Chapter 41 Victor
VICTOR
Several weeks after Olivia’s mysterious disappearance, things have settled as much as they can.
Willow and I are out shopping for things we need for the new place. It’s become our thing, a task we always do together. Malice and Ransom don’t really care about organization or decoration at all, but Willow and I do.
She’s incredibly knowledgeable about home improvement stuff from the years she spent watching those shows, and we discuss the things we’ve learned and the things we want to change. It’s funny to me that I didn’t understand the shows at first, but now I feel as if I really do.
It’s about building something from nothing.
Not just physically, but in a deeper sense as well.
This thing we’re doing? It’s not just building a house with Willow and my brothers. We’re building a home. A future together. The choices we make aren’t just about this paint color or that material for the furniture. It’s about the fact that we’re building the foundation of our life.
It’s about thinking ahead to the future and imagining Willow lounging in the living room, or a baby in a crib in the corner.
“What do you think about this?” Willow asks, holding up a paint sample as we make our way through the massive home goods store. “For the kitchen area.”
“With the backsplash we’ve already picked out?” I purse my lips, cocking my head as I consider it. “Don’t you think that will clash?”
“It shouldn’t, because they’re both cool tones. But we should get a few alternates just in case.”
She scrunches up her nose as she considers her options, and I let her take her time, nodding whenever she picks up something I particularly like.
The truth is, if Willow decided she wanted to paint our entire kitchen neon pink, I’d let her.
So would my brothers, in a heartbeat. There’s nothing she could choose that I wouldn’t love, just for the simple fact that she chose it, but it’s fun to do this with her, debating the merits of different colors and aesthetics.
It’s time we get to spend together, and that’s always my favorite thing.
The warehouse is a work in progress, still being turned into the living space for all of us, but it’s coming along really well. Malice and Ransom have taken on more of the construction that needs to happen, doing their part while we do ours.
In the end, we leave with several cans of paint and place orders to have more things delivered soon. With that done, we head back to the car.
Willow insists on carrying some of the lighter purchases, even though she’s visibly pregnant now.
She has a small baby bump, and every time I look at it, it does something to me. I didn’t think I could feel anything stronger than what I feel for Willow, but there’s a protectiveness that surges through my chest when I think of the little life growing inside her.
My brothers and I have essentially adopted this baby already. In our minds, it’s all of ours. Troy’s name is never even mentioned anymore, and our child will never hear it spoken.
As I load the stuff into the car, Willow leans over to help me. Her arm brushes against mine, and that little spark of contact is all it takes to make me reach for her. I pull her into my arms, pressing her against the car gently as I kiss her.
Just because I can.
Because it once felt nearly impossible to do this.
Willow kisses me back, her fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of my neck in a way that makes me instantly hard. She smiles against my lips when she feels it, and when we break apart, she rakes her nails gently down the back of my neck, making me shudder.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“Thank you for loving me,” I reply softly. “Just as I am.”
Her hand moves around to trace my cheek and the line of my jaw, her brown eyes warming. “I don’t know any other way to love you, Vic. To me, you’re perfect.”
I kiss her again for that, and even though I could fuck her right here in this parking lot, I’d rather take her home. So I close the trunk of the car, and we head out.
When we get to the warehouse, Willow unpacks the stuff we got while I make lunch for her.
I’ve done plenty of research on what she should be eating that will taste good but also be healthy for her and the baby.
I’ve also been preparing myself to keep a straight face when she gets cravings and asks for strange things that should not go together in the future.
I’ll make her whatever she wants. No matter how strange it is.
Even if it’s crunchy peanut butter.
“You’re gonna make a good dad, you know,” Willow comments as she settles onto a stool at the high-topped table and watches me work.
“You think so?”
She grins, tipping her head to one side. “I know so. You’ll make the best school lunches. And you’ll cut the crusts off our kid’s sandwiches so perfectly.”
That makes me chuckle, and I gaze down at the chicken I’m preparing for a moment before I say in a quiet voice, “I wondered, a bit. After you first decided to keep the baby and raise it with us. If I would be any good at this. I know we all told you blood doesn’t matter, and I believe that.
But the only example I’ve had of a father figure was… awful.”
“I know.” Her voice softens. “I’ve thought the same thing about myself.
But the thing is, your father and my grandmother did teach us something, just not the lessons they intended.
They taught us what not to do. And I think—I hope—that we’ll be better parents because of all the shit we went through. ”
I nod, because ultimately, I think she’s right. It doesn’t totally quell my nervousness about becoming a father, but it makes me happy to think that I can take the awfulness of my childhood and transform it into something better for our child.
We keep talking while I cook, discussing some ideas Willow had for the living room. A few minutes later, Malice and Ransom stride into the kitchen, deep in the middle of a debate about the floor plan for one of the upstairs rooms.
“If you put it by the window, it takes care of the whole problem, Mal,” Ransom insists.
“And creates five new ones,” Malice shoots back. “You’re just still on about ‘natural light’ or whatever the fuck.”
“Oh, excuse me, I forgot you prefer to brood in the darkness.”
Willow laughs at their antics, and Ransom swoops in to kiss her before throwing me a look.
“Vic, please talk some sense into your twin,” he says. “I can’t deal with him.”
“Don’t drag me into this,” I reply, checking the temperature of the chicken.
Malice kisses Willow in greeting as soon as Ransom steps away, grabbing the stool she’s perched on and scooting it closer so that their lips meet.
The chicken is done, so I turn off the burner and pause for a moment to watch as Malice murmurs something in Willow’s ear that makes her flush and smile.
These sorts of moments, so full of domesticity and peace, are still unfamiliar in a way. But I like them. I like seeing my family this way.
There are some things, some remnants of my past, that I know I’ll always live with. Some days I still get overwhelmed and have to rely on the tools I taught myself, counting until I can get my emotions back under control. I still like things to be organized, needing everything to be in its place.
In some ways, I haven’t changed much at all.
But I know that in other ways, Willow has changed me so much. She crawled inside my soul and made a home there, and even though I was terrified of it, even though I felt like I might fracture into pieces… I didn’t. My damaged heart reformed with her at the center, and that’s where she’ll always be.
“Right, Vic?” Willow says, glancing over at me.
That breaks me from my thoughts, and I shake myself. “Sorry, I zoned out when Malice and Ransom were arguing. It’s just background noise to me now.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I was saying that you’re not going to let me eat a chili cheeseburger right now. Ransom wants one for lunch.”
“Absolutely not,” I agree.
He makes a face. “Party pooper. Sorry, angel. I’ll eat an extra one just for you.”
“Thanks, Ransom.” She blows him a kiss. “You’re such a giver.”
I plate up the lunch I made for her and bring it over to the table we’re using for now, until we find one we like better. Malice and Ransom take their argument somewhere else, going back to work, and Willow leans up to kiss me.
“Thank you. This is way better than a chili cheeseburger. You take such good care of me,” she murmurs.
The words she said to me in the parking lot filter through my mind, and I cup the back of her head, brushing my lips against hers once more.
“I don’t know any other way.”