45. Riley
45
RILEY
“ Y ou’re doing so good, sweetie!” I wave when Aurora glances my way.
Ava and I sit on the cold metal bleachers, bundled up in our coats and scarves, as we watch our kids on the ice. We introduced Aurora and Isabella a couple of weeks ago, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. They both play on the Hot Shot Huskies together, and they’ve also begun dance lessons. The girls also demand play dates if they go more than a day without seeing one another. They’re besties, and it’s so adorable to watch.
It means I see a lot more of Ava, and I’ve really enjoyed having that girl time and, more importantly, having mom time. I’ve never been friends with someone else who has a kid, and it is unbelievably therapeutic to have someone who gets it—the juggling, the challenges, the highs and the lows. I may no longer be doing this alone, but that doesn’t mean raising a kid is easy.
“Mommy!” Aurora calls.
“I see you, baby. Well done!” I give her the thumbs up before she turns away, focusing on whatever new move Logan just taught her. She wobbles in her tiny skates and oversized helmet but manages to keep her balance. Isabella, who’s a bit older and more confident, skates circles around her.
Just thinking his name has my gaze sliding his way. Logan looks every bit the hockey coach in his jeans and skates, guiding them both with patience and enthusiasm. He’s got a knack for this, for teaching and making it fun.
“Look at Aurora go,” I say, my voice filled with pride as she manages to skate a few feet without falling. “She’s loving this.”
Ava chuckles. “Isabella’s been talking about it non-stop. I think we have a couple of future hockey stars on our hands.”
We laugh, but my eyes never stray far from Aurora. Now that we’ve all settled into a comfortable routine, we’ve brought Aurora to the rink as often as we could these past few weeks. She’s taken to it like a duck to water, always eager to lace up her skates and glide across the ice. At home, she cheers for Logan during the Huskies’ games, her little voice echoing through the living room. Unfortunately, since the team has reached regionals, all their games have been away, but if they win the semi-finals next week, we’ve promised her we’ll go to the championship.
Not only would Aurora love that, but so would Logan. Having us all standing rinkside cheering him on. My heart swells with pride and anticipation as I imagine us all there. Logan killing it on the ice. The Huskies taking home the trophy. My gaze slides to Logan, who’s now showing the older kids how to execute a perfect slapshot. He looks effortlessly handsome, his jeans hugging his frame just right, and his movements on the ice are fluid and powerful. There’s something about how he commands the rink, a natural authority that’s simultaneously attractive and reassuring.
My eyes follow him as he skates back to Aurora, kneeling to her level and demonstrating a simple skating drill. She watches him intently, her little face scrunched in concentration. He places his hands gently on her shoulders, guiding her movements, and she beams up at him, trusting and eager to learn.
“He’s so good with her,” Ava comments, nudging me with her elbow. “It’s like he was made for this.”
A warm feeling spreads through me as I watch them. “He really is. They all are. The way they all pay attention to her, make her feel special... it’s incredible.”
Aurora tries the drill again; this time, she gets it right. She squeals with delight, and I find myself cheering alongside her. Logan’s face lights up with a proud smile, and he gives her a high five. My heart melts a little more each time I see them together. The way he interacts with her so effortlessly makes it seem like he’s always known how to be this wonderful with kids.
Ava chats about the dance studio, and I tell her about my class load, but even as we discuss mundane things, my eyes keep drifting back to Logan and Aurora. Logan looks up and catches my eye, giving me a wink that sends a flutter through my stomach. I smile back, feeling the warmth of his gaze even from across the rink.
Life has been pretty perfect these past few weeks. Bertram is still in the hospital, although Grayson got a call today to say they were taking him off the intubation. I’m not sure what exactly it will mean for us if he starts to heal. I’d honestly been hoping he’d just die or have a cardiac arrest when they tried to remove the tube from his throat. Unfortunately, it seems I’m not that lucky. However, we have time to figure it out.
Otherwise, I’ve been happy. Blissfully so.
Yeah, there are still kinks to work out. Aurora has taken over my room, meaning I bedhop most nights after she falls asleep. The four of us struggle to fit in one bed comfortably, except for the odd night when we all pass out. Then, I usually sleep with two of the guys and switch over the next night. But for the most part, we’ve settled into a comfortable routine that suits us.
Royce refuses to let anyone but him escort me to Lux for my shifts, and Logan and Grayson tend to take turns staying home with Aurora while the other attends Royce’s fights with me. Grayson is managing to balance work and class, and is back to enjoying his CEO role at Van Doren Holdings now that his father is not constantly undermining him. As for me? My grades have been steadily improving, and I’m once again loving being in a learning environment.
“Mommy, did you see me!” Aurora shouts as she clomps off the ice.
She tries to run toward me, but Logan loops an arm around her waist, nearly lifting her off the floor. “Hold on there, Pumpkin. Let’s get those skates off you before you take someone’s eye out.”
She giggles but drops to the bench and begins talking animatedly to Isabella as if they haven’t spent the last hour on the ice together. Logan crouches to help her out of her skates, and Ava moves to do the same with Isabella.
“Ready to go home?” Logan asks a short while later, once he’s said goodbye to the other kids and parents, and we’re the only ones left in the rink.
Aurora yawns, tuckered out after her busy day. She’s already bundled in Logan’s arms, her head resting against his chest as she nods.
Throwing his bag containing his and Aurora’s brand new skates over his shoulder, he takes my hand, and together we walk out to his car.
It’s perfect. Him. Them. This life we have.
Everything.
“There we go,” I say later that night as I tuck the covers around Aurora. “Snug as a bug in a rug.” I give her my best attempt at a smile, but damn, I’m tired.
Bath and bedtime were not the smoothest tonight. After crashing when we got home from the ice rink, Aurora found a second wind and threw a tantrum when I mentioned it was bathtime. Even Logan couldn’t sweet-talk her into the tub. It took me, him, and Royce promising her everything under the sun before she finally relented. Lucky for Grayson, he is working late in the office tonight, so he missed out on all the mayhem.
“Mommy!” Aurora suddenly cries, sitting upright. “Hank!”
“Where is he?” I ask, exasperated, as I gather her scattered clothes off the floor. She’s talking about the stuffed husky toy Logan gave to her. She’s carried it with her everywhere ever since.
“I don’t know.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Well, when do you last remember seeing him?”
Pouting, she gives me a helpless shrug.
“You had him when you got home from daycare,” I tell her, remembering him being strangled in the crook of her arm when she walked in with Grayson earlier. “Did you take him skating?”
“Oh!” I take that as a yes.
“You probably left him in the car. I’ll go get him, you stay here. I mean it, Aurora. Do not move from that bed.”
With a stern look, I leave her in bed, pulling the door over most of the way before hurrying down the stairs and snatching Logan’s keys from the hall table. On my way past, I heard the water running in the bathroom, so he’s probably showering. Royce retreated to the solitude of his bedroom when Aurora dictated she wanted me to read her bedtime story tonight.
Light spills out from the hall when I open the front door, leaving it wide as I hurry down the steps toward the SUV parked at the curb. Pressing the clicker, the headlights flash, and the car makes that click noise that indicates it’s unlocked.
I’m not paying attention to my surroundings as I yank open the back door and begin feeling around in the semi-darkness for the stuffed toy.
“Come on,” I groan, not feeling it anywhere. “Where are you?”
I know she won’t settle without him, and if she doesn’t relax, then I won’t sleep, and I really, really like sleep.
“Ha, gotcha!” I hold up the soft toy like it’s my own personal Stanley cup. Clutching it firmly in one hand, I duck back out of the car. A chill runs down my spine, and I glance down the street. Lights are on in the neighboring houses, but otherwise, it’s empty.
Shaking off whatever that was, I gently close the car door, not wanting to slam it at this late hour. As I turn toward the house, a shadowy figure appears before me. My heart leaps into my throat as I stumble back against the side of the car.
My hand comes up to minimize the glare of the lights from the house, which casts the man’s form in shadow. I know, though. I know before I can disseminate his features that it’s him.
Bertram.
Or what’s left of him.
The fire has ravaged his once-imposing figure, leaving behind a grotesque version of the man he used to be. His skin is mottled and uneven, patches of raw, red flesh standing out against the blackened, charred skin that covers most of his face and hands. The burns have twisted his features, his lips pulled tight in a permanent sneer, his nose half-melted, and one eye almost swollen shut. The sight of him is nightmarish, and it takes everything in me not to recoil in horror.
But it’s his voice that genuinely chills me. When he speaks, it’s nothing like the cold, calculated tones I remember. The fire has stolen that from him, too, leaving behind a rasping, guttural sound that grates against my ears. It’s as if each word is being dragged out of him, scraping against his raw throat, but the malice behind it is unmistakable. “Riley,” he growls, the sound barely human, more of a hiss than a voice. “Did you truly think you could get away from me? That I’d let you go.”
The words slither through the darkness, wrapping around me like a vice. The sheer venom in them paralyzes me. Despite his injuries, despite the burns that have left him a disfigured shadow of himself, Bertram is still terrifying. Still a force to be reckoned with. His eyes, one swollen and bloodshot, the other a dull, glazed-over orb, bore into mine with a malevolent intensity that makes my skin crawl.
“You think you can build a new life without me?”
He moves closer, and I can see how the burns have affected him. His movements are stiff, jerky, as if each step causes him pain, but the determination in his eyes is undiminished. His clothes hang off him in tattered, singed rags, clinging to his ravaged body, and the smell—God, the smell—hits me like a physical blow. The acrid stench of burnt flesh, mixed with the antiseptic tang of hospital air, turns my stomach.
I step backward, my spine hitting the side of the car, but he lunges forward. “If I can't have you, then no one can!” The light from a nearby streetlamp reflects off the sharp edge of a blade. I dodge instinctively, chucking the husky at him in a moment of panic.
The blade sails past my ear and connects with the glass behind me, the car window shattering. I duck under his arm, but his hand—raw, blistered, and trembling—catches my wrist. “You did this to me,” he rasps, the sound more of a strangled wheeze now.
I move on autopilot, noticing where his thumb is and grabbing it with my other hand, twisting. He curses, but I’m already rotating my arm, exactly as Xander showed us. With a final pull, I’m free.
But I’m not yet out of danger.
I stumble back a step, whirling toward the front door. The second my back is turned, he’s on me. I cry out as my head is wrenched backward, hair ripping from my scalp as he yanks on it. “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarls.
I realize I must have dropped the car keys at some point, and I’m utterly helpless as I’m dragged backward. The cool edge of the blade touches my throat, and blinding terror renders me immobile. I couldn’t scream even if I wanted to.
“This is the end for you, Riley,” he growls.
I can’t wrench my gaze away from the taunting warmth of the hall light. I can see Aurora’s coat hanging on the peg next to mine. Her shoes set neatly by the door and looking hilariously small beside Logan’s sneakers.
Home.
I reach out a hand, wanting to feel its warm comfort one more time, but it’s just beyond my grasp. Out of reach. Leaving me in the cold.
Bertram digs the knife into the soft flesh of my throat, and a tear rolls down my cheek, knowing this is it.
There’s a sharp stab of pain…
… Before I’m knocked forward. Bertram’s presence at my back disappears, replaced with the thud of fists and pained grunts.
I stumble on my feet before I find my balance, whirling in time to see Grayson drive his fist into his father’s face.
“You twisted fuck!” he screams into Bertram’s face. “You think you can take her from me! She’s not yours.” Another gut-wrenching punch. “She never was.” Bertram’s head whips to the side, blood trickling from his mouth. “She’s mine.” His nose shatters. “Ours.”
Punch after punch after punch.
Grayson lets out every single one of his pent-up emotions.
Everything I imagine he’s kept bottled up for years. For a lifetime.
All of it comes pouring out while I watch on, shocked, and some part of me understands that he needs this—this catharsis.
“What the hell—” Logan comes barreling out of the house in sweats and a t-shirt, his feet bare. He strides toward Grayson, but I reach out and stop him.
“Don’t.”
“He can’t do this here.” His voice is strained as he vacillates between interfering and letting Grayson go to town on his shithead father. He must decide to give him another moment as he pulls out his phone instead, bringing it to his ear. A moment later, he says, “Yeah, you might wanna come out here.”
Royce’s broad frame darkens the doorway a moment later.
“Jesus Christ, he’s going to kill him.” He stalks over to Grayson, and this time, I don’t interfere as he grabs him by the back of his shirt and drags him off his unconscious father. “That’s enough,” he hisses, voice low as he scans the street.
Grayson grunts and shakes him off but makes no move to attack his father. Instead, he spins toward me, stalking across the short distance between us until his hands cup my face, his gaze raking over every inch of it before dropping to my neck.
His gaze turns molten as his nostrils flare, his thumb moving to scoop up the droplet of blood before sucking it into his mouth.
My hands slide up his chest, resting over his thundering heart. “I’m fine,” I assure him.
“Aurora?”
“She’s in the house, hopefully asleep.”
With a curt nod, he whirls on the guys. “And where the hell were you two while he—” he stabs a finger in Bertram’s direction—“was attacking our girl?”
“We had no idea.” Logan grimaces, chagrinned. “He’s supposed to be in the hospital!”
Grayson shakes his head. “That’s what I was coming to tell you. I just got a call from the hospital to tell me he’d absconded.” Snarling, he turns away and begins pacing the sidewalk.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be returning him,” Royce drawls, sneering down at what remains of Bertram. Between the burns and Grayson’s beating, he’s unrecognizable.
“What do we do with him?” Logan asks, jutting his chin out toward Bertram.
“I’ll call Dax. I’m sure he’s got somewhere we can take him.”
Royce makes his call, and a short while later, they have an unconscious Bertram bundled up in the back of his truck.
“How are we doing this, then?” Logan asks as we huddle around the back of the car.
“I’m staying here,” I tell them. “Someone needs to stay with Aurora, and honestly, I don’t want to know.” I meet Grayson’s gaze. “I’m not letting him steal any more of my happiness. Knowing he’s gone is all I need to know.”
He holds my stare before nodding—an understanding passing between us.
“Royce can come with me. Logan, you stay with the girls.”
“What?!” Logan protests. “No way. I want my pound of flesh, too.”
“All of you can go,” I tell them, waving toward the truck. “We’ll be fine. Our only threat is currently zip-tied and soon to leave the land of the living.”
The three of them share a look, a silent communication going on between them. None of them look terribly happy about it, but ultimately, they all agree, and I watch the taillights of Royce’s truck disappear into the distance before heading back into the house.
I shower quickly before pulling on Logan’s sweats, Grayson’s t-shirt, and Royce’s hoodie and crawling into bed beside Aurora. I snuggle into her, breathing in her scent that is uniquely hers.
Burying my face in her neck, I smile because, finally, I’m free.