Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
My fingers were itching.
They had been. For a while.
They itched for knives. For pans. Pots. Minor burns.
A culinary kitchen.
And not rushed meals I threw together, panic racing through my veins even though Kane promised he ‘had’ Mabel. I was unable to slow down in our house. I knew that everything I was experiencing were common traits of motherhood—the sense of constant urgency, that no task could be done properly, only rushed through. It would all pass, my sister and the books promised. But this new way of life felt cemented into my personality.
I tried to grit my teeth through it.
But I was grinding them to dust.
Kane and I were sitting in the living room, the television playing in the background. Kane liked TV now. He was partial to The Real Housewives. Go figure.
Mabel was sleeping happily on his chest.
I was tucked into his side, her gentle breath caressing my face. My favorite thing in the world.
Kane had bought digital photo frames and peppered them around the house, each one loaded with pictures of her we’d snapped. I was watching that, not The Housewives.
“I love her,” I whispered, looking from her to the frame playing a slideshow of Mabel’s short but wonderful life. “I love that I’m her mother,” I continued, wringing my hands in anticipation of this confession. “But I don’t love being a mother.” I avoided Kane’s eyes. “I mean, I don’t love being only a mother. It doesn’t fit me. I feel like I fail her because I can’t be here all the time every day without losing my mind. I need something more. I need a kitchen. I need to create food, and I need to be something else in addition to being her mother. And I feel like there’s something wrong with me for not being content with just taking care of her.”
There it was. I said it all. All of those shameful thoughts that had been simmering during the short months I’d been her mother. The short months that felt like years and seconds all at once.
My gaze blurred as I watched the pictures switch, saw her adorable, chunky face grow more beautiful, more aware, more inquisitive with each passing slide. More shame piled onto me as I watched, overcome with love.
There must’ve been something wrong with me if I couldn’t be utterly fulfilled by being there for that perfect human being.
Kane’s fingers at my chin forced my gaze to him. I readied myself for judgment, disappointment, looks I no doubt deserved. But on his handsome face was only tenderness.
“Need you to stop talkin’ shit about my wife,” he rasped in a low tone.
I scrunched my nose in confusion.
“I’m not your wife.” I voiced the first thing that came to mind since it was pretty important. “I know I’m sleep deprived, but even I would’ve remembered if we’d gotten married.”
He smirked, the expression boyish and roguishly sexy simultaneously. Although I was exhausted, overwhelmed and emotional, I felt that smirk right in the pit of my stomach.
“Yeah, well, we’ve gotta rectify that. Soon.” He stroked my bottom lip with his thumb. “Not a traditional guy, but I’m a possessive one. Want you to have my name. Want you as mine in every single way possible.”
Yeah, I felt that one again. In a big way. Evidently, my vagina was not as exhausted as the rest of me.
I didn’t know what to say to what was essentially a marriage proposal. Except he wasn’t proposing anything.
Not that the idea of lifelong commitment was completely out of the blue since we had a child together, and the man professed his love for me daily—but it still made my heart flutter.
And I was not a heart fluttering kind of woman. Especially when it came to things like marriage. I was sure I was immune to society's obsession with marriage and women’s determination to celebrate the ‘big day.’
Turned out I was just like everyone else.
All it took was a sexy daredevil with our daughter’s name tattooed on his chest—right beside his ‘Yes, Chef’ tattoo—and her sleeping in his arms to make me feel it.
“In my mind, you’re mine forever, in every kind of way,” he continued. “So I already consider you my wife. And I won’t take anyone talkin’ badly about her. Even you.” His eyes narrowed. “Especially you. Not gonna hear you talkin’ shit about the best mother I know.” He looked down at the dark head of hair nestled in his arms. Everything about him became kinder, more patient, liquifying when he touched his eyes to our baby.
Another heart flutter. A really big one.
“Our daughter is going to have the best example of what she can do with her life. How she can define herself. Watchin’ you care for her, navigating this time in our life, has only made me love you in ways I never thought possible. I watched you bring her into this world, no fuckin’ drugs, all grit and willpower.” He smiled. “My warrior, Chef. But, Chef, cooking is who you are too. I’d never dream of takin’ that away from you, of makin’ you feel like you’re defined by one thing. Actually, this is kismet. Go look on the counter.” He craned his head in that direction.
I frowned, kind of because I was trying to fight the onslaught of tears, but also because I didn’t know where he was going with this.
Though I didn’t want to leave the warmth of Kane’s body or the scent of our sleeping baby, I was curious.
I got up, picking up the manilla envelope off the counter that I hadn’t noticed till then. Granted, our house was organized chaos, and I barely noticed that I was walking around with my boob still hanging out an hour after feeding Mabel; a manilla envelope could easily get lost in the fray.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Open it and find out.” He stood, expertly depositing sleeping Mabel into the bassinet we kept in the living room. Magically, she stayed asleep.
“I don’t like surprises,” I told him, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Well, I’m never gonna beat knockin’ on this door and findin’ my woman eight months pregnant, so you can live with that one,” he teased.
There was no resentment in his tone. I knew Kane wished he had been there from the start, but he’d long since let go of any anger he had toward me about the whole pregnancy thing. Regardless, I still hadn’t let go of the guilt.
My fingers tore open the envelope, then I retrieved the stack of papers, bleary eyes scanning over them. “What is this?”
“It’s a purchase agreement,” he said. “I know people tend to do leases, but I like it here, like the thought of raisin’ our daughter here. And I believe that this is a forever kinda thing. Although if the location doesn’t work, we’ll either sell it or turn it into something else and find you something that does work.”
I blinked rapidly. “Work for what?”
“Your restaurant,” he replied as if it were obvious. As if I’d regularly spoken about opening a restaurant as opposed to the few offhand comments I made before Mabel, therefore, another lifetime ago.
“My restaurant?” I repeated.
“Yes, Chef.” His eyes danced with joy.
I looked from the papers to Kane then back down again, focusing on the address. It took a second to compute, but if I wasn’t mistaken, it was an old boathouse on the wharf that I’d always looked at dreamily.
“Needs some work,” Kane shrugged, as if he were reading my mind. “Rowan and Kip start Monday, if you agree, that is. Also got an architect on standby so you can tell them what you want, and they can make it happen.”
Palm over my mouth, I tried to process everything that Kane was saying.
“Did I fuck up?” His easy grin had dimmed. “The location not fancy enough? I just saw it when we were out walkin’ with Mabel, and I felt like it was you. But—”
I held my hand up to silence him. It was shaking. “It’s perfect,” I whispered.
“I know you’re not the kind of woman who likes to let go of control.” He put his hands on my hips. “And me takin’ charge and makin’ a big decision like this for you could be considered as a toxic male move. But you’re the boss here, Chef. I’ll willingly submit to you, stay at home and take care of our daughter, while you go and bring home the bacon.”
He winked.
I struggled to stand under the weight of everything he was saying, everything he was giving me.
“You’ll give up your career?” I clarified.
“Already done.”
I stared at him. He was serious. “But that’s your life. You’re Kane ‘The Devil Rhodes.’”
He chuckled, brushing hair from my face. It was probably crusty or sticky with spit up.
“No. You’re my life,” he corrected. “ She’s my life.” His eyes roamed to the bassinet, where there were no tiny legs flailing or hands scrambling for escape, no cries of ‘pick me up.’ I had a rogue thought to go check her breathing before Kane turned my attention back to him.
“My identity was never in the bullshit I did to keep the demons quiet,” he said. “It was how I thought I made myself a man after everything I went through. I’ve come to realize that how I make myself a man, the best man I can be, is by being a husband and father.”
The next day, we got a marriage license.
The day after that, we got married.
Then construction started on Tides, my restaurant.
It should’ve been the end.
Or more appropriately, it should’ve been the beginning of a whole new life. One that I finally felt I was getting the hang of. I was making my peace with the chaos that came with being a mother.
On one of Maisie’s many visits—she brought the kids and her husband who was goofy and doted on both her and the children—I’d been cooking while she and the kids entertained Mabel.
Mabel, who was now entertained, who giggled— giggled ! Who cried still, since it was the only form of communication she had, but cried to communicate her needs rather than to scream at us like we were doing something wrong or the world was too loud or she was in discomfort or for whatever reason babies with colic cried.
The press left us alone for the most part. There was the odd reporter on Main Street when we went for walks or to get pastries, but Rowan scared any and all away from the bakery when they tried to enter.
And no one in the town had given an interview, shared any information, so they eventually scattered off for the next story.
Not that there weren’t stories. People had been transfixed by Kane when he was flying through the air on a motorcycle, winning Olympic medals, dating supermodels and generally being mischievous. But now that he’d ‘settled down,’ and had a baby girl, people seemed even more enchanted. By his love story, his happily ever after.
Yes, I was a little enchanted too. We were finally sleeping more. Not through the night, no, of course not. But we were getting three to four hours … in a row—that counted as eight hours in my book—which meant I was slightly saner.
Mabel napped in her crib, sometimes for a full hour . She still enjoyed most days slumbering, cuddled up to her father.
The house was filled with her laughter, her smiles. I had slightly more time to do things for myself. Especially with the never ending visits from the Jupiter ‘posse’. Nora, Fiona, Tina, Tiffany and Calliope.
Kane had his bromances with Kip and Rowan going strong, the three of them taking the kids out and about so we could sit in Nora’s garden drinking or eating or just doing things that weren’t wiping faces, cleaning diapers or feeding children.
Nora welcomed a second baby girl without fuss or disarray. She seemed content, well rested and not at all on the edge of a mental breakdown like I’d been those first weeks. It baffled me that she’d done it again by choice.
Fiona seemed to feel the same as me. We were both content with one child whereas Nora wanted many.
These new friendships meant that Mabel would never feel lonely, though. Not with all of the children she’d be surrounded by, not to mention her cousins, who adored her and had just left with a tearful goodbye and promises to return soon. My mother was scheduled to arrive the next day.
Kane had already contracted Kip and Rowan to start work on a ‘guest house’ for family on our property. He wanted them to feel welcome. He’d spoken about adding on to our petite cottage, but I’d refused. I liked it exactly how it was. Small, compact, perfect for two adults, one child and one dog.
He had told his mother about Mabel, and she’d visited. She’d been timid, hesitant and when she did speak, she spoke a lot about herself. She’d held Mabel, but she’d seemed uneasy, uncomfortable, Kane’s jaw hard while watching them together.
It wasn’t an altogether ‘nice’ visit. It hurt me that Kane didn’t have what I had with my mother. But he’d made his peace with it.
As much as anyone could.
We hadn’t seen Knox. I knew that bothered him more than his mother’s indifference.
He’d thrown himself into the role of ‘stay at home dad,’ though I had urged him to do something other than that, like write a memoir. His new agent let it slip that he’d been offered many book deals. Kane was a literary lover and had an extraordinary story.
He was in Portland then, meeting with publishers, on my urging.
Tides was opening in two weeks. I had been toiling over the menu all throughout the day, writing and rewriting it. My decision making struggles were not just reserved for baby related things; it seemed they had seeped into an area of my life I had previously thought was untouchable. Unbreakable.
Doubt gnawed at me that this restaurant was a mistake.
“I didn’t hear your bike,” I called to Kane as the door opened then closed behind him. “She’s not sleeping. You didn’t have to push it up the drive again,” I laughed.
Mabel laughed along with me from her highchair, squeezing a piece of banana in her little fist, elated at the resulting mush.
It was a process, my accepting the mess that Mabel had to make in order to discover food, to learn. To understand that most everything I made ended up on the floor and that the bigger mess she made, the more delighted she was. Until it came time to clean her up. Then she made it clear that she thought we were trying to torture her.
Yes, it was a process. But one I was starting to enjoy. Motherhood started to feel comfortable, like it fit, like it might’ve been made for me instead of something that I was trying to cut myself into shape for.
Some days were harder than others. But I had Kane. He was unflinching in his support of me, of us. There were times, moments, when he did things that communicated the ways in which his life hadn’t changed and I had. Small things. It was hard not to turn them into larger things, to not catastrophize our entire relationship and its trajectory. To believe that he wanted me to be nothing more than a wife and mother.
Except he’d proven the exact opposite was true. Yes, he’d bought me the restaurant—which I still battled with my feelings about. But it wasn’t because he wanted to own me or be my ‘boss,’ to hold it over me. It was given freely, a part of myself he was giving me back.
And he was happy to be a stay-at-home dad, to ‘retire’ from his title as ‘The Devil.’ Granted, he was still planning on taking sponsorships here and there to ‘bulk up Mabel’s college fund,’ even though it was already bursting.
I knew he didn’t want to entirely let go of the opportunities because part of him was still the poor boy struggling and going hungry.
He’d communicated that one night. “Except now I know you’ll feed me, Chef,” he murmured against my neck.
And I was working on that. Feeding him. Feeding us. Feeding myself. The restaurant was truly coming together. I had finalized a menu after testing it, retesting it then changing it completely. It had taken me four times as long as it used to, but that was okay.
I’d interviewed for staff, gotten licenses, approved the interior layout, had the time of my life designing my kitchen. It was a little extravagant considering it was going to be a mid-scale restaurant in a small town, but Kane had insisted on it, and I’d found it hard to argue.
I was dying to be in a kitchen that was mine, to reclaim a little bit of my old identity and mesh it with this new one.
I had spoken to a therapist who diagnosed me with postpartum anxiety—not an uncommon thing with high achieving women, apparently. The transition from the control we had to perfect our everyday lives to the utter chaos that was parenthood and the chasing of a perfectionism that didn’t exist was a bit of a recipe for disaster.
It was nice to have a label, a diagnosis. There were many things I could do to combat it, though the ‘make sure you’re getting enough sleep’ was a laughable concept.
I thought about her death often. About the myriad of ways she could be taken from us. Suffocating in her sleep, choking, some obscure sickness, a food allergy. The list of things took my breath away and panic crawled over my skin knowing how fragile she was. How helpless I was.
But I was learning to let go of things, to not try so hard to control everything since an eight month old was uncontrollable. I tried to trust that nothing would happen to her.
“Babe?” I asked Kane, still looking at Mabel’s smile. At the time, she was craning her head to the hall to look for her father. She was obsessed with him and usually let out squeals of delight whenever he arrived home, even if he had been gone for less than an hour. He’d been gone since early morning, so surely, she’d be screeching.
Seeing the bond between them, seeing him grow as a father, made me feel simultaneous joy and pain while thinking about the own father I’d lost. I’d forgiven him, finally, my father. Not that I’d had any other choice. Dead men were forgiven easier.
My inner thoughts were not punctuated by Mabel’s squeals. Instead, the smile died on her face as she stared at the hall with a tilt to her head and an uncertain expression.
My blood immediately chilled, and I froze in place. Call it what you will, motherly instincts, intuition, but I knew the person standing behind me was not Kane.
I held my breath, looking around for something, anything to use as a weapon. My phone was across the kitchen, as were all the sharp and pointy things. Out of the grasp of little fingers. The only thing in reaching distance was a rubber spoon that Mabel was waving in her grubby hands.
That was then I noticed Blanche’s absence. I’d let her out to the bathroom minutes before. Under protest, she’d left her spot beneath the high chair where she had proximity to Mabel and snacks from whatever Mabel dropped. I searched for her outside and saw the slash of golden fur, lying lifeless on the deck. My mouth dried with terror.
“Isn’t this cozy?” a voice sneered.
I turned, unable and unwilling to have my back to him. I’d recognized his voice immediately, of course.
Brax.
He looked a lot different than the last time I saw him. No bespoke suit, no fancy haircut or fake tan. No smarmy grin.
He was disheveled. Much thinner than he had been and pale, gaunt almost. His hair was mussed and longer, a thick layer of patchy stubble covering his jaw. His gray tee was rumpled, hanging off him.
And he was holding a gun.
I sucked in an unsteady breath and moved my body so Mabel was completely behind me.
Brax was there. In our kitchen.
I’d asked Kane what happened to Brax since he’d sworn to ‘kill him’ in a way that seemed very literal. Kane had replied by saying that he was ‘taken care of.’ That had seemed ominous, but a quick Google search couldn’t find a missing person or obituary anywhere, so I was relieved that Kane wasn’t at risk of incarceration for murder.
I hadn’t given it much thought beyond that. We had other things going on.
“You ruined my life,” Brax snarled, taking another step into the kitchen.
Every muscle in my body went taut. I kept my focus on him as Mabel started protesting my back being to her. My stomach lurched at the situation I was in. An obviously angry, desperate and armed man was in my kitchen with me and my baby. Defenseless.
Kane was supposed to be home soon. He’d messaged that he was making the drive home what, an hour ago? Two? I couldn’t remember.
But even if he did come home, what could he do? His shotgun was locked away upstairs, in a safe as I had requested. But he was much more physically fit than Brax, and the sheer rage he’d feel protecting his family would save us. That I knew.
Except he wasn’t there to save us.
“You need to leave. Now,” I demanded, conjuring my best ice queen voice. “Right now. You’re breaking and entering. Leave before it’s something you can’t come back from.”
Brax laughed. It was an ugly sound with an edge of mania. “It’s not breaking and entering, you dumb bitch. The door wasn’t even locked. You think you’re untouchable here.”
I didn’t ask how he got past the gate; it was an insignificant detail at that point. He’d gotten past it. He was there.
He took another step forward. I pressed myself into Mabel’s highchair, and her banana covered hands clawed at my back.
“You’re not,” he continued. “You’re not going to ruin my career either. I get that. ” He waved the gun in Mabel’s direction, and acid burned my esophagus. “If I get the first scoop and picture of the famous child, I’ll have my in.”
I stared at him, understanding that I was looking at a completely unhinged man.
There was no point in reasoning with him, in pointing out that kidnapping our daughter and essentially selling her to the media—I think that’s what he meant, at least—was going to get him his job back.
Kane had done something to ensure he lost everything, that much was clear. And instead of doing some serious inner work, he had laid the blame at Kane’s feet. And at mine. And clearly, he’d let his mind become unhinged enough to come here. To my home. Where my daughter was.
“Step aside now,” he said, waving the gun.
“You’ll have to kill me.” I was proud that my fear wasn’t evident in my tone and that I was able to stand straight despite my legs feeling like mush. I knew I had to stay strong, so I stared at Brax, not letting go of his gaze. “Kill me. That’s the only way that you’re getting your filthy hands on my daughter.”
Even saying it, thinking of him near her, made me want to vomit.
I wasn’t afraid of death. Not in the slightest. But I was afraid of my death meaning Mabel was in danger. Alone. With Brax. That scared me to the core.
My mind was clear, yet my heartbeat crashed against my ribs. Protect my daughter, at any cost. That was the goal. Buy time. Kane would be home. If it was before I was shot or after it didn’t quite matter. All that mattered was that he was there to save Mabel.
With the gun centered on me, his cold gaze transitioned from madness to hatred. “I’ll do it,’ he murmured. “I’ll gladly do it. Won’t it just add to the story? It’ll hit him where it really hurts.” He rubbed the top of his head with his free hand.. “But then he’ll twist it. He’ll be the hero, the grieving single father, again on top. Even more popular than he was.” His face screwed up, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nah, I’m not doin’ that.” He shook the gun again. “Get out of the way.”
I planted myself, wishing I could grow roots in the tile, turn to stone so he couldn’t get around me. Couldn’t get to my daughter.
I was bracing myself. For pain. For the loud gunshot. To die protecting my daughter.
But only a small pop sounded then a large thump as Brax’s body hit the floor.
I stared down at the growing red puddle on the tile. Blood. Coming from Brax’s head.
Then I looked up to the form in my kitchen.
Knox.
He had on gloves. Holding a gun with a silencer. At least that’s what I thought it was. It looked similar to ones in movies. But somehow larger, heavier.
I took in a shaky breath. Then another. Knox was there. With a gun. He’d just killed Brax moments before Brax was going to kill me and take my daughter. Those were the horrifying facts.
Then I turned to face Mabel, a large smile on my face. “Let’s get you in front of fruit while I talk to Uncle Knox,” I told her in an overly high-pitched voice.
She squinted at me then peered around at Knox. I tried to hide the dead body from her view, though she didn’t seem to notice it. She was focused on her uncle, who stood frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on her.
There was no smile on his face, no softening or warmth to his expression that most people had with her. No, his face remained an impassive mask.
Mabel did not cry out in fear. No, she beamed at him.
Knox recoiled, presumably in shock.
“We’ll say hello in just a minute,” I promised her, lifting her from the high chair, swirling us around then quickly stepping into the living room where I deposited her in her ‘DJ Booth’—what Kane called the stationary container she could stand in. I kissed her head then switched on the fruit video, forcing myself to remain calm as I walked back into the kitchen. Knox had thoughtfully found a kitchen towel and was using it to stop the blood from spreading.
He didn’t speak, didn’t ask me if I was okay.
We both just stared at Brax’s body.
I’d never seen a dead body before. Though I still had the vague taste of bile in my mouth, I forced myself to keep it together. That was not the time for hysterics.
“We got two options,” Knox finally said. “You call the cops. You’re gonna have to say it was either you or Kane who did that.” He motioned to the bullet hole. “I, for various reasons, cannot be on the radar for things like this.”
I nodded, understanding, even if I was na?ve to what it was Knox actually did for a living.
I thought about that. It was self-defense. Quite obviously. But that would result in attention. A whole lot of it. A national media storm, even if we weren’t charged in any kind of way.
Our life would once again be plastered over every news site, every channel. Mabel’s life.
Not only would she have the history of a famous father, but death, murder would forever be attached to her name.
My stomach lurched again.
“Or…” Knox continued. “I take care of it. No one ever finds him. Nothing ever traces back here.”
I eyed him, taking in his demeanor. He didn’t seem shaken at the slightest by killing someone. I was plenty shaken, and it was taking my years of training to keep calm. That and the little being in the other room did not need her mother losing her shit.
“I can’t ask that of you,” I said, my voice raspy and thin.
“You’re not asking,” he replied. “I’m offering. Consider it a wedding present. And an apology. I’ve been keeping an eye on him, making sure he didn’t do anything like this. I got … distracted.” His eyes went faraway for a split second before refocusing on me. “He shouldn’t have ever made it inside this house. That’s on me.”
I shook my head. “That’s on him.”
Knox’s lips were a thin line. He didn’t agree.
I sighed. I wasn’t going to convince him.
“We don’t need more attention,” I said finally, decision made. I was willfully deciding to break the law Acquiescing to be an accomplice to murder. I’d go to jail if this was ever discovered. Mabel would be without me. I was trusting Knox with not only my life but with Mabel’s. It should’ve scared me more, but I trusted him, implicitly.
He nodded once, head tilting to the sound of a motorcycle in the drive.
Mabel shrieked, knowing that sound.
The thump of Kane’s boots sounded as he bounded through the door. “Chef—”
He halted as soon as he could see into the kitchen. Horrified, his eyes went to me, to the body, to Mabel in her play center then finally to Knox.
“I’m taking care of it,” were Knox’s words.
And he did.
Our wedding present from Kane’s brother included body disposal and crime scene cleanup, apparently.
And that was our ending.
Kind of.