Page 96 of Smoke Signals

My throat closes completely.

Lance flashes through my mind without warning. My brother kneeling on the living room floor while Alaska clung to his shirt. His laugh. The way he used to look at her like she hung the moon.

For so long it felt like the grief swallowed everything that came after it. Now this moment sits in front of me, real.

She found her voice. Not because someone pushed her or forced her, because she felt safe enough to use it.

My forehead drops gently against hers. “I love you too.”

The words come out broken, but honest.

Stellan wipes at his face and laughs quietly through the tears.

“You did it,” he mouths.

Alaska looks at him then and her eyes brighten slightly.

She shifts on the pillow and reaches one hand toward him.

“I love you too,” she says.

Stellan completely loses the battle with his composure.

A soft squeak breaks out of him while tears keep sliding down his cheeks. He leans over and presses his forehead against hers the same way I did.

“I love you too, kid,” he says quietly.

The three of us stay there for a long moment.

No one moves.

Alaska yawns suddenly and curls into the blankets, tucking fox under her chin before her eyes drift closed again. Her breathing evens out within minutes.

Stellan and I stay on either side of her. He reaches across the mattress and takes my hand. I squeeze once, and he squeezes back.

EPILOGUE

HARTLEY

Stellan stands near the steps with Jake and Hayes while Phoenix and AJ argue loudly about something ridiculous involving hockey stats and a bet that no one seems to remember clearly. Rhys leans back in a chair with a bottle of soda balanced on his knee while Dark and Wes stand off to the side quietly observing the chaos like two people who’ve learned that sometimes the best leadership strategy is letting idiots burn themselves out.

The house behind us looks completely different than it did the first day Stellan brought us here. The windows glow warm from the inside where the kitchen lights are still on. Toys sit scattered across the porch steps.

Alaska sprints across the yard again, chasing something only she can see, fox clutched in one hand while the other waves dramatically in the air.

“Uncle Hart!” she shouts.

Her voice still catches me off guard sometimes.

The first few weeks after she spoke felt fragile, like the words might disappear if anyone moved too fast. She still signs often when she talks, hands moving automatically beside the words, but now her voice comes easier every day.

She runs up beside the grill and peers at the burgers.

“Are they done yet?”

“Almost,” I say.

Behind her, Stellan walks across the grass toward us, wiping his hands on a towel while he smiles at something Phoenix just yelled across the yard.