Chapter 44
Soren
I ’m leaning on the hood of my car, every muscle in my body tensed like I’m about to block an impossible shot. The cold air is nothing compared to the anticipation icing my veins as I wait for Gail to step out of Lucia’s car; it’s been too damn long since I’ve seen her. And then there she is, unfolding herself from the passenger’s seat like a revelation.
I’m frozen for a fraction of a second, barely noticing Lucia take off while I watch Gail. “Fuck me,” I murmur under my breath. She’s wearing a snug dress that hugs her curves, and there’s more roundness to her belly that wasn’t there the last time I saw her.
Seventeen weeks pregnant, and she’s glowing like the break of dawn after a long, dark night. It’s not just the baby—it’s everything. Her presence fills up the empty spaces inside me with something warm and terrifying. Happiness.
“Hey,” I force out, my voice rough as gravel.
“Hey, Soren,” she says, approaching me with a hesitant smile that almost knocks the wind out of me. Her black and white hair dances in the wind, and those piercing blue eyes are fixed on mine, looking for answers I don’t know if I have. “What are you doing here?”
Driven by the sheer need to touch her, I close the distance between us, my arms encircling her with an urgency that borders on desperation. “God, Gail.” I keep it to a whisper, afraid if I speak any louder, this moment will shatter.
She leans into me, her arms sliding around my waist, tentative as if she’s testing the waters. But then she melts against me, and it’s all I can do not to crush her to me and bury my face in her hair.
“Is everything okay?” she murmurs against my chest.
Of course it’s not okay; nothing has been fucking okay since she left me and Mickey.
Swallowing hard, I step back, breaking the embrace. “You look incredible,” I rasp.
“Thanks.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous tick I’ve come to find endearing. “Why are you here?” There’s suspicion mixed with hope in her voice.
“I needed to see you,” I admit, because playing games feels like a piss-poor idea when every second without her feels like a penalty I didn’t earn. “It’s been too long.”
Gail nods, chewing her lip in that way she does when she’s mulling something over. Damn, if it doesn’t make me want to lean in and kiss the worry away. But I hold back, knowing this moment isn’t about what I need—it’s about what she needs. And right now, she needs honesty.
I tilt my head toward my car. “There’s somewhere I wanna take you if you’re up for it?”
Her hesitation is a palpable thing, hanging heavy between us. “Where?”
“Somewhere we should’ve gone weeks ago.” I keep it vague; the less she knows, the better. For now.
“Okay,” she breathes out, her trust in me a lifeline I’m terrified of breaking.
“Thank you,” I murmur, leading her to the car. The door shuts with a thud behind her, and as I slide into the driver’s seat, I feel the weight of her gaze on me. I don’t meet her eyes, can’t afford to get lost in them, not when I’m about to lay bare my soul.
The engine roars to life under my command, and I guide the car onto the road with practiced ease. Every mile we cover is one step closer to a reckoning, a crossroads I’ve avoided too long. And as each second ticks by, I realize that no matter how this ends, nothing will ever be the same again.
“Are you really not going to tell me where we are going?” Gail’s voice slices through the quiet, tentative yet laced with an undercurrent of steel she doesn’t know she wields.
“Is it… bad?” Her question hangs between us, and I can hear the unspoken fear. She’s scared of my world, of the shadows I dwell in. But I need her to see it, all of it.
“Depends on your definition of bad.” My words are cryptic, even to my own ears.
We roll up to the graveyard, and it looks like every other final resting place—stone angels judging silently, flowers wilting on forgotten graves. My heart’s thrumming so loud I’m convinced she can hear it.
I get out of the car and jog around to the other side, opening the door for her. “Soren,” she hisses. “Unless you’ve taken me here to kill me, you best start talking.”
“We’re almost there, then I promise I’ll tell you everything.” Taking her hand, I lead her along the rows until we stand before my twin’s grave, his name etched into the granite. “Meet Ryan.” My voice is rough, filled with gravel.
“Oh!” she whispers. “Will you tell me about him?”
“Ryan was… he was a damn trouble maker.” I half laugh, half croak. “Whenever we got into trouble, it was from an idea he’d had.”
“Sure it was,” Gail retorts.
“When he died, part of our family died too,” I confess, the words rusty. “Mom and Dad blamed me. So, I ran away, and ended up living with Nana. You’ve probably read all this shit online, but I needed to tell you myself.”
Her eyes well up, blue pools reflecting loss and empathy. The tears spill over, trailing down her cheeks, and it rips a hole straight through me. I pull her in, wrapping my arms around her trembling frame. Her warmth bleeds into me, a stark contrast to the chill of death lingering on the headstones.
“Hey,” I whisper, my lips grazing the top of her head. “I got you.”
She hiccups against my chest, clinging to me like I’m the last shred of sanity in a world gone mad. No matter how much it guts me to see her like this, I’m glad I did it. It was about time I opened up and shared, instead of relying on her finding out elsewhere.
“Thank you for trusting me,” she murmurs against my jacket.
“Always, Gail. Always.” Because despite every instinct screaming at me to keep her out, here she is, inside the fortress of my pain. And somehow, it feels like she belongs here, with me.
We stay like this until she’s no longer shaking in my arms.
“Come on,” I say gently, pulling back slightly to look at her face, “let’s get out of here.” As we walk away, hand in hand, the weight of my past is still there, but it feels lighter somehow, shared between us like the small smiles we exchange.
Back in the car, Gail suggests we do something else, something that doesn’t make her cry. As much as I love that idea, I have one more stop in mind for us.
“Are you up for going somewhere else with me?” I ask, taking her hand and squeezing it softly.
Narrowing her eyes, she turns so she can look at me. “I would ask where, but I have a feeling you won’t answer this time either. But sure, I’m game.”
The drive to Nana’s apartment is a silent one, but it’s the kind of silence that doesn’t claw at my insides. In fact, it feels remarkably comfortable. Everyone knows the quiet that comes from keeping your words in, the forced kind. But this feels more like something that just is, something we share.
“Here we are,” I say, smiling warmly at Gail as she looks around.
“Should I know where ‘here’ is?”
Laughing, I unbuckle my seatbelt and get out, once again opening the door for her. “That depends how much of a stalker you are.” She looks so outraged at my words I can’t help laughing as I take her hand and head toward the elevator. “This is where Nana lives. I bought this apartment for her with my first NHL paycheck.”
Gail’s mouth falls open, her eyes widening. “You’re taking me to meet your nana? What the hell, Soren?” Spinning around so she can see herself in the metal of the elevator, she pats down her hair and adjusts her dress. “Can’t believe I’m dressed like this,” she gripes.
“You look beautiful,” I rasp, stepping out of the elevator. “You always do.”
If I thought my compliments would be well received, the elbow to my stomach proves me wrong. “Don’t sweet talk me right now,” she hisses.
Nana’s door swings open before we even knock, her freakish intuition spot on. Her green eyes find mine, and there’s this spark of something like relief before her gaze lands on Gail. It’s instant, the way her face lights up, like a hundred Christmas trees set ablaze with joy.
“Gail, meet the indomitable force of nature known as Nana,” I introduce, and Gail extends her hand only for it to be enveloped in a warm hug.
“None of that formal nonsense. Come here, child,” Nana says, her voice rich with affection.
They pull apart, and Nana ushers us into the living room, littered with framed photos of my past—a museum of Taylor history, minus the parts we don’t talk about.
“Look at you,” Nana marvels, her eyes scanning Gail’s form, resting for a moment on the gentle swell of her belly, “glowing with life.”
“Thank you, umm…” Gail trails off.
Nana smiles warmly. “Please call me Nana, everyone else does.”
“Thank you, Nana,” Gail quips, earning a laugh from both of us.
“Sit, sit! You must be famished,” Nana insists, directing us toward the couch with a hand that’s seen more years than any of us. After declining our offer to help with anything, she disappears into the kitchen, and I can hear the clinking of porcelain, the prelude to an onslaught of comfort food and tea.
“Your nana is lovely,” Gail whispers, leaning into me a little.
“Wait till she starts with the card tricks and dirty jokes,” I quip, draping an arm around her shoulders.
Laughter spills from Gail, and it’s like music. “Wait, does she really do card tricks?”
“That would be the thing you question,” I chuckle, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer to my side.
Gail wiggles around a little, as though she’s uncomfortable. “Umm, Soren,” she whispers. “Does your nana know—”
“She knows everything,” I confirm.
“Really?”
Nodding, I clarify, “She knows the baby is mine and Mickey’s. That we fucked up, and that we’re going to win you back.”
Gail’s breath hitches and her mouth opens, but before she can say anything, Nana comes back.
“Here we are. Oatmeal cookies, fresh from the oven.” She sets down a tray laden with baked goods and sandwiches, sitting herself down with a satisfied huff.
We spend hours talking and laughing. Nana tells stories of my childhood antics—tales I’d hoped were buried deep. Gail hangs on every word, her laughter mingling with Nana’s, creating a symphony that fills the room with warmth.
“Did Soren ever tell you about the time he almost burned down my old house?” Nana asks, mischief dancing in her eyes.
“Uh, no,” Gail grins at me, “but I’m dying to know now.”
“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath, but the teasing edge doesn’t quite mask the sense of contentment that’s creeping into my bones.
As the sun dips lower, casting golden hues across the room, I watch these two important women in my life interact, and it’s surreal—like watching separate worlds collide and merge into something new, something better.
“Thank you, Nana,” Gail says, her tone laced with genuine gratitude, “for everything.”
“Darling girl, you are family now. And family takes care of each other,” Nana replies, reaching over to squeeze Gail’s hand.
When Gail looks slightly uncomfortable with that declaration, I remind her, “She knows everything.”
Nana nods solemnly. “I do, and it’s not because I’m all-knowing. Soren and Mickey have told me everything, and I have to say you’re a saint for putting up with the two of them for as long as you did.”
The day we returned from Jersey, Mickey and I came here to visit Nana, and, well, tell her about Gail. She deserves to know about her great-grandchild, and why she might not be able to see her as often as she’d like, unless Gail forgives us. In true Nana fashion, she called us on our bullshit. She’s the one who told me I needed to stop pushing people away, and encouraged me to bring Gail to visit her.
Gail cocks an eyebrow, smiling slyly at me before turning her attention back on Nana. “So you know he messed up?” she asks.
Nana nods again. “I do, darling Gail. And while I won’t make excuses for him, I dare say he wasn’t the only one who had something to repair.”
“That’s fair,” Gail mutters.
When it’s finally time to leave, I stand with a reluctance that feels foreign on my tongue. We exchange goodbyes, and Nana pulls Gail into another tight hug, whispering something in her ear that has Gail nodding fiercely. Then Nana leaves the room without a word.
She returns after only a few minutes, clutching something in her wrinkled hands. “Before you go,” she starts, her voice both brittle and warm like late fall leaves, “I have something for Gail.”
“Me?” Gail’s blue eyes widen, her hand instinctively cradling the gentle swell of her belly.
Nana nods, unfolding a blanket from her grasp. It’s delicate, the edges laced with faint hints of yellowing age, but it’s in remarkable condition. The fabric is soft, worn smooth by the touch of generations, and in the corner, embroidered with thread that’s held its color against time, is the name “Taylor”.
“Every child born into our family since my great-grandmother has been swaddled in this.” Nana extends it toward Gail, who takes it with hands that tremble ever so slightly. “Now it’s your turn to use it.”
“But the baby isn’t a Taylor by blood,” Gail murmurs, tracing the stitching with a fingertip. I can see the uncertainty in her gaze, the fear of overstepping invisible lines.
“Blood doesn’t make a family, love does,” Nana says firmly, her green eyes locking onto mine. “And Soren here,” she pats my arm, “he’s just as much this baby’s dad as Mickey is.”
“Thank you, Nana. This means more than you know,” Gail replies, her voice thick with emotion.
We say our goodbyes again and get into the waiting elevator, where I pull Gail close, pressing a kiss to her temple, feeling the softness of the heirloom blanket between us. “Ready to grab some dinner?” I ask, still not quite used to the vulnerability that comes with caring this much.
Gail nods, her smile like a promise of something new and terrifying and wonderful—all at once.
We head out to O’Jackie’s, the Irish pub where Mickey and I first noticed her. The place is dimly lit, the walls lined with memorabilia.
“Remember when we first met?” I ask Gail, taking a sip of the dark beer that’s become all too familiar.
“Hard to forget,” she laughs, the sound mingling with the clink of glasses and the low hum of conversations around us.
Cupping her face, I rest my forehead against hers. “That night, both Mickey and I agreed you were perfect, Gail. You fucking hypnotized us the first time we hung out with you.”
I let go and pull back, needing some distance between us. Every time I’m close, I have the urge to kiss her, to touch her, to do things I don’t even know if she wants. She left us, after all. So the last thing I want to do is push her.
As we eat, Gail finds random ways to touch me; brushing her arm against mine, her tits grazing my shoulder when she reaches for the salt. My cock is rock hard, and it takes everything in me not to slide my hands under the skirt of her dress, checking if she wants me as much as I want her.
After dinner, I drive Gail back to Jamie’s place, the night air crisp and clear, cutting through the fog that seems to perpetually shroud my thoughts.
“Thank you for today. It was…” Gail says, searching for the words.
I park in one of the visitor spots, letting the car run as I turn to look at her. “Perfect,” I finish for her because it was. For all its simplicity, it was perfect.
“Stop the car,” she demands suddenly, and I obey without question. There’s something fierce and unguarded in her expression as she climbs across the center console and onto my lap.
“Gail—”
The moment our lips connect, everything else fades. I wrap my arms around Gail’s waist, pulling her firmly against me. Her warmth seeps into me, and I feel a surge of need. Our kiss deepens, her lips soft yet insistent against mine. I can taste her, feel the slight tremble as my fingers trace up her back.
Her arms loop around my neck, drawing me even closer. The subtle scent of her fills my senses, intoxicating and familiar. I cup her face, my thumb gently brushing her cheek, contrasting with the urgency of our kiss. She lets out a soft moan, sending a thrill through me.
When we finally break apart, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the charged space between us. Her eyes meet mine, and in that moment, words are unnecessary. The intensity of our connection says it all.
“Do you want to come inside?” she asks, her tone throaty. “Jamie’s working the night shift, so—”
I cut her off with another kiss, this time it’s deeper, greedier as I explore her mouth with my tongue.