “They’re already here.”
Silence stretches as Ollie studies my face, searching. “You’re sure?”
I am. Terrified—but sure.
“If you’re all in,” I say quietly, “then at some point I have to give you the space to prove it.”
His breath catches. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll stay. Thank you.”
The plane begins its descent, the familiar curve of the Bay coming into view beneath us. My heart starts to race—not with fear exactly, more like with possibility. That and with the terrifying knowledge that I’m choosing this.
Again.
The word landsheavy and quiet in my chest as the wheels kiss the runway and the plane hums into deceleration. I’ve chosen this. Not just letting it happen, not getting dragged—choosing.
That feels new.
San Francisco rolls up around us, the Bay flashing silver between buildings. The private terminal is as controlled as promised. Two SUVs wait near the hangar, engines running. Security moves like choreography—quiet, efficient, already creating a bubble.
Vinny does a quick scan, nods once. “Let’s move.”
We load fast. Ollie sits beside me in the back of the first car. Lindy, Phil, and Amelia are in the second with another security driver. No one talks much. The city slides by, familiar streets, familiar turns. The closer we get to my place, the more something in me unwinds.
Home.
The gate slides open, and we pull into the drive. The house looks exactly how I left it—glass, wood, the line of the Bay in the distance like a backdrop someone paid extra for. Privacy layered into landscaping and angles. It was important when I bought it—the privacy, and, if I’m honest, the space. When I signed the papers, fresh out of rehab, head still buzzing with new sobriety and old heartbreak, I told myself it was practical. Three spare bedrooms in case family visited. A music room because I couldn’t imagine a life without that.
But I’d also thought about a future where Ollie might walk through this door.
I unlock it and step inside, the air cooler here, the house holding its own quiet. Ollie follows slowly, taking it in. His eyes track the windows first, then the living space, then the line of sight straight through to the water.
“It’s… wow,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I murmur, suddenly self-conscious.
Lindy whistles low behind us. “Okay, this is ridiculous.”
Phil just nods appreciatively, already clocking structural details like the contractor he is.
