“Who’s claiming I’ve abused my daughter?”
The second officer squares his shoulders and says, “You know we can’t tell you that, Mr. Patterson.”
I almost start laughing right then. He’d called my dad Mr. Patterson. Not Chief Patterson, but Mr. Patterson. Little bubbles of giddiness inflate my head, and I shake off my dad’s grip. He doesn’t dare to stop me, and I stride to Avery’s side. She reaches out and takes my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. I squeeze her hand back, letting her know I’m fine. Hell, I’m more than fine. I’m freaking, flipping, flying wonderful.
The next few minutes pass in a blur. I watch the officers step forward and read my dad his Miranda rights as they handcuff him. They lead him away, and my dad doesn’t resist. He’s still trying to reason with the officers and get them to let him go. But the officers won’t listen. As they approach the exit, my dad glares over his shoulder at me. He doesn’t even try to hide his rage. I just turn away.
The doors close behind my dad, and I turn and tackle Avery into a hug, laughing through a new rush of tears. No one tries to stop our celebration, and Avery’s parents even join in on the hug. I’m surrounded by people who care, and for the first time in years, there’s no one to get in the way.
I wipe a happy tear out of my eye and sign, “Who are the six people?”
Avery quickly signs back, “My parents, me, two of your teachers, and one of your former doctors.”
I shake my head. “Why now? People have always been too afraid to say anything.”
“A certain musician convinced them otherwise,” she signs as a grin overtakes her expression.
My stomach does a happy little flip. “Jace?”
Avery nods. “He called me last night and explained everything. We had to scramble, but we managed to get all six witnesses together. After that, it was just a matter of filing an emergency case with CPS. The police took care of everything else.”
I tackle her into another hug. “Thank you.”
She squeezes me back, and then pulls away to sign, “Don’t thank me. Thank Jace. This never would have happened without him.”
I grin, but then the expression falters as the truth slams into me: I’m still seventeen. I’ll still need to be in someone’s custody for the next couple of months, and that probably means being shoved into the foster system.
Avery takes my hands and says, “What’s the matter?”
“Where am I going to go now?” I ask. “I mean, if I’m not with my dad . . .”
She rolls her eyes, like this is officially the dumbest question she’s ever heard. “You’ll stay with me, of course. My parents are going to file paperwork to be your legal guardians.”
“And that will work?”
She shrugs. “Jace already got all this to work. It shouldn’t be much trouble to get you in a proper home.” Then her smile grows, and she pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Jace told me to show you this text as soon as I could.”
I snatch the phone from her and read the text on the screen: Even if I can’t love, I will love you. I’ve never been good at following rules—not even my own. I’m at the Austin airport, and I’ll be in LA in a few hours.
I hug the phone against my chest for a moment, and then hastily type out a message in response. I don’t even think about it; the words are just there, and I mean them. I love you, too.
Avery tackles me into another hug, and I squeeze her tightly back, letting out a happy squeal. I flash back to that first night I won the raffle prize, and how Avery and I had acted just like this. Only, this time, it’s different. Because this isn’t a moment of utter bliss. This is the start of an utterly blissful life.
We finally calm down a little, and Avery nods to the phone. There’s a new message from Jace on the screen: Serva me, servabo te.
“What does that mean?” Avery signs.
I smile down at the phone as I recognize the familiar motto. “Hope,” I sign, remembering what Jace once told me. “It means hope.”
EPILOGUE
EIGHT MONTHS LATER . . .
JACE
I STRUM THE final chord of the concert as the crowd breaks into wild applause. Over the past few months, Tone Deaf’s concerts have grown even larger. Some critics have attributed our success to all the gossip surrounding Ali and me. After the kidnapping charges against me were dropped, and Ali’s dad was convicted of child abuse, the media went absolutely nuts. I was proclaimed to be a hero, and Ali’s story was broadcasted everywhere.
But I know the truth: the increase in success doesn’t come from anything I did. All the credit goes to Ali and the incredible music she continues to write for Tone Deaf.