EPILOGUE #5
Rena returns my earlier favor and comes to my rescue.
“It’s true,” she says, plunging a carrot into some ranch dip.
“They’re always fucking. She’d be incapacitated attempting to satiate one more, let alone three.
And Wells is too tightly wound around Ivy for that to ever work.
He scowled a death stare at Ryker for an entire meal because he thought Ryker’s hug with Ivy lingered too long.
Ryker , who is utterly obsessed with his best friend.
” Crunch. She holds up a ring-adorned index finger for us to wait while she chews, her bracelets jangling with the command.
“These guys do all orbit around her, but that’s Ivy.
She’s got some bewitching voodoo spell she refuses to share.
My brothers think the sun rises and sets with her too. ”
Celeste laughs, scooting her stool closer to skim a hand over my outstretched arm while addressing Rena.
“I get it. I’ve been hooked on the captivating Ivanna Kingston since the second grade, but Wells doesn’t seem to care when Ty hugs or kisses her hair.
No scowling when Liam calls her our girl or when Gage carries her off, feet dangling, to sample a cookie he wants to bake with her.
” She casts a dubious stare at me. “Those guys worship you.”
I guess I knew this was coming. There’s probably some underlying hurt there too. Celeste has always been my ride or die, the center of my tiny world, but that world has expanded beyond anything we could have comprehended. Shaded in deeper, darker hues.
My teeth notch into my lip with a shred of nervousness.
“And I worship them, but my husband is the only man who I’ve ever had sex with, and that is the way it will always be.
” It’s not that I can’t see the beauty in a polyamorous relationship.
I’m sure that can be amazing. It’s just not who we are. And I love who we are.
With a deep breath, I paint her a fuller picture.
“Ty, Liam, and Gage are a huge part of me though. My family and more . My heart. It’s difficult to explain, but knowing you’d die for someone, wading through carnage together, and being a life preserver when they’re drowning in that bloodbath—it’s a bond that surpasses the traditional sense of family. We’re forever linked.”
Celeste chugs the last of her cocktail, and I see the questions coasting over her flawless face, the proprietorial resentment. “And they’d all die for you?”
“Absolutely,” I reply with confidence. “And I would for them. Any of them.”
It wouldn’t even be a consideration, but maybe that’s not a conviction until your heart is thudding with the bleakness of a loved one’s demise.
I would have died to save my parents. I didn’t want to, but I was willing to risk my life.
And all four of my guys risked theirs for mine.
In this cutthroat reality engulfing us, that’s what you do for family.
I grab her hand, clasping our fingers and glancing between her and Rena.
“Like I would for both of you. Although I appreciate the lack of death threats you and Rena bring to my life.” A bemused chuckle puffs out of my heavy lungs.
“Who would’ve thought wild Lettie Carver and the Noire princess would be my taste of normalcy? ”
A mist of melancholic tears coats Celeste’s gorgeous brown eyes. “In spite of all the pain you’ve endured, especially after losing your dad, you look happy, Ivy. Glowing even. But … you’re different.”
I squeeze her hand with a sigh, realizing there will be some growing pains here.
“My mom keeps saying that too. I am different. My life is weird. But it’s a different and weird that I’m proud of.
A transformation my father would’ve been proud of.
You heard how much Wells loved and respected him in that eulogy, and it’s clear my father felt the same about him.
It wasn’t only Wells though. My father loved all of them.
I have no doubt he knew who they’d become to me.
In this whole mess of my fucked-up life, those four men are my greatest gift. My beauty in the broken.”
She dabs at a tear attempting to escape.
Celeste is no stranger to pain, and I’m guessing it’s her absence in both my hardships and healing this past year that hurts.
We’ve always weathered those together. Hopefully, in time, she’ll view the guys as an extension of our bond rather than a replacement.
“It’s a lot to wrap my head around,” she admits, “and I can’t stand Liam, but I’m happy for you.”
That makes me laugh, remembering how trying Liam can be at first, although I always found his taunting to be the rugged edge of charming. “He’s a dick sometimes, but we all have our demons. That’s how Liam masks his.”
“Ty doesn’t seem to have any demons,” Rena muses, and I don’t miss the wistful flutter of her lashes.
Ty’s demons are stashed away so deep behind his sweetness; I fear, one day, they’ll come roaring to life with a vengeance, but I don’t share that.
Instead, I keep it vague. “None of us are unscathed. It’s the scars that bind us.”
Celeste’s shoulders pull back rigidly in some sort of resolution. “I can’t promise I’ll continue my civility with him. He rankles me.”
Great. Still stuck on Liam.
“Go for it. Serve him up all the sass you’ve got.” I grin. “There’s nothing you can throw at Liam Graves that he can’t volley. That’s the best part about him.”
“Good,” she says, pouring herself another drink—three parts vodka, one part lemonade. “I’ll stop holding back.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I balk, suddenly sickened by the idea of them hating each other.
“Don’t be cruel. You can school him if he’s a dick, but don’t be needlessly mean.
And it’s best if you steer clear of jabs that involve the guys or me.
Liam is fiercely loyal. Fucking with his inner circle will give him a raging hard-on full of venom. ”
She doesn’t respond, probably sensing my panic.
Both girls are quiet, busy chugging their drinks and snacking on munchies.
It gives my mind the space to roam, ruminating on how they’re my family, too, and I don’t want to hide this baby from them.
This child needs a village. I haven’t been able to tell my mom yet either.
It’s important I do that in person, and she won’t be here until next week because she organizes a Fourth of July community event.
It was also a relief for her to avoid Daniel, who she knew would be here too.
She’s not quite ready to socialize with him, still swarming with mixed feelings about his presence in my life.
Wells won’t let me tell Daniel for obvious reasons involving KORT and an extended O’Reilly family we don’t fully trust. Daniel took custody of his niece and nephews, though, which solidified the bond forming between us.
They visit us every Tuesday afternoon. Daniel meets with Ty and me to help us navigate the ins and outs of KORT business, and then we all eat dinner and swim with the kids.
It’s been good, but right now, I need to squeal with the girls who ground me.
Swatting away the apprehension over Celeste and Liam sparring, I linger on the vow Celeste and I have always exchanged.
If you’re going nowhere, I’m coming with you.
This life and this baby certainly aren’t a representation of going nowhere—quite the opposite—but Celeste and I will be travel companions, no matter what life throws at us. My gut says the same is true of Rena.
I smile a megawatt grin and lean in close. “Moving on, girlies. I have a secret.”
After they both swear not to breathe a word, I unveil my news, which reduces us all to sloppy tears. I sense Wells lingering near us before I see him. He creeps in, shooting me an admonishing glower, but it diminishes when my wet eyes meet his.
I needed this.
Swooping in once our joyful sobbing morphs to quiet laughter, he flicks his eyes to Rena, who is familiar with silent orders from domineering men. She promptly carts Celeste away under the guise of letting her flirt with her brother Cash.
Wells dusts his thumb over my cheekbone, catching the jubilant stains of grateful sorrow—this baby will be woven with a spectrum of colors and shadows and emotions.
His conflict is clear by the worrying divot between his eyes.
“We agreed not to tell anyone yet. I need time to assess what we’ll be dealing with. It’s not safe, Ivanna.”
“And it never will be,” I counter as another tear spills—this one full of anger for the secrets and threats and hiding. For the losses and the inability to simply bask in the gains. “It’s Celeste and Rena, for God’s sake. There’s no danger there.”
He barks a morose chuckle, laced with some thread of doubt. “There’s danger everywhere , Ives, even with your girlfriends .”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing this with you right now. I won’t shut them out.” At his leer, I huff. “I heard a firework. We should get out there.”
He coils around me until I’m enveloped in a cocoon composed of pulsing biceps, chiseled pecs, wandering hands, ragged breaths, and tandem heartbeats. “I know you need them, but I won’t apologize for protecting you and our baby. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
My lips move against the sticky skin on his neck, effusing sugar and his manly cologne—leather, citrus, and spice. But no scotch. Breathing him in, I think maybe releasing his ban on drinking would be preferable. Expensive scotch is so Wells.
“I’m not asking you to apologize,” I whisper. “But you have to let me love the people closest to me even if they’re outside of this house. Otherwise, it’s not really living. Not really celebrating.”
A colorless existence, void of dandelion dreams.
Pressing his lips to mine, he extends a tentative answer, cushioning his disapproval with delicate caresses of his tongue. That’s how Wells apologizes. “We’ll talk about this later.” A gentle nip on my lower lip. “I love you, Ivy.”
My eyes latch on to his—emeralds that still make my stomach flutter with a thousand butterfly kisses. A gaze that holds me hostage to a world of shooting-star possibilities.
“I love you, Wells. Thank you for protecting us, and thank you for this beautiful family.”
We mosey outside as vibrant sparkles of red, white, and blue reach their fingers into the inky sky with startling shrieks and rumbles.
But my eyes crawl over the gathering of spirits.
Some would awe at the supreme authority looming in one space.
Others would recognize it for the terrifying anarchy it is. But all I see are souls that are mine.
Gritty and unfaltering. My sticky grains of sand.
I went from a family of three who hid among the masses to a family of more than a dozen who rules over the shadows.
We curl up in a chair the guys left open for us—Liam and Gage on one side, Ty on the other.
I wrap my arm around Wells’s neck, my cheek gliding against his bristly scruff as we gape at the show.
The pond reflects every romping explosion of patriotic color as a thunderous symphony of Wells’s favorite composers conducts the performance.
“Do you think Balzano was right?” I ask him.
He scoffs, popping out his raspberry sucker. “Doubtful, but be more specific.”
My fingers rake through his thick black hair, nudging some fallen strands off his forehead. “Do you think he was right when he said this life was full of suffering?”
His arms cinch around me possessively on a jagged breath. “I won’t let anything happen to you or this baby if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No.” My eyes peruse the royal-blue star above, speckled with glittery-white pinpricks. “I’m not scared, just wondering how on point it was.”
Suffering is such a palpable sentiment. Is that what’s in store, no matter how hard we try?
Wells rasps in an easygoing tenor, obviously attempting to allay my concerns. “I’m sure we’ll have our share of troubling times, but doesn’t everyone?”
I hum, cognizant of the truth in that statement—all my guys endured unfathomable loss before this life.
“I suppose. What about … do you think it will ever get easier?” I’m not sure what I’m asking—whether it be the PTSD, the grief, my work with KORT, or facing the fact that death is always knocking.
Bringing a child into any of it is daunting.
My birth mother’s decision and my father’s sentiment from the letter he wrote me make perfect sense even though I wouldn’t leave this all behind.
Sometimes, running is the bravest thing in this world .
Wells grips my chin, so I look at him instead of the sky. “I think you were built for ironclad trials, Ives. Designed for the fire. It’s in your makeup. We have that in common, so easy won’t ever define our life together. No path we took would have.”
“You think I’m dark?” I ask, wondering if that’s what he means by being made for fire. “Is that another reason you call me a storm?”
“Not dark, baby.” His lips break into a wolfish grin, aglow by the explosive glitter falling through the night. “Blustery with the most shockingly beautiful light. Like those booming fireworks. So much oomph and fight.”
Fight. I am always fighting him, which must be draining for someone who’s used to commanding.
“I’m sorry. You’ve been on the receiving end of that a lot.” My arm drapes across my middle with a creeping insecurity. “Will you ever tire of it?”
“Ivanna,” he growls, eyes fierce. “What do I always tell you?”
I groan, evidently not relinquishing that fight anytime soon. “Not to apologize, which, for the record, will be a terrible lesson to pass on to our child, so you need to come up with something else.”
“Noted.” He chuckles, offering me a suggestive lick of his Tootsie Pop. “Don’t apologize for being you though. You’re everything I ever wanted. Everything I never believed I’d have. Loving you, having you in my arms, makes me feel invincible.”
“Invincible?” That word intrigues me because he’s never voiced it before.
My attention floats over the celebratory explosions, the idle chatter surrounding us, and back to this gorgeous, extraordinary man who has my whole heart. Mine.
He wraps up the candy, setting it on the arm of our chair, and cradles my face with the expression that always stills me, seeping into my veins and cells and marrow.
The one that assures me this is an epic love, far surpassing my comprehension or insecurities or penchant for fiery resistance.
His lips press to mine for a pillowy, sugar-coated union that steals my breath before his emeralds brighten, more dazzling than the glistering sky.
“I never wanted a doe, baby. Anyone can command the weak or steer the docile. It takes a god to conquer the storm.”
THE END