Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
T he man I was in love with was there, but was also mixed in with the man I feared most. When he spoke the truth for the first time, it was like I was finally seeing him without any weight on his shoulders. I was not naive, I knew something had happened to Cagen the moment I showed up that night. He just never told me and both of us held this deep resentment toward each other.
But we were so vulnerable and raw in front of each other. I’d never felt this naked in my entire life, and I was fully clothed. His gaze was obscured, revealing the fervor coursing through his veins—an undeniable need.
Despite the intensity of his desire, he bore visible signs of recent conflict with Georgie. The flow of blood had abated, but remnants still lingered, and his bruised lip, chunks of bloody flesh, and pained expression indicated the toll on his body. Despite being clothed, the subtle indications suggested a few broken ribs, evident in the wince that accompanied each step he took.
"You’re hurt," I whispered as I heard the scuffle of boots along the frozen leaves around me, but I couldn’t move my gaze from his. The fire in his eyes burned so deeply it was terrifying.
"Did I fucking stutter, wife? Get on your knees. I am not asking again."
What a filthy husband I had. My knees crunched as I dropped to the ground and opened my mouth, readying myself for him.
"Yes, Muse. You know exactly what I want. No, what I need."
"Fill me up with your seed, sir. Please."
I wanted him to dominate me, send me into oblivion. He winced as he pulled his pants down.
His cock was thick and just as needy as he was. We were in the middle of the cold, and frankly, I didn’t care who the fuck saw me gagging on my husband’s cock.
"You were made for me," he groaned as he thrust himself all the way to my throat. "Fucking perfect fit."
I gagged as he held his chest with one hand and thrust his hips so his cock stuffed my face properly.
"When you said—" He groaned as I worked his shaft with my tongue. "When you told me you loved me, confessed it in front of everyone, I imagined what this moment would look like, when I could finally claim you as mine."
"Yours," I said as I pulled off him only for him to thrust inside. He was so thick and beautiful. I loved giving him this pleasure, watching him unfurl as he towered over me.
"All of your truths," I whispered so he knew I wasn’t mad at him for sharing what had happened.
"What do you need, Muse? Tell me." He took a small step backward and I unlatched from my hold.
"I want to please you. I want to get you off. I want you to call out my name as you spill inside my mouth."
A devious turn of his lips was the only sign he gave me that I satisfied him before he continued his assault.
"So fucking beautiful," he lamented right before he came into my mouth, filling me up with his sticky seed.
"Next time, your cunt." I swallowed, licking my lips before looking up at him, my knees killing me from the cold.
"What?" I asked, knowing damn well what he meant. I was being a brat and wanted to hear it from him.
"I am going to come so hard into your throbbing, aching pussy and get your sweet ass pregnant."
I shook my head as I stood up. "No babies." I wrapped my hands gently around his neck. "Let me enjoy you for a little bit."
"As my wife wishes." He lazily kissed me back, tasting himself on my lips.
"Let’s go inside so I can fix you up," I said before extending my hand.
Walsh paused and stared at my hand like I’d done something out of the ordinary.
I had to double-check, maybe I had something gross still on my hand, but couldn’t find anything wrong.
"What?" I shook my head as he stood there. A smile crept up on his face which confused me even more.
"I just…I never want to forget the sight." He sighed.
"You bloodied while staring awkwardly as the cum freezes on my lips?" I retorted, and he burst into laughter, then winced from his broken ribs.
"Yes, Muse. Just that." He interlaced his fingers in mine—a perfect fit.
We headed toward the house, and he winced with each step. "I’ll tell Enzo to call the doctor to come to the house after we get you washed up."
"Stop," he complained. "I don't need that."
I narrowed my eyes at him as he walked a step forward and his brow furrowed. "Okay, okay. You win."
"Good." I huffed. Because little did he know he had actually won. We weren't at war anymore, but even if we were, I would have waved my white flag repeatedly if I knew this was the prize. I would have willingly lost every battle, knowing I would win in the end.
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room, and I dampened a soft cloth with warm water. Walsh sat on the couch shirtless, revealing the aftermath of being tied up—bruised and battered, with blood staining his skin. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air.
Taking a gentle approach, I dabbed at the dried blood on his face. Every swipe of the cloth revealed more of his features, and with each motion, I felt an intimate connection forming. The bruises on his lip and the cuts on his face mirrored the battles he faced, both visible and invisible. Walsh remained quiet as I cared for him, watching my every move.
The doctor just left, after confirming broken ribs, emphasizing the need for rest and caution. Walsh nodded in acknowledgment, a stoic expression masking the discomfort he surely felt.
We found ourselves back on the couch, drawn to the flickering flames in the fireplace. The warmth enveloped us, casting a tranquil spell over the room. I nestled beside Walsh, feeling the comforting heat of the fire and the reassuring rhythm of his breath.
In the quietude, our fingers gently intertwined, and without words, an unspoken understanding passed between us. The day unfolded lazily, marked by the crackling fire and shared glances that conveyed more than any spoken language could. We remained entwined in the cocoon of the living room, finding solace in the simple act of being together.
"I am sorry," Walsh finally said, breaking the silence between us. We were snuggled under one of his oversized plush blankets, my legs intertwined with his. I pulled away only so I could see him, searching his face for understanding.
"For what?" I asked scanning his face for clues.
"Everything," his voice cracked. "I am sorry I ever treated you like you were secondary to anything. You were never second to anyone or anything in my life. I was just consumed?—"
I cut him off by pressing my lips to his thick lips. "Shh."
"I am sorry for lying. I should’ve told you what happened that night, but it was a secret I wanted to bury."
"And the guy who did it?" I asked.
He shrugged. "He was a good guy. I didn’t want anyone else to die, so my dad thinks the Den killed her."
"You had to keep that for so long," I whispered. "I am sorry."
"Why?" His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt palpable. "Why forgive me so easily?"
The answer, though simple, carried a depth that seemed to elude him. "I couldn't even give you a proper Christmas," he confessed, tears welling in his eyes. It struck me that this might be the first time he had allowed himself such vulnerability. "I ruined it because of my last name, who I am, and how I messed up all the plans I laid out and Georgie came for you. I ruined it because I didn't come up with a backup?—"
"Stop." I sat up straighter. "You ruined nothing." My gaze swept around the room, encompassing the holiday decorations and the roaring fire before returning to him. "All I've ever wanted is a family for Christmas. I just wanted to spend time with you."
I shifted on the couch, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief as I opened up to Walsh. "I've never had a family that cared enough. My parents, they broke me down piece by piece until I felt like nothing. They never cared about taking care of me. They attempted to burn me alive for God's sake."
"Do you ever miss them?" Walsh asked.
I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I had the answer to the question. I often thought I missed the concept of what family was supposed to be in my fairy tales, but never my parents themselves. "My father is still alive. He has a whole family out in California, but I’ve never thought of him as my dad after that night."
"Have you ever thought about making amends with him?"
"No," I admitted. "Sometimes life is messy and sometimes the pieces don’t always fit into a neat puzzle, but I don't ever want to see him again."
"He never went to jail?"
"No. Neither of them did."
"Madison…"
"Don’t pity me. Please. I just told you this so you’ll understand me more. I want to share my story, not for any sort of redemption, but maybe it'll be easier to understand why I am like this.
"Then there was my grandmother," I continued, a tinge of bitterness in my tone. "She had her own way of trying to fix me. I was so grateful for her and the life she gave me, but she wanted to mold me into something that society deemed acceptable. Something polished and presentable. She meant well, I guess, but it felt like I was living someone else's life. I was hiding behind a disguise of conformity, afraid to reveal the real me."
Taking a deep breath, I turned to Walsh, searching his eyes for understanding. "But you, Walsh, you came into my life so unexpectedly. You tore down the walls I had built, exposing the raw, authentic me. It scared me at first, to be seen and accepted for who I truly was and I rebelled against it. Oftentimes, it felt like walking on a tightrope without a safety net. But you showed me that vulnerability isn't weakness; it's strength. You forced me to peel off the layers, revealing the person behind the carefully crafted exterior."
A small smile touched my lips as I recalled the moments Walsh challenged me to confront my fears and insecurities. "You made me see that sometimes wearing a mask is necessary, but it's also heavy and hard. You didn't just accept me; you embraced every part of me—the flaws, the scars, and the imperfections. In your eyes, I found a home, a place where I could be myself, without judgment."
I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers. "So, forgiving you is not about overlooking mistakes. It's about acknowledging that we're both imperfect beings navigating through this messy thing called life. And despite it all, you've been the anchor that grounded me, the one who made me believe in the beauty of my own soul. That's why I forgive you so easily, Walsh. Because you've given me something I never thought I'd have—a family, a home, and a love that surpasses all my scars."
More tears flooded Walsh’s face. "I’ve never—I’ve never cried before. When my mom died, I couldn’t, and I thought being a man meant showing up for my family by not showing weakness."
I grabbed his hand on the couch and reached up to his face with our fingers intertwined, cusping his cheek before I pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. "I love you," I murmured softly.
"I have a little Christmas gift for you. Let me get it." I put my hand to his chest gently so as not to hurt his wounds.
"You didn’t have to get me anything. I didn't have time…" I was embarrassed. Until yesterday, I thought I would be in Isles for a while, running away from here.
"It’s been bought." He stood and walked out of the room, returning only moments later with a wrapped gift.
I stood, ashamed. "I feel so?—"
"Enough. Just open it."
My trembling fingers accepted the petite box from his hand. It measured no larger than the expanse of my palm, impeccably adorned with Christmas-themed wrapping paper.
"Ms. Luchesse?" I questioned, well aware that Walsh Solis wasn't known for wrapping gifts with such precision. A chuckle escaped him, and I carefully removed the paper, unveiling a diminutive jewelry box.
"Open it," he urged, his voice a gentle whisper in the intimate space between us.
As I delicately unwrapped the package, my heart pounded in my chest and a surge of anxiety washed over me. My breath caught as I opened it. Inside lay a breathtaking pear-shaped diamond ring, its brilliance captivating me in an instant. A new band, intricately designed, complemented the stunning centerpiece.
My hands trembled as I stared at the massive ring. I had left the old gold band he’d given me when I was drunk back in the room above the barn. I took it off, half tempted to chuck it in the trash, but opted to put it on the nightstand. A mixture of emotions, the weight of the past and the promise of the future, collided within me.
Walsh, sensing my internal turmoil, stepped closer. His eyes never left mine as he lowered himself to one knee, his gaze filled with sincerity.
"Marry me, Madison Solis…again," he declared, the words heavy with meaning. "This new band symbolizes a fresh start for us, a chance to build something beautiful together. Will you still be my wife?"
Time seemed to stand still as I processed his heartfelt proposal. The pear-shaped diamond sparkled with promises of a new beginning, and I felt a surge of warmth amid the anxiety. Walsh waited patiently, his vulnerability laid bare before me.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I whispered, "Yes," and a genuine smile spread across his face. He slid the exquisite ring onto my scarred finger, sealing our commitment with a promise that echoed beyond the radiant sparkle of the diamond—a promise of a love that endured and flourished in the face of past trials and the anticipation of a shared future.
"I love you," Walsh whispered as he slowly got off his feet and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"I love you," I said.
I couldn’t stop staring at the pretty ring on my ugly, broken fingers. I stopped, staring up at him. "My parents did this."
It was as if I’d opened the floodgates and the words came spilling out. "I was just a child and when they burned my room, I was reaching for my favorite teddy bear. My hands were caught in the fire and when the ambulance managed to find me at my neighbors’ house, it was too late. I had to get a few skin grafts to fix me up."
I sighed. "It’s such a beautiful ring on such an ugly finger."
Walsh reached for my hands, bringing them to his lips. "You are beautiful. Your scars are beautiful, and they just tell a story of you and what you’ve had to go through to get here."
"My story," I repeated.
"Yours."
I shook my head. "Now it's ours." He gave me a smile as he trailed kisses down my arms, caressing each scar with his lips.
Once he was finished, the doorbell rang.
"What the heck?" I pulled back from him. "More surprises?"
Walsh’s face lit up as he slowly made it to the front door. A flurry of voices echoed throughout the otherwise-quiet room, shocking me.
The first person to walk through that I recognized was Mr. Solis.
"Hey, Madison," he said so casually as he came over and gave me a kiss on the cheek before heading to the kitchen. What an odd greeting; it took me a moment to process that it was as if I was part of the family.
Then I saw Ember, who was wearing an obnoxious Christmas sweater and a pair of jeans, followed by her husband Rain, who donned an all-black look. He seemed to hover over her as I offered a smile and walked in their direction, somewhat hesitant knowing that Rain was still upset.
"Merry Christmas," she said, crossing the distance between us and giving me a hug, washing away any hesitation I had.
"Thank you for lending me the car," I said to Rain who stood beside her.
He let out a breath as Walsh rounded the corner to stand next to me, and for a moment, to an outsider, it probably looked like we were about to tear each other’s claws off.
Then Rain let out a deep sigh. "It’s already been delivered back here, so no problem."
He then paused, looked between the two of us, and spoke. "If this is some sort of charade again, I will not stand for it?—"
"It’s not," Walsh defended. I tugged lightly on his hands, thankful for his protection. Ember pulled on Rain’s arm and Walsh seemed to relax at this gesture.
"Rain, this is Walsh’s wife, Madison." Rain seemed to relax at the thought and then offered his hand in my direction.
"Nice to meet you, Madison." He emphasized my preferred name that I’d told Ember I’d rather be called now, and I quickly reached out and shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you, too," I responded with ease.
"Alright, formalities are out of the way, let's celebrate," Mr. Solis declared, breaking the tension that lingered in the living room. Ember eagerly joined her father, extracting an assortment of food items from a bag.
"Walsh-y, we're raiding your pans," Ember announced, approaching Mr. Solis. As Walsh headed in their direction, I gently tugged on his arm to halt him.
"Why?" I asked, studying his face for insight.
"Why, what?" he replied softly. I motioned to everyone gathered in the living room.
"All of this."
"Because you deserve it," he whispered tenderly. I was overwhelmed with emotion.
"Hey, Walsh?" I spoke, glancing down at the sparkling ring on my finger. Though we were technically already married, it hadn't transpired the way I had ever imagined—not that I envisioned a marriage for love.
"Yes, Muse?" he responded, pulling me snugly into his arms. I took a deep breath, allowing the warmth of his embrace to envelop me.
"I think the war we were waging against each other was better fought when we were on the same side," I finally admitted into his chest. He gently pulled away, just enough to meet my gaze.
"I agree."
Because if anything was learned, it was that sometimes hurt people hurt others not out of any harmful or malicious intent, but rather as a reflection of their own pain and struggles. Life had taught us we were all flawed, carrying our own burdens, and navigating through a world that wasn’t always kind was easier when we were fighting it together.
As we stood in the warmth of that moment, surrounded by family and love, we realized that our shared battles and scars had led us to a place of acceptance and forgiveness. The journey to our happily ever after wasn't a smooth path; it was filled with twists, turns, and unexpected revelations. The war we fought against each other had become the foundation for building something beautiful—an enduring love that transcended the darkness of our pasts.
And so, we embraced the truth. As I stared at my own story, laid out in front of me, I realized that overcoming the pain from my parents didn't have to be linear. It was messy and complicated which made me messy and complicated.
For years I thought I was never worthy enough for love, a notion rooted in the pain of my past. When I met Walsh, I understood that love wasn't a weakness, but a potent, all-encompassing force. Though it stirred trepidation within both of us, it was the collaborative exploration of our emotions that ultimately held the key to our salvation. Together, we navigated the labyrinth of our fears, proving that confronting our vulnerabilities side by side was the true answer. Because even villains, in their quest for redemption, could rewrite their stories and find their own versions of happily ever after.