Page 145 of Wyatt

“She’s gone, man!” York said.

No!

His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the pavement.

I trust you, Wyatt.

He covered his head with his arms, shaking.

“Wyatt—”

“Leave me. Justleave me.”

Tate stepped back.

And then Wyatt shattered.

She always knew it would end like this. Coco didn’t know why she’d expected anything different, really.

She’d been running her entire life, after all, from people who wanted to kidnap her or kill her, use her to hurt the people she loved.

Wyatt would never forgive himself if she died. If this suicide vest went off.

And itwasgoing to go off. Because twice it had been turned on, the countdown beeping. The third time it turned off so close to the zeroes, she’d been weeping.

Then abruptly, it had stopped.

She didn’t know what game her captor was playing, but she couldn’t wait around for another time.

She couldn’t leave Mikka motherless.

She knew exactly how that felt. She’d been bereft as she’d stood at the graveside, a sunny day that only burned her neck.

Come home with us.

Not Gerri’s voice but Orrin’s in her memory. He’d walked back after everyone else had left her alone, and stood like a tree beside her.

She liked Orrin Marshall. Dark hair, a cowboy mustache, he was quiet, commanding, and something about him felt safe. He wore a leather jacket and a pair of dress pants and boots. When she’d looked over at him, he gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Your mother and my wife were best friends. You have a home with us, Coco, if you want it.”

She’d been trying not to cry, her eyes cracked and dry as she stared back at the casket, the fresh earth piled up under a blanket.

“The Triple M is a good place to catch your breath. To heal. To find yourself. And, you’re family now, honey.”

He’d put his arm around her then, something quick, but substantial enough to seep warmth into her aching bones.

Then he’d turned her, and she’d seen them standing at the edge of the dirt drive into the cemetery. Knox, his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, and Tate, in his Army uniform, freshly out of bootcamp. Ford, also dressed in a suit, looking young and fierce, just sprouting whiskers. And RJ, her friend’s face reddened also wearing black.

And Wyatt, looking up at her through his long hair.

They all had waited for her, just on the edge of the property.

You’re family now.

The problem wasn’t that she hadn’t been a Marshall but that she’d never seen herself as one of them. Hadn’t walked into the embrace and protection and identity as a Marshall.

She always considered herself a refugee, looking in, not belonging.

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