51. Fifty-One
FIFTY-ONE
HARLOWE
The backyard of Atlas’s parents’ estate was transformed into something out of a fairytale.
Pink and gold balloons floated in clusters tied to white chairs. A long table draped in silk held a three-tiered cake decorated with delicate sugar flowers. Children’s laughter echoed across the lawn as they chased each other through the garden, their joy so pure it made my chest ache.
Ainsley, Atlas and Luna’s daughter’s third birthday party was in full swing, and I stood at the edge of it all, watching.
Watching my son run through the grass with his dark hair catching the sunlight, his gray eyes bright with excitement as he played with Mila and Archer’s twins.
Watching Arrow lean against the patio railing, deep in conversation with Atlas, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the scars on his forearms—reminders of the night he’d almost died for me.
Watching this family, we’d bled to be part of celebrating life instead of mourning death.
“Mama!” Luca called, waving at me from across the lawn. “Look! Ainsley got a puppy!”
I waved back, smiling as he crouched down to pet the small golden retriever puppy that Luna had surprised their daughter with. The little girl squealed with delight, her tiny hands gentle as she stroked the puppy’s soft fur.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Luna said, appearing at my side with two glasses of champagne. She handed me one, her own belly round with her second child. “Atlas tried to talk me out of it, but how could I say no to that face?”
I took the glass but didn’t drink, just held it between my fingers. “She’s going to love him.”
“Just like Luca loves his father,” Luna said knowingly, her eyes tracking to where Arrow had moved from the patio to crouch beside our son, showing him how to hold his hand out for the puppy to sniff.
My throat tightened watching them together. Arrow’s large, scarred hands were guiding Luca’s smaller ones. The way he spoke to our son with such patience and tenderness—a side of him the world would never see, a side reserved only for us.
“You’re staring,” Luna teased gently.
“I know.” I didn’t look away. “Sometimes I still can’t believe we made it here.”
She squeezed my arm, understanding without needing explanation.
She’d been there that night at the hospital.
She’d seen the blood and watched the nurses and doctors frantically work to save Arrow’s life.
She’d watched me fall apart, falling to the floor when his heart stopped, not once, but twice.
Luna had become one of my best friends, and our children loved each other like family.
“But you did,” she said softly. “You both did.”
Across the lawn, Mila called out that it was time for cake. The children shrieked with excitement, abandoning their games to race toward the table. Arrow straightened, lifting Luca onto his shoulders so he could see over the crowd of adults gathering around Aurora.
We sang happy birthday, then Aurora blew out her candles with her parents’ help, cake was distributed, and frosting ended up on more faces than plates. I watched my husband laugh at something Orion said, watched him wipe chocolate from Luca’s cheek, watched him live.
And I knew.
I knew it was time.
I set down my untouched champagne and crossed the lawn toward him. He saw me coming, his expression shifting from amusement to something more focused, more intent. He always knew when I needed him.
“Hey,” he said as I reached him, his hand automatically finding the small of my back. “You okay?”
“Come with me,” I said quietly. “Just for a minute.”
He didn’t question it. He handed Luca off to Frank, who’d been hovering near the dessert table, and followed me away from the party, through the garden gate and into the quiet rose garden beyond.
The sounds of celebration faded behind us, replaced by birdsong and the rustle of leaves. Arrow turned to face me, his gray eyes searching mine with concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching for my face.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I caught his hand, holding it between both of mine. “Everything is perfect, actually.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
“Because I am,” I admitted, my voice breaking on a laugh. “But they’re good tears. I promise.”
I guided his hand down, pressing his palm flat against my stomach. His fingers spread instinctively, covering the space where our second child was growing—so small still, barely there, but real. So real.
“Harlowe,” he breathed, his eyes widening as understanding dawned.
“Four bullets,” I whispered, my free hand coming up to trace the scars on his chest through his shirt—the four raised ridges that mapped his sacrifice. “Four bullets you took for me. And now . . . four heartbeats in our family.”
His hand trembled against my belly. “You’re . . .”
“Pregnant,” I confirmed, tears spilling over. “We’re having another baby.”
For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression cycling through shock, disbelief, and then something so tender it made my knees weak. Then he was pulling me against him, his arms wrapping around me like he could shield me from the entire world.
“Harlowe,” he said again, his voice rough with emotion. “God, Harlowe.”
I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his scent, feeling his heart pound against my cheek—that heart that had kept beating even when it should have stopped, that heart that belonged to me and our children.
“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
He pulled back just enough to tilt my face up, his thumbs wiping away my tears. “Don’t be terrified,” he said fiercely. “Not of this. Not of us.”
Then he kissed me slow and deep and full of promise. A kiss that tasted like hope and future and everything we’d fought to survive for.
When we finally broke apart, I could hear Luca calling for us in the distance, his voice bright with excitement about something new.
“We should get back,” I said reluctantly.
“In a minute.” Arrow kept me close, his hand still resting on my stomach. “Let me just hold you. Both of you.”
So I let him. I stood there in the rose garden with my husband’s arms around me, the sounds of our family celebrating life just beyond the gate, and I felt something I’d never thought I’d feel again after everything we’d endured.
Peace.
Not the absence of danger. We’d never have that, not in this life, and not with the names we carried.
But peace in knowing that whatever came next, we’d face it together.
That the love we’d built from blood and violence and impossible choices was strong enough to hold us.
That our children would grow up knowing they were wanted, protected, and cherished.
That we’d survived.
And we’d keep surviving.
Together.
“Come on,” I said finally, taking his hand. “Our son is probably covered in frosting by now.”
Arrow laughed, that rare, genuine sound that I’d learned to treasure. “Probably. Frank’s going to have his hands full.”
We walked back through the garden gate hand in hand, back to the party, back to our family. Luca spotted us immediately and came running, crashing into Arrow’s legs with his usual enthusiasm.
“Daddy! Mama! Can we get a puppy too?”
Arrow looked at me, his eyes still shining with the knowledge of our secret. “Maybe,” he said, lifting Luca up. “We’ll see.”
“That means yes!” Luca announced triumphantly.
I laughed, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair. “That means we’ll talk about it.”
As we rejoined the celebration—as I watched Arrow balance our son on his hip while talking to his cousins, as I felt the tiny flutter of new life growing inside me, as I saw the future stretching out before us full of possibility—I thought about my brother’s grave.
About the promise I’d made him.
I’m going to break the cycle, I’d told him. I’m going to give my children something different.
And I was.
We were.
One heartbeat at a time.