Chapter 31 Monroe
MONROE
We’re whipped through the air, tumbling out across the grass. I come to an abrupt halt against Briar’s bare chest, my furry cheek pressed against a slab of muscle. Stumbling backward and averting my gaze, I shift and throw on some clothes.
When I turn back to face him, he’s fully dressed, thankfully. I squint at the tree line in front of us. “What did you want to show me?”
Wordlessly, he nods behind me. I spin to find a quaint house with white siding and evergreen shutters. Lush flower beds wrap around its porch.
“This is where my family lives—lived.” He clears his throat, the slight fissure in his usually honeyed tone smoothing out. “Where I would have grown up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was born a Bloom.”
“How?” But as the question escapes my lips, I already know the answer. He never had a mortal life. “I’m so sor—”
“Can’t be sad about something that never was,” he says, but he doesn’t meet my gaze.
I want to argue how wrong he is. How easy it is mourning the things we believe we have no right to.
Grief colors our lives despite logic. One look at Briar, though—shoulders tense, the lavender of his eyes dull— and I know it’s useless. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Almost fifty years.”
I hadn’t thought much about his past. Tried not to. Thinking of him beyond his role as my teacher and the unfortunate catalyst of my death was too much to handle.
No matter how much I want to cling to it, the anger I’ve held toward him, keeping him at arm’s length dissipates. I don’t like it one bit. It is far simpler to be angry with a purpose versus sad and adrift.
The ache of loss—of longing—washes into me through the pair of inky blooms twisted between my ribs. “Briar—”
He shakes his head, stopping me there.
“I didn’t bring you here to feel sorry for me.
” Coming up beside me, he gestures toward the house.
“Once I was old enough to understand what had happened, why I didn’t have memories of the mortal realm like my classmates, I became extremely curious about where I’d come from.
Who my earthside parents would have been.
” His eyes drop to his boot. He brushes it against the dirt, sweeping back and forth until there’s a small dip in the soil.
“After asking about a dozen times, my parents finally escorted me through the veil.”
“It’s only natural you would have been curious.
” Wasn’t it the same with children who were adopted or had lost a parent before they were old enough to remember?
Why wouldn’t a child born into their afterlife want to understand where they came from, especially when their life would be devoted to bringing seasons into the world they’d hailed from?
“That’s what my mother said.” He turns toward me. “Claire, the dean at the Conservatory.”
The dean? I rewound the memories of my days in class, searching for any sign she’s his mother. I could have easily been too distracted by getting my magic to work and finding a way back here to notice.
“She and my dad, Davis, raised me, Dani, and Corrigan.”
My mind snags on the last name and my stomach drops. “Isn’t that a bit…wrong?”
“What?” Briar’s dark-lavender brows draw together, taut as bowstrings.
“Being mated to your sister. I get you’re not technically related but—”
Briar grimaces. “You can’t be serious.”
“The way she was all territorial over you at The Velveteen Rose that night and when you checked in.” I wince, disturbed by all the times I envisioned them together. That had been gross enough. Knowing this—
“I’m gonna be sick.” He draws back, and I’m not sure who’s more disgusted, him or me. “Of course she’s territorial over me. She’s watching out for her little brother.”
“Nothing about you is little,” I mutter, and he arches a brow.
The tightness in my chest loosens and a smirk kicks up the corner of my lips. He’s her brother, not her mate.
Mine.
Ignoring the smug satisfaction circling the bond, I clear my throat and return to Briar’s story that brought us here. “So wait—what happened when you came and saw your earthside parents?
“Outside, toddling around the porch, was a girl with two sharp little pigtails jutting out of her head.” He finally meets my gaze again. “Then the strangest thing happened, she grinned and waved at me.” His hand lifts, then returns to his pocket. “At least I thought she did.”
“What?” My brow arches. “Did she really see you?”
Maybe there was a way we could be seen. If so, it would be so much easier to reach out…
“I’ll probably never know, but I doubt it.” He sighs. “The point is, I thought they’d be distraught, but they’d moved on. But they were okay. It was a bittersweet realization that life continued without me.”
His voice cracks a bit on those last words.
“When I was old enough to begin my spring duties, I begged my parents to let me come back. They agreed, though I’m certain they kept a close watch over me.” He walks toward the house, and I speed up to stay in step with his long strides.
“What did you hope coming back would do?”
“Satisfy my idiotic curiosity, I suppose.” There’s a shrug and silence that stretches as if he wants me to fill it and let him off the hook.
But I spent my career patiently waiting for my clients to verbalize the thoughts they hoarded in those quiet moments during our sessions.
“Maybe part of me always hoped she’d wave again.
That maybe, as illogical as it was, they’d all somehow notice.
But every spring I served here and tried to reach them, nothing worked. ”
I frown. “Maybe they will. We could try—”
“There’s no use.” Briar shakes his head. “Both my parents died a handful of seasons ago.”
“Oh.” I search his face for any hint at how he’s holding up, because inside, I’m jumbled, unsure where his feelings end and my own begin.
I’ve always been able to recognize my emotions, processing them before they took over.
But then I got the mate mark, and Briar’s intensity is enough to make my knees buckle. “Have you— Did you get to meet them?”
“No. And I never will.” His voice is sharp, but it’s the slice of searing pain in my ribs that stings the most. “They aren’t harbingers.”
The corner of his jaw ticks.
“Maybe they aren’t Blooms,” I say, noticing that I’ve been tracing the tattoos on his upper arm, nail skimming each sweeping petal curled around his bicep.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I asked.” His palm rests over my hand, halting the motion. “They moved right through our veil. Beyond my reach once again.”
“I’m so sorry, Briar. I can only imagine how difficult that news must have been.
” My attention goes back to the house and the oversized blossoms bursting from its planters.
From the outside, everything looks dark and vacant, but I squint to see if anyone is home through the windows… “Can we go a bit closer?”
He nods quietly and follows me toward the flower beds framing the stairs leading up the front porch. I pluck one of the large white peonies whose petal tips are kissed with pink.
My brows lift. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.
“Briar…” I wave him up the stairs toward the front door.
“What is it?”
“I’ve seen this house.” I gaze through the glass, peeking to ensure it’s truly empty. “Your sister—the one who’s still alive. Is her name Phoebe?”
“Yes.” His voice quivers, his chest vibrating against my back. He peers over my shoulder at the flower clutched in my hand. “Why?”
“Did you create these?” I hold up the peony and twirl it between my fingers. “They bloom each spring and stay alive in winter?”
His brows bunch. “Yes…”
“Ever Briars.”
I’m spun to stare into vibrant lavender pools.
Briar’s voice is a whisper. “What did you say?”
“Ever Briars—the name of the flower.” I take his hand, magic buzzing between our palms, and tug him toward the door. “Come on.”
He’s rooted to the spot, looking appalled. “I never go inside.”
“Why not?” Wasn’t one of the benefits of harbinger life being able to be unseen? I’d been dreaming of the day I could return and check on everyone. One door wasn’t going to stop me.
Fear pricks at the back of my neck. His. “Feels too personal.”
I thumb over the rose on his hand. “Will you make an exception just this once? For me?”
He nods, and lets me pull him forward. We zip through the door like it’s air. One at a time, I scan the rooms until I find what I’m hunting for.
“Here.” I tug Briar into one of the bedrooms. “See?”
Seated atop an easel is Phoebe’s canvas, plastered with newspaper clippings with flowers painted atop it. I run my finger over the paint. I never saw it complete until now.
“She’d been working on this the last time I saw her—the night before I died.” When I get to the photo of the house we stand in, I tap on the text. “‘The Ever Briars were a rare peony variant found exclusively on the property… Twyla & Abe Coleson named the flowers after their stillborn son.’”
My throat is thick, but I blink back tears, certain that if I look at Briar right now I won’t be able to stop myself. Swallowing hard, I continue reading.
“‘Seeing these each spring, right around his birthday, it’s clearly a sign he’s still out there, watching over us in his way.’” I read the quote from his mother aloud, then step back. A tear plops onto my shirt as I read another headline. “‘Beauty blooms from tragedy.’”
Briar stands a foot behind me, not daring to go closer. After a few skips of silence, he finally speaks. “I-I had no idea.”
“They celebrated your birthday every year.” A smile lifts the corner of my mouth. “Phoebe still does it now with her own children.”
“They do?” He barely rasps the words. “How…”
“They pick a bouquet of Ever Briars and have a picnic at the base of the tree they planted for you.”
His brows lift. “I have a tree?”
I turn toward the window and survey the tree line, squinting to make out any markers. “Not sure which one from here, but we can take a closer look.”
He brought me here to show me that the people I cared about would be okay without me. Maybe he was right. But he’s spent years thinking nothing he did mattered to the ones he left behind. He was wrong. His love was louder than their loss.
Mine could be too.
“Maybe some other time.” His voice is gruff, and when I face him again, he takes off his glasses and wipes away a tear. “We’d better get going. You should be back in Lisse by now.”
The last thing I want to do is go, and that scares me because it has little to do with being within reach of the people I’ve missed.
I blink at the harbinger before me, and skin across my collarbone pricks with heat. “Oh. Well, in that case, thanks for the field trip, Professor.”
It was illuminating but not in a way I think either of us expected. I know he’s looking at me, but I can’t meet Briar’s gaze. The more I learn about him, the harder this all will be later.
We head out the door and down the porch stairs, I admire the soft petals of the Ever Briars. “How do you keep them thriving in winter?”
A slight smirk breaks across his face. “I have help from a Frost friend of mine. He infuses the seeds with magic each winter so they won’t die.” Briar holds out his hand, waiting for me to give him the one I plucked earlier. When I do, he looks over at my ear. “May I?”
I silently nod.
He brushes back my wavy mint strands, tucking them behind my ear. If I had a heartbeat, I think it might stop. Sticking the Ever Briar into my hairline, he uses my glasses’s frame to hold it in place. As he steps away, he appraises my newest accessory, then his eyes meet mine.
There’s a question in his stare I’m unable to answer.
One I shouldn’t.
But for the first time, I think I might want to.