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Missy showed up shortly after in her convertible and looked at us in confusion. Bryce didn’t hold her back from going inside. Her screams echoed from deep within the house. Austin came out shortly after, his hands running through his hair and face as white as a ghost. Our father was dead from a gunshot wound to his temple. I hadn’t even known he owned a gun.

I had a nervous breakdown that night. Harper held me for hours and soothed my broken soul. The nightmares lasted for a month, and I painted in a frenzy. Half of me was ready to grow up and move forward with my life. The rest still had many demons to ward off.

I wonder sometimes, if I had known that night would be the last time I saw my father, if I would have stayed a little longer, said something else, anything.

I guess I’ll never know.

Missy was taken out of the house that night in handcuffs. They brought her in for questioning, and the next day, she was charged with the conspiracy to murder our mother. Apparently, our father had equally incriminating evidence in his office wall safe, including tapes and videos of Missy admitting to the crime. He even kept the lug nuts for reasons none of us will ever know. Missy’s charge was changed to murder in the first degree.

The trial lasted six months. Bryce, Austin, and I testified and were there every day after to see that justice was served. When the gavel went down, she was sentenced to eighteen years to life in prison without parole. I’m man enough to admit, I cried that day. It doesn’t change the past, but it helps us move on with the future.

I let out a heavy sigh and walk toward the garage and into my parking spot that once belonged to my stepmother.

I hop onto my motorcycle that waits in my spot. Bryce’s Tesla is still here. I text him, telling him it’s time to go home. He lets me know he’s on his way out.

I kick-start the bike and pull out. On the north side of town is a section with colorful Victorian row houses similar to the one I was named after. I pull up into the driveway and park behind the Lexus. I bought it for her on our one-year wedding anniversary.

I walk up the front steps with the potted plants of roses—all the colors I once painted on her body—and stop just outside, taking a look through the large bay window at the gorgeous sight before me.

Harper.

She’s sitting on the sofa, reading a book. The painting I made of her after she left me for the second time is hanging on the wall behind her. On the table beside her is our wedding photo and another of us with our friends in New York at the speakeasy. A gold frame with a picture of my mother with me and my brothers at the lake house sits on a table on the opposite end of the couch. Next to it is a recent photo of Rita and Kevin Doyle.

We are surrounded by so much love, and I feel it the instant I step through the door.

I startle her from where she sits. Her blonde hair is longer now, but those curls are still as beautiful as ever. I drop my bag to the floor, kick the door closed, and crawl onto the couch, greeting my wife with a sensual kiss.

“Honey, I’m home,” I speak into her mouth.

Her hands skim my chest and push my suit jacket off of me. “I like you home.”

I can’t explain to her how seeing her here at the end of my day makes me feel complete. It’s cheesy as hell, but it’s true.

When I moved back to San Francisco, Harper couldn’t join me because she had to finish out her school year. I respected the fact that she never considered breaking her contract with the school district. Those kids meant too much to her, and I didn’t argue.

Being apart for those months was rough. I found any excuse I could to fly back to surprise her, and she came here during winter and spring breaks. We learned really quick that phone sex could definitely have its benefits and that the art of the love letter was not dead. I painted for her and sent her my drawings daily. She has them all in a trunk in our bedroom.

Now that she’s here, I never, ever want to be apart from her again.

I undo my tie and toss it on the ground before hiking up her knee, settling my body in between her thighs. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting but in a good way. Fourth grade math makes my head spin.” She giggles.

Harper was able to use her New York State teacher’s license to get a job as a fourth grade teacher in the Tenderloin district. It wasn’t even a question of if she would work or not. I’d already taken her out of her hometown. I would never take away her dreams.

“April called. She and Gil are planning a trip to Napa and spending a few nights with us first. Oh, and I spoke to Willa this afternoon,” she adds. “We shared her morning coffee and a doughnut via FaceTime. She’s moving in with Ryan.”

“I heard. Big step for them as a couple.”

“I’m trying to get them to move out here. I’ve already started scouting possible openings in my school for next year. I hear one of the second grade teachers is retiring.”

I consider the possibility of Ryan and Willa moving out here. The financial forecasting jobs are better in New York but getting our crew to the city would be awesome. “I’d really enjoy having Ryan around. He could help me keep Chris in check. He took my assistant out tonight.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

No, but … “Crazier things have happened, like sexy little blondes following strange men, who have kissed them in the bar, down to the subway.”

She smiles and then pulls me in for a kiss. Well, it’s more like a make-out session. I love making out with my wife.