Chapter 20
Aurora
Men are so fucking emotional.
Kneeling on the bathroom tile, I quickly shut off the valve behind the toilet.
When I was thirteen, I dropped an earring down the sink.
Gram turned off the water until my grandfather returned home to take apart the pipes.
He found the earring in the trap. It sounds gross, but I pray the toilet works in a similar way.
The elevator vibrates beneath me. Tears cloud my vision, and I slump back onto my heels. God, I miss my grandfather. I want to scream to the heavens, but I don’t have time to cry. I’ve got shit to handle.
I refuse to interrupt Ethan and Jackson’s date, even though I yearn for Ethan’s arms around me. He’d hold me and let me bawl my eyes out while he fixed this mess.
Maybe I’m being too sentimental about a piece of jewelry, but you know what? Fuck that. It’s mine, and I want it back.
I rise to my feet, snatch my phone from the bathroom counter, and Google ways to save my engagement ring. According to the internet, I have a fifty percent chance of fishing it out of the pipes if I don’t flush the toilet again—all I need is a plumber.
Problem is, I don’t have the code to the elevator, and Ethan will spank my ass if I let a stranger into the apartment while I’m alone.
“Why do I have to like dick?” I mutter to myself.
I stalk to the bedroom closet, slip into my favorite pair of Jackson’s gray sweatpants, rolling them at the waist, and pull on one of his soft cotton T-shirts. For now, I shove the code problem aside and dial the first plumber I find. Someone will have to meet him downstairs.
“You’ve reached A-Plus Plumbing. Our office hours are Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Please leave a message.”
I hang up and try another. “This is American City Plumbing. All our technicians are currently assisting other customers—”
“Fuck.” I dial a third number labeled ‘24/7 Emergency Services’.
Straight to voicemail.
And the next.
And the next.
Frustrated and slightly dizzy, I toss my phone onto the bed. Of course this had to happen during a holiday. Eli gives a kick, as if to remind me getting worked up isn’t good for either of us.
“I know, baby.” I stand there, one hand on my lower back, the other cradling my belly, and fight back the tears. “Your daddy will be home soon, and things will get better.”
The elevator rumbles, and I freeze, listening for who it might be. Heavy footsteps approach, and my heart thumps wildly.
Why has Reece returned already? For his sake, I hope he brought a plumber.
He appears in the doorway alone. “I’m sorry,” he says, his expression unreadable, his gaze on the floor. “I shouldn’t have forcefully taken your ring.”
Forcefully? How about not at all? What a half-assed apology.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Too late now.”
He steps toward me, his dog tags dangling from his fingers. “I was angry,” he admits. “I still am. But I was wrong to take it out on you. Here.” He lifts the metal chain, poised to slip it over my head.
Has he lost his damn mind? I step back. “I’m not wearing those.”
His eyes harden. “You’ll wear his ring but not my dog tags.”
“I would have worn both.”
He shakes his head in disbelief and pockets his tags. “I can’t win against him, can I?”
I’m so sick of this argument. Jealousy has no place in this foursome.
“No, but you can stand beside him, and he’ll stand beside you.
That’s the only way this will work.” My voice remains unwavering, even though I want to fall to my knees and cry.
“I come with Jackson, Ethan, and a baby. If you’re not ready for that, you need to leave. ”
His jaw clenches. “Are you serious? You come with a one-night stand and a trauma bond.”
I laugh incredulously, teetering on the verge of a breakdown.
“Is that the best you’ve got? First, you know nothing about my trauma.
I have shared trauma with Jax in the same way you have shared trauma with Lucas.
Second, you come with more baggage than an airline, and I guarantee you’ve had more one-night stands than I have.
Yet, here I am, accepting your family, your past, your inability to share your feelings…
so don’t you dare reduce my relationships to something small enough for you to swallow. ”
Shock and confusion flicker across his features, then vanish, leaving his expression blank. He’s good at masking, but I see through it.
“You’re tired,” he says, as if it explains everything, and reaches out for me. “Let’s go back to bed. We can deal with this later.”
I knock his hand away. “I’m not going anywhere until you fish my ring out of the toilet.”
“It’s. A. Tracker.” He slowly enunciates each word.
“So. Are. Your. Dog. Tags.” I match his tone. “And I don’t care if it’s a damn Ring Pop—there’s an inscription on the band.”
“Of what? His PIN code?”
Something in me snaps. “Sex didn’t help your jealousy, and the person I love can’t be your enemy. Jax and I exchanged vows in Rocco’s office with his secretary as our witness—not sure that’ll ease your mental gymnastics, though.”
We were happy and a little silly. We stumbled through the vows, laughing the entire time. I can’t recall the exact words, but I’ll never forget Jackson’s crooked smile and those bright-green eyes. There’s no way in hell I’m letting anyone diminish the value of that moment.
Reece juts his chin. “Was ‘forsaking all others’ one of them?”
“Go fuck yourself.” I step around him, grab my phone, and head for the living room.
He follows. “I’m serious. Not everyone says those words, and you both started sleeping with other people. It’s a fair question.”
I whirl to face him, my dizziness spiking, but I push through it.
“Your indoctrinated, black-and-white bullshit is not my problem. If sleeping with me bothers you, go repent. Get an exorcism or something. I slept with Ethan while he was still married, and I bet they said their vows in a church, and I don’t care.
They meant nothing. She didn’t appreciate him, and I do.
You can judge me all you want. I hope your sister is fucking Rocco in every position imaginable and sending her asshole husband a video—that’s how unserious I am about the vows you’re having a meltdown over.
We’re consenting adults. Love is love. Commitment is a choice. Get over it.”
His face flushes red, and his fists clench at his sides. His voice drops, tight and furious. “If you slept with another man outside the three of us, I think I’d kill him.”
Is he having some existential crisis? Maybe the foursome broke him. “I don’t require vows to stay committed. I’m quite satisfied, thank you very much.”
I don’t look away, and neither does he. We’re locked in a silent battle of wills that, honestly, I can’t understand. Isn’t it a good thing Jackson and I aren’t legally married? Wouldn’t it work in Reece’s favor, given his traditional values and absurd jealousy?
His brows furrow. “Why do you have shared trauma with Jax?”
“Why are you being jealous? Why are you trying to mark me with your tags like property?”
He sinks into the couch, drops his head into his hands, and scrubs his face with his palms. “I have to leave. I read Daniel’s military record. He abused my sister, and my father swept it under the rug. I can’t let that go. I can’t just sit here.” He thrusts a hand in the air.
I settle into a chair across from him. “Okay. What are you going to do?”
“No clue, but every time I leave, you manage to do something that crushes me.”
“That’s what you’re worried about? I’m already married and pregnant, so…” Ethan doesn’t even let me out of the apartment. What could I possibly do?
Again, Reece gives me the icy glare. “You don’t know if you’re married or not.”
“There’s no difference, except this prevents Jax from being put on the baby’s birth certificate instead of Ethan. It’s some weird New York law.”
He lowers his gaze. “I didn’t realize that.”
Silence stretches between us. I peer out the window, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. My temples throb. I’m drained from the emotional roller coaster—and I still need a plumber.
“I can’t see a way forward right now. I’m exhausted.” My voice cracks, and I swallow to soothe my aching throat. “You’re dealing with a lot. I want to be here for you, but I don’t know how this will work if you can’t accept me.” Or trust me, apparently.
He releases a heavy breath. “I don’t regret sleeping with you—or being with you.”
That’s it? I stare at him, waiting for something—anything—more.
The elevator hums to life, breaking our standoff.
“Fucking great,” he mutters.
Moments later, Jackson and Ethan step into the kitchen, each carrying a pink bakery box. They’re all smiles and happy, and I want to burst into tears.