Page 28 of Vicious King

He’s alive.

And I feel like I can breathe for the first time in seven years.

By the time I can make myself move and get inside the house, Charlie has Carson on the floor with him, and they’re putting LEGOs together.

I stop short, and Carson looks up at me and grins.

And Jesus, I might have just fallen in love with him again. I mean, there’s still so much to talk about, and I have to actually get to know him, but how could I resist loving him when I never stopped in the first place?

“Mom, me and Dad are hungry,” Charlie says.

“You need to remember your manners and say please,” I remind my son. “I’m not your servant, Charles Roman.”

“Sorry, Mom.” He looks up at me and frowns. “Can we please have waffles?”

“Waffles out of the freezer coming up.” I take one more second to watch them, and then I pad into the attached kitchen and pull out the box. I can hear them murmuring to each other. Carson’s voice is so deep, and then there’s Charlie’s little-boy voice, and I can’t stop the tears that spill out of my eyes.

Twenty-four hours ago, my life was so different. And now I’m overwhelmed, not altogether convinced that this isn’t a dream, and I don’t even know what in the hell to think.

But my kid just welcomed his dad into our house like he just got home from a business trip. Which is a testament to how much I’ve told him about Carson over the years, the stories I’ve shared, the inside jokes. And I’m so glad that I did that. I wanted Carson to live on through us, so he’s been a vital part of our family all these years.

And now he’s here.

I sense him behind me just before he wraps his arms around me and hugs my chest, pulling my back against his front and he plants his lips in my hair, inhaling deeply.

“Are you okay, Sunshine?”

“My husband is alive,” I whisper, brushing at the tears.

“I’m right here,” he says. “And he’s fucking amazing, Ree. I’m so damn proud of you.”

I pull in a shaky breath. I don’t want my boy to hear me sob, so I turn and pat Carson on the chest.

“I have to use the bathroom. Do you mind popping those in the toaster?”

I don’t wait for a response. There’s no time. I’m about to fall apart, and I don’t want Charlie to witness it. I hustle back to my bathroom, close the door, and sit on the closed lid of the toilet, my face in my hands, and give into the meltdown that’s been brewing since Carson showed up on my porch last night. Even though I was awake all night, I didn’t cry. I was too shocked.

And now it’s sinking in. Charlie has a father. His father. And oh my God, Carson’s alive.