EPILOGUE #2
“The void is filling,” she says, her voice barely audible over the crashing burble of the jets. “I painted.”
I knew she locked herself in her studio a couple of days ago, which showered me in hope, but I haven’t pried.
Other than the portrait of the guys and me, she hasn’t painted since before our first run-in back in September.
Her past artwork graces the walls of our new home, every piece marking a part of our story, before we even began—her moods and inspiration and my admiration from afar.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the delight of viewing a new piece and all it unveils about the deepest parts of my girl.
It’s not a step that can be forced though.
“What did you paint? Portrait of someone or a place you dreamed of?”
She waves her hands through the water, eyes tracking the ripples. “People are too personal. I’ve only ever painted you guys. Practiced on nameless people, but never committed it to anyone else real. I brushed away the carnage, gave it a home that isn’t my head.”
So cryptic, like after Tom got sick when all her work depicted either the jagged edge of death or life imprisoned. Progress. It’s not merely going through the motions of working, exercising, and gaining weight. My brave girl is pushing through.
“Tell me,” I encourage.
“I had a moment … a shooting star. The spark decimating the darkness.” She cranes her neck to me, eyes roving over my features, probably to gauge whether I’m comprehending what she’s sharing. “Maybe telling you all what my head’s been like sullied the black-hole power. The way my father did.”
My throat constricts like a vise is clamping it, choked by all that’s been gripping her. I cinch my arms around Ivy’s waist, molding her body to mine and tucking her head beneath my cheek. Closer. “Maybe. I hope so, baby. ”
She hums as her head lolls back, gaze drifting up to the freckled night. “Something fresh is blooming. Even staring at the filth and ruins of the bloody desecration I stroked, I felt it. The vestiges of affliction burrowing into the cold soil and planting petals.”
Ivy’s words have been spinning in my head all night, even in my dreams. I know my wife inside and out. Better than she knows herself. Her gut is always tuned in. Even when she’s slow to connect the dots, she senses things.
At three thirty in the morning, I drag myself out of bed, throw on jeans and a T-shirt, and leave my Little Storm asleep beneath the covers.
When I breeze through the expansive kitchen, Gage is perched on a stool at the breakfast bar island.
His eyes land on me with disappointment. Not who he was hoping to see.
I chuckle, uttering, “She’s sleeping,” as I pin him with a challenging gape.
He slouches his shoulders, even as his mouth wrenches up at the corner, conceding that Ivy sleeping is the goal. After he sulks through a sip of coffee, he collects himself enough to regard me. “Where the hell are you going?”
“I’ve got an errand,” I say, grabbing my keys from the recessed wall cabinet near the garage entrance.
His eyebrows hike up his forehead. “At three in the morning? Need assistance?”
I don’t miss the conflicted swing of his gaze to the back staircase, so I set him at ease. “No, man. Stay in case she wakes up.”
He nods, and I rush out the door. I’m not sure how I’d accomplish anything without the three of them. There would be a constant knot in my chest. I’d never be able to leave her.
We’re out a ways from civilization, so all-night stores are a thirty-minute drive. Still, I’m in and out, and back to the house by a quarter to five. The scents of cinnamon and yeast waft over me as I saunter into the kitchen .
Ivy beams when she spots me, hair up in a messy bun, apron on, and icing a sweet roll. “Morning, Chief. Where’d you run off to?”
“Morning, Little Storm.” I lift the brown paper bag in my hand. “Got us something.”
Gage crows beside her with a headshake, and Ivy smacks his chest.
“Why is that where your mind goes? You think he ventured out at three a.m. to get something sexy for us?” Her eyes flit to mine in a silent, chiding query.
I wink.
So fucking sexy, baby. Just you wait.
She giggles.
He shrugs, peels the outer layer off a cinnamon roll, and hip-checks my wispy little ginger. “With the way you two barricade yourselves in various areas of the house at all hours of the day and night, who knows?”
Ivy scrunches her lips into a rueful frown, but he wipes it away with a kiss on the cheek.
“Best fucking cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had, Ivy. I’ll guard them with my life while you tend to Chief.”
She laughs, leaning into his affection before pushing off toward me and discarding her apron.
“They’re only that good because you’re a stellar baking partner.
” Whirling back around, she wags a finger at him, adding with a stern set of her jaw, “Leave some for Liam and Ty. They’re taking a cheat day, so they’ll want their fill. ”
He stuffs one in his mouth with a muffled, “Yes, ma’am.”
She threads her fingers into my outstretched hand with an impish grin and follows me up the back staircase to our master, not even waiting for us to cross the threshold to coast her hand over my back with a seductive purr.
“ God , you know what it does to me to see you dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Bare feet. Seriously , Wells , we have a houseful of people to prepare for.”
I pull her into the room and close the door with a smirk. “Not now, Ives. Always so damn greedy. ”
Her eyes squint with a suspicious glint, which is fair. I’m not sure I’ve ever told her we don’t have time to mess around. I might be showing my hand too early, but all logic and sound thinking are drowning in last night’s hot tub.
She smacks me on my chest—pausing in appreciation of my sculpted pecs, which brings a proud smile to my face—before drilling her nail into my muscle with a quizzical, “What’s going on?”
“You were right last night.” I hand her the bag, swallowing my eagerness. “Something is blooming.”
She glances inside, then back at me, mouth agape. “No. I’m on …” The protest dies on her now-slack tongue. Truth swirling. Gut confirming.
I snake my arm around her waist, erasing the space between us. “We’ve had so much going on, and your cycles are never regular. It makes sense that we missed it. I checked your calendar. You were due for a shot in February. You’ve missed two.”
“Shit,” she hisses, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t even know when my last period was. I’m sor—”
“Don’t even think about it.” I lift her chin and wait for those ocean eyes to see the honesty in mine as her heart thuds erratically against me. “I’m ecstatic. I probably would’ve tampered with your birth control if you hadn’t been struggling.”
“What?” she shrieks with an expression I’ve seen on a handful of occasions, all escorted by the verdict that I’m losing my mind. “Why are you so insane, Wells?”
And there it is.
I shove that away with a subtle headshake.
“Don’t focus on that. The point is, I’m happy.
” Understatement. The thought of her swollen with my child is intoxicating.
I’ve always known it would be, but after hearing her fierce rebuttal against Balzano about knitting heirs apparent, I’ve been obsessed with the vision.
Despite my fingersscratching the flat plane of her belly, I don’t want to be too enthusiastic in case I’m wrong, so I tack on, “But take those before we celebrate. ”
“Eight of them?” She rolls her bratty blues.
“Ivanna,” I growl. “Do I look like a man willing to wait through your obstinacy? Pee in a damn cup. Dip the sticks.” I take her hand with an insistent, “C’mon,” and tow her toward the bathroom.
She scoffs and fists her hair. “You’re not coming in for the urinating part of this. Stand down. I’ll call you once it’s your time to participate.”
With that, she shuts herself inside the bathroom while I pace outside the door for eternity .
After my fifth pounding knock, she emerges with her teeth notched firmly in her lip and a timid nod. “Something’s blooming.”
I swoop her into my arms, nestling her against me with a whoop that surely transcends this twenty-seven-thousand-square-foot home.
“Jesus Christ, baby. A baby. Fuck, I love you so much, Little Storm.” When I pull back to catch her gaze, her eyes are glossy, stilling me. “Oh, Ives. Are you happy? Unhappy?”
“No. Yes,” she stammers. “So happy and so sad.”
I relax my hold and settle us both in our tufted velvet love seat, cradling her on my lap. She’s probably sad about Tom, but I wait, not wanting to put words in her mouth.
She sighs a couple of beats later. “I love you, and I want this baby. So much.” She wraps her arms over her stomach. “I just wish my dad were here. He would’ve …”
“Yeah,” I agree, tugging her closer. “He would’ve been an amazing grandpa. In a way, he still will be. So much of who he was is in both of us. He’ll leave his mark on this child too.”
Her eyes sweep up to me, relief sharpening into a smile.
“He is in both of us. And he’d be livid if he knew I was lamenting instead of celebrating, so no more tears.
” She straightens with a resolute swipe of her grief.
“We’re having a baby. Holy smokes.” Burying her face in my neck, she adds, “Fuck that Balzano prick.”
That has us both laughing until our lips collide in tender rejoicing. Christ , I love this woman.
An hour later, Liam texts me.
Graves: Why the fuck is Landry here? He’s tight-lipped and not invited in until you respond.
I jaunt down to the front porch to find Liam smoking a cigarette and pinning Dr. Landry with a skeptical glare, who doesn’t seem offended in the least.
Liam turns that glare on me. “What the hell is going on?”
“I asked him to come,” I say, not bothering to expound.
Liam scans me and then drops his cigarette to the ground, extinguishing it with his shoe. “What’s wrong with her?”