20. Celia
Chapter 20
Celia
While Rebel smokes a cigarette on the front porch, I keep my distance from Ruin. Thankfully, he has the same idea, staying out of whichever part of the house I’m inhabiting long enough for me to pretend he doesn’t exist and that everything is back to normal.
But even normal doesn’t feel quite right.
I stare at Rebel’s silhouette through the window and wonder when that changed. Was it the moment I came home after work one day and found him rummaging through my kitchen cabinets? Or before even that, when Rage first appeared at my shop door with a cocksure grin and an unshakable belief that I was his girl?
How long have these men been so intertwined in my life that I can no longer imagine it without them?
Sighing, I stare at the canvas backpack sitting on my dining room table. It’s not mine—but apparently the contents within it are.
Thanatos got these for you, Rebel said nonchalantly once we returned downstairs, something about doing you a favor.
I flip open the top and unzip the main pocket, surprised to find my laptop case nestled snugly inside with the binder I use to catalog different color swatches sitting beside it. Digging further, I find various items from my office tossed inside at random. One of my favorite pens. A half-used sketchbook. Old invoices and magazine clippings of inspirational designs I meant to scan onto my computer.
Thanatos went to my boutique.
He got these things… for me .
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and slump into a kitchen chair. Things have been tense during our morning training sessions, and we’ve only had a few of them. Thanatos doesn’t speak—not with words. He uses his body as a language, spinning me around and around, throwing me to the mat, forcing me to fight to get back up again. It’s brutal and unrestrained and nowhere near ethical, but even when Rage stands watch or lifts weights from the other side of the room during our sessions, he doesn’t question his brother’s methods or tell him to take it easy on me.
It’s like he approves whatever Thanatos deems effective for making me stronger.
The thing is, it’s working too well.
I’m learning Thanatos’ movements. His mannerisms. And he’s learning mine. Showing me how to maneuver around a man twice my size, or how to use my weight and flexibility to my advantage. I don’t know much about martial arts, but I gather that he’s well-versed in various disciplines, using them all to his advantage not only to take me down, but to give me a well-rounded foundation for attack.
Because not only am I defending myself from his advances, I’m learning to strike back, too.
I’m grateful for the lessons. If their father comes after me, he won’t pull his punches or go easy on me because I’m a woman. He’ll go in for the kill, and I need to be trained accordingly. I wouldn’t receive this kind of training anywhere else—or from anyone else.
It’s becoming clear, however, that as calm and collected as Thanatos thinks he is, he lets out some of his frustration on the mat. He pins me on my back, on my front, wraps his arms around my body from all different angles, forces me into pretzel-like positions and pushes the limits of my flexibility, all because he likes seeing—and feeling—what my body is capable of.
The perpetual hard-on gives him away.
But unlike his brothers, he doesn’t tear my leggings off and dive between my thighs. He keeps his impulses to himself, keeping the dick-to-female-body contact as minimal as possible.
Still, I notice his body’s reaction to mine.
And still, he doesn’t talk about it.
I’ve been grateful for the silence since it means there’s at least one man’s problems I won’t have to detangle, but this —the backpack filled with supplies from my boutique—speaks volumes.
It’s a kindness that I never asked for, one that I don’t want. Not if it comes with heartstrings attached. I already have three men—three very complicated, chaotic men—to contend with. I don’t need a fourth man added to the mix.
I can only handle so much trauma-laced testosterone.
Dropping my head onto the kitchen table, I groan loudly. My relationship with these men was meant to be a fun, easy little fling, but it’s getting more complicated than I ever imagined. Ruin’s a hot mess with a hard-on for knives, Rebel’s currently chain smoking to cope with his stress, and Thanatos is in denial about his physical attraction to me. At least Rage seems to be coming around in his own way. He hasn’t tried to have sex with me since the cage incident, and he’s been gentle in the mornings we spend together.
If Rage can put in genuine effort to change for the better, I know his brothers can, too.
I lean back in my chair and look down at my stomach. “Your daddies have issues,” I admit, whispering to the little life growing inside of me, “but I know they’re trying to be good for us.”
It feels silly to talk to a bundle of cells, but?—
A cell phone rings from inside the backpack, making me jump in my seat. “Um, Rebel?” I look over my shoulder, but he’s still smoking outside. Unzipping the front pocket of the pack, I reach inside to find the phone. “Is this your pho—” A pale pink case, complete with a swirling rhinestone pattern on the back, means that the phone isn’t Rebel’s.
It’s mine.
I quickly flip it over and check the caller ID, jumping up so quickly that my chair clatters to the floor. The doctor’s office is calling.
My test results are finally in.
I swipe to answer the call, my heart racing inside of my chest. “Hello?”
“Miss Monrovia,” a familiar voice greets.
“Dr. Sakovia,” I stammer, surprised to hear his voice. It’s rare for the doctor to call a patient himself, but then again, I’ve known Wren Sakovia for years. He probably wants to give me the good news firsthand. Hope blossoms inside my chest, and I clutch my cell phone tightly.
“How are you, Celia?”
“I—I’m fine. Do you have my test results?” There’s a pause across the line, and my stomach drops. My bottom lip trembles as I try to hold myself together for the next two minutes of this agonizing phone call. “It’s negative, isn’t it?”
Dr. Sakovia sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, Celia. Truly. I know you’ve been trying for a while?—”
“That’s okay, Doc,” I wheeze, bending at the waist to keep from collapsing. It doesn’t help the raw pain lancing through my chest, and I have to gasp for air. “I’ll go back on the supplements. I’ll try again.”
“It’s good to hear that you’re optimistic. You’re still young, so the odds are in your favor.”
“Of course. Thank you for calling. I—I need to let everyone know.”
“Stay positive, Celia. These things can take time.”
We say goodbye, and the phone slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. I walk numbly out of the kitchen into the living room and take a seat in one of the barrel chairs, wrapping my favorite throw blanket—the fuzzy one with silver hearts—around my shoulders. After tucking my feet under my legs, I stare out the bay windows overlooking the backyard. Ted insisted that we keep a willow tree out back, but I’ve always hated the wispy thing.
Every time I get another negative pregnancy test, I can’t help but stare at its hideous, drooping branches. It’s mocking me—mimicking my own tears as its limbs blow in the wind.
I’m sick of that fucking tree.
I jump up from my seat and rush to the garage. Finding the pruning shears hanging on the wall is easy, but hacking away at the willow’s branches proves tougher than I imagined. Either the shears are dull or the branches are thick, or I’m just that fucking weak that I can’t cut off a tree limb, but I end up throwing the stupid shears against the trunk and screaming.
I scream myself raw, finally crumbling into a ball on the dead, dry grass.
Ruin comes up beside me the moment I finally quiet down, silent as a shadow as he takes one look at me, then at the discarded shears, then at the branch I failed to cut dangling like a snapped toothpick. He takes out his knife and slinks closer to the willow. First, he slices through the branch I attempted to snip in half, cutting it away until it drops to the ground. Then he carves the rest of the tree bit by bit. It takes a long time, long enough that the sun dips below the tree line, but he doesn’t stop until the tree is naked and ugly and as rotten-looking as I feel inside.
He wipes his blade on his pants before stabbing it into the dirt by my feet. “You can stab it in the heart.”
“That’ll kill it.”
I think. I don’t know much about trees.
Ruin grunts and sits on the ground beside me. “Will it make you feel better?”
I hug my knees to my chest and fight another wave of tears. Sorrow radiates deep within me, making it hard to breathe. Still, I manage to choke out a reply. “I don’t think anything is going to make me feel better right now, Ruin.”
He stares at me, then at the naked tree. “That’s fair.”
Closing my eyes, I try to calm down. This isn’t the end of the world—not really. It’s just another disappointment in a long line of disappointments. I’m used to those. I can overcome this.
I can still get pregnant and raise a child. I can still have a family of my own. Adoption is an option, too, if it comes to that. But I’ve always wanted to carry my little one inside of me, and losing that experience feels like losing a piece of life itself.
A hand touches my cheek, turning my head to one side. I open my eyes and stare at a watery image of Ruin. It takes him a minute to say anything, but when he finally speaks, there’s a reverence in his voice that soothes some of the ache in my heart.
“I can see it,” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear. “In here.” Cupping my face, he leans in to get a deeper look into my eyes.
“See what?” The bitter, hurt part of me wants to say something sarcastic, like, how pathetic I am?
But Ruin can’t sense my cynicism. When he answers, he’s serious, the deep timbre of his voice making me tremble.
“Your soul. It’s weeping.” He gently brushes away the tears streaming down my cheeks. “It’s beautiful, krosotka .”
I stare into his dark eyes and wonder what exactly he sees that’s beautiful, because right now, I don’t feel like something beautiful. I’m a broken shell of a woman, too weak to successfully carry my own child, cursed with a body that doesn’t work. “It’s all my fault,” I murmur, my voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t get pregnant even with three boyfriends!” I grab Ruin’s knife and stab it into the ground, tearing through the grass, the roots, scraping the blade against rocks and carving deep gouges into the earth. It doesn’t make me feel better, but it gives me something to do with my hands.
It lets me grieve in a new way, and for that, at least, I’m grateful.
I hide in my bedroom for what feels like an eternity, wrapped in a cocoon of cotton and down feathers. Maybe if I wait long enough, I’ll undergo metamorphosis and emerge as something better. Something whole.
Something that can nurture a life inside my body.
I know it’s foolish to think that I’m broken—but all of the evidence points to it as fact. I couldn’t get pregnant with Ted. I haven’t gotten pregnant with Rebel or Rage. I’m too scared to have sex with Ruin—at least, I think I am. I play the scene in my head, wondering what kind of a lover he’s like. Will he keep the mask on and hit it from behind, or will he finally let me see his face as he fulfills my greatest desire?
Would he look into my eyes and claim to see my soul? And if he does, would it still be a sad, lonely little thing, weeping and scared? Or could our broken bodies finally become whole again if we work together to fix them?
I fix his body, and he fixes mine.
Sighing, I roll onto my back and flip my comforter off of my face. The room is dark with the lights turned off, but a sliver of warmth peeks through the crack beneath my bedroom door.
Someone’s pacing in the hallway outside.
Once Rebel finished his last cigarette and found me and Ruin in the backyard, I told him that I needed space. He’s giving it to me, albeit reluctantly.
Everything is okay, baby. Nothing’s changed. I promise.
I know he’s being sincere, but he’s only able to speak for himself.
Rage is the one I’m worried about.
My stomach twists, and I imagine for the hundredth time how Rage will react to the news that I’m not pregnant. Will he be as disappointed as I am? Excited at the prospect of fucking me day in and day out until his sperm actually takes? Or could he be angry with me for getting his hopes up to begin with?
Will he punish me for failing?
I stare up at the ceiling as headlights shine through the windows and a car door slams shut. It’s Rage finally arriving—I know it is. Rebel must have called him. Or the doctor, Wren. Shit, has Rage known this entire time? Was he expecting me to call him or come home crying into his arms?
My anxiety spikes as footsteps climb the stairs.
Rebel’s the first one to speak. Something thuds against the wall, and I can feel his anger through the door. “I called you two hours ago! What the fuck was more important than this?”
I can’t hear Rage’s reply, but I’m not sure that I want to. I’ve been in here for two hours, and Rage never bothered to come check on me until now.
That speaks louder than any words ever could.
The door handle rattles. “Unlock the door, Celia.”
I ignore Rage and pull the comforter back over my head.
“Celia, please. I need to see you. I need to make sure that you’re—” Something bangs against the door. It could be his fist, or it could be his face. Either way, the sound makes me jump. “Please let me in.”
Sitting up, I glare at the closed door. “Why? So you can lock me up again? Throw away the key this time?”
Rage hesitates before responding. “I won’t lock you in the cage. I never should have in the first place.”
I scoff. “Too late for that.”
“Celia—”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say to me. Please leave.”
The door handle suddenly snaps and falls to the ground as Rage breaks the lock. He pushes the door open and steps inside my bedroom. “I’m not going anywhere.”
It’s too dark for me to see his face, but it makes rejecting him easier. “You’re off the hook. I’m not—” my voice cracks—“I’m not pregnant, so you don’t have to pretend anymore, okay? You can leave. You can all go back to your lives, and I’ll go back to mine.”
Three long strides is all it takes for Rage to reach my bed. He kicks off his shoes, tears the tie off of his neck, and pops the buttons on his shirt as he strips down. “You are my life, Celia Monrovia. Stop pushing me away, because I’m not going anywhere.” Once he’s completely naked, he crawls on top of the bed and tears the comforter off my body.
I gasp and kick out at him, landing a hit square to his gut. The air punches from his lungs, but he grabs my foot and pushes it back down. “ Celia, ” he growls, “stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Agony rips through my chest and tears well in my eyes. “I’m already hurting!” A sob catches in my throat as my vision swims. “I thought this time—I thought for sure, I had to get pregnant. If anyone could knock me up, I thought it would be you! You said it would happen! You promised that you’d give me a baby!”
Rage crawls on top of me and smothers me with his body, trapping me against the mattress. His body heat seeps into my muscles and down to the marrow of my bones, making me tremble.
Fuck , he smells good, too. Like fire and smoke, cinnamon and clove, like warmth and comfort and everything I suddenly crave.
I gasp for air while he holds me tight. “I will give you a baby. I swear on my life, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy. Just breathe. Breathe with me.” He takes a deep breath, and I can feel his chest expand over mine.
“Maybe I don’t want to breathe! Maybe I want to drown!”
It’s not true—there’s so much I still want from this life. So much love that I have yet to give, but it hurts. The waiting hurts so much.
“Don’t you dare quit on me.” Rage’s voice shakes. He grabs my face in his hands and forces me to meet his eyes. “I need you. My brothers need you. And our baby needs you— yes, you —because you’re the only one who can put up with our bullshit and actually make things better—make us better. I won’t accept anyone else, because there’s no one I’d rather do this with than you. This is our fucked up little family, but it’s ours, and I promise you can handle it. So stay with me. I know it hurts, I know you’re tired, but I’m here now. I’m finally here. So please, let me in, let me take your pain away, because it’s my turn to carry it. You are never alone anymore. I am here with you—and I will always be here with you. Breathe, baby, please. Please breathe. I’ve got you. We’ve got this. I promise.”
The tears won’t stop, and I sob into Rage’s chest as he holds me. In the before, back when I was trying to get pregnant with Ted, he’d disappear into his office with a bottle of brandy and let me cry on my own. That’s what I was expecting this time, too—to carry the pain alone, like I always have.
But Rage is here with me, begging me to let him in. Holding me while I smear saltwater and snot all over his chest, not caring in the slightest that it’s disgusting or that I sound like a banshee wailing in the night.
He’s here .
Not just for the good times, but the bad ones, too. And if he is a man of his word, he’ll be here for all the good, bad, and in-betweens from here on out.
A heavy feeling collapses inside my chest, and I can finally take a deep breath. The walls I’ve built to keep my heart safe crumble as Rage runs his hand through my hair and murmurs sweet encouragement, holding me tight and refusing to let go.
I’m not sure when Rebel and Ruin climb into bed with us, but when I’ve finally calmed down enough to breathe without feeling like I’m on the verge of collapse, I feel their presence. The weight on the pillow beside my head. The hand hooking around my calf. The gentle brush of fingertips down my spine. I can hear them all breathing in time with each other, deep and calm and strong.
Alone, I am fallible. I regress into painful patterns and responses that aren’t healthy for the life I want to build.
Together, however… Together we might be strong enough to overcome our weaknesses. Rage can hold me tight when my strength and confidence wavers. Rebel can keep me smiling and bright and carefree. Ruin can keep me true to myself and to others. And Thanatos… I’m not sure how he fits in yet, but I know he has a place.
Rage is right, this is our family now.
Even though the odds seem stacked against us, we’ll pull through stronger than ever, because we have each other.
That might be all it takes to keep pushing through another day of wanting to find the sunrise waiting just over the horizon.