Epilogue
One Year Later
Aiden
It’s been an interesting year.
I’ve gone from living alone to sharing space with more women than I planned to tolerate. Turns out, it takes a shitload of patience I didn’t know I possessed.
My wife likes to remind me daily that I’m the one who insisted on the arrangement. She’s right, as always.
Wife.
Still my favorite word. Isabel has been mine for nine months now.
We held off until she finished her placement, or what I learned after doing my research was known as her foundation years.
We made it official during her short break between.
Which I refused to waste and took her on a honeymoon, leaving Alma in capable hands with Jen and Misty.
Now she’s started her next phase—Internal Medical Training. A three-year commitment.
And if she follows through on cardiology, which she will, she’ll have to train for another five years after this. Long road. Explains why doctors charge what they do.
Which brings me back to my current arrangement.
I spend my days at the new training facility in Soulcombe, preparing our new recruits, so they’re ready for whatever hell Darius plans to put them through. That means I’m not always around to protect her. And now that she’s mine, I make the call who does.
No more incompetent guards. No weak links. No mistakes. Every guard female—no need to stir my jealous side. Only the best make the cut.
Especially now, after what I found sitting on the bathroom counter this morning. A test with a note: You’re right.
I bought the test because I wasn’t convinced her tiredness was from her fifty-five hour weeks and unpredictable schedules that rotated between day and night shifts, throwing in a weekend once a month. It was more. Her hours may differ from before, but not by much.
Turns out, I know my wife’s body better than she does.
“Need anything before I leave, Mr. Bishop?” Alma’s nurse asks, stepping into the kitchen where I’m grabbing a quick snack.
“We’re good. Izzy should be home soon. Anything I need to know?” I decide on an apple and take a bite.
“Today’s been a good day. She’s out in the garden painting.” Her voice is steady, but her cheeks are slightly flushed. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
I take another bite, watching her. “You feeling okay?”
She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Yes. Fine.”
I don’t buy it. “You look a little flushed. Sure you’re not coming down with something?”
“Just the sun,” she says, brushing it off.
Not wanting to push her I go ahead and make the call. “Take the day tomorrow. I’m off, so is Izzy. We can handle Alma. If we need you, we’ll call. You’ve earned it.”
“I won’t turn that down, but I promise you I’m fine.” She gathers her stuff and glances toward the garden. “We’ve spent most of the day outside. She insisted. Said the light’s better.”
“Right,” I say. “Better go see what masterpiece she’s painting now.”
She doesn’t say more, just grabs her stuff and leaves.
That should’ve been my first sign that I am walking in on an ambush. You’d think that I’d recognize a set up when I see one, but I fail miserably every damn time.
The second I round the corner to Alma’s outdoor studio, I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes immediately close. “Bloody fucking hell.”
Alma lowers her brush and looks at me like I’m the problem. “Don’t start. It’s not easy doing this from memory. You should be my model.”
Gesturing toward the canvas without looking again, I say, “I’m not sure your granddaughter would approve.”
Tapping the tip of her brush against her chin, she hums, like I’m part of the project now. “I don’t need you fully nude. Just a bit of skin. We can be tasteful about it. Leave something to the imagination.”
Since living with Alma, I’ve been forced to stare at more knobs than I care to admit. The one I’m staring at now takes up the entire canvas, with the veins that line it almost perfectly. Her memory of one hasn’t failed her yet.
“Where do you want me?” I exhale accepting I’ve already lost the fight.
She rubs her hands together and points to the bench—blanket, a few pillows, everything conveniently there. Setting the painting of the knob aside, she picks up a blank canvas and waits for me to get situated.
I should’ve known. This wasn’t spontaneous. She’d planned this.
And like a sucker, I walked straight into it.
Isabel
I’m so tired.
A full week of shifts will do that. But I’ve got two days off ahead of me, and I fully intend to enjoy them with my husband and my grandmother. No guards hovering. No extra bodies. Just us.
I was about to text the nurse and tell her to take tomorrow off when she beats me to it. Guess Aiden had the same idea. He’s good at that. Handling things before I even think to.
Grams has been better lately. The new medication is helping to stabilize her disease. She still struggles, has rough days, but they’re not as frequent, and when she’s clear, she’s really clear. Happier. More herself.
She’s stopped asking about grandfather. It’s strange, the way her mind lets certain things go. I wish it didn’t happen that way, but I won’t pretend it hasn’t made things easier.
The car pulls up to our home, and I try—unsuccessfully—to stop my guards from getting out. “Aiden’s home. I can let myself in.”
Kym is out before I finish speaking.
“Or not,” I mutter.
Gracie follows right behind her, but not before she reminds me. “You know that’s not how it works.”
“It’s how it should work,” I say, even though I’m clearly talking to myself now.
By the time the door opens, I don’t bother rushing. I already know how this will go.
There was a time I could convince people I was the one in charge. I miss those days. These new guards aren’t buying it. They answer to one very demanding man who will fire them without a second chance if they break one of his precious rules.
I’m escorted all the way to the front door. Only left alone when Kym’s phone buzzes. His signal that they’re clear to step away.
“We’ll be at the guard station,” she says before locking up behind her.
I get it. After everything that happened, Aiden doesn’t take chances. And I’m grateful.
It just gets old fast. And it’s only going to get worse.
Kicking off my shoes, I head for the kitchen, following the smell of something amazing. Marian, our chef, is hard at work.
Having a chef is nice. Saves me from having to worry about feeding Grams. I know Aiden is capable, but he’s got enough on his plate, and this was one thing I could take off it. We still cook, just not on the days I work.
“Have you seen Aiden?” I ask, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I believe he’s in the garden with your grandmother,” she tells me as she stirs a pot.
That brings a smile to my face. Nothing good ever comes from those two being left alone together. Grams has a way of getting him to agree to stuff that he’d tell the rest of us to bugger off.
And I’m not wrong.
“Grams, how did you convince my husband to let you paint his knob?” I have to ask when I approach, just because I want to hear him grumble. “It’s very accurate.”
“Is it?” She hums as she studies the canvas in front of her. It’s not anywhere near complete. Only the initial colors have been added. “He refuses to show me. Said you wouldn’t approve. What do you think?”
I take a closer look at the canvas she’s working on. The colors are bright. The sky almost a perfect match. She’s even added the background that will be the base for the garden.
The man posed on his side, looking like my favorite treat, isn’t even in it. He’s been duped into taking off his shirt and posing just because she can.
“Nice.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “When you finish, we’ll hang it in the gallery.”
“No, we will not,” Aiden grumbles.
“Spoilsport,” I tease as I walk toward him. “What’s the matter? Afraid the guys will think you’ve gone soft?”
His frown only grows the closer I get. “No.”
“I’m done,” Gram says, already moving away. “Think I’ll go lie down for a bit before dinner. I’m rather tired.”
She’s already put her paints aside and almost inside before I make it to him.
“She didn’t paint me, did she?” He pushes himself up and huffs. “What did she paint this time?”
“The garden.” I bend down and pick up his shirt to hand to him. “Not nearly as impressive as you.”
I squeal when he takes my wrist and tugs me into his lap. “I’ll show you impressive.”
My legs wrap around his waist, and I wiggle. “I’m very impressed, as always.”
“I saw the test.” His smirk fades slightly as his hand tightens against my back. “Not planned, but we’ll make it work. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“Plan to be a stay-at-home daddy, do you?” I tease, but my joke dies when his frown deepens. “Do you not—”
“I do,” he says quickly, pulling me closer.
“I want this. More than I thought I would.” His hand presses firmly into my back.
“I meant we’ll figure out how to manage a baby and your career.
If that means I’m forced to be a stay-at-home daddy, then yes, that’s what I’ll do.
” His voice lowers. “I just hope I don’t fuck it up.
I didn’t have the best father figures growing up. ”
Now I understand his frown.
“If I’ve learned anything from my brothers, it’s that you don’t need one to be a good father. They’ve managed just fine, so will you.”
He nods. “That’s because they all have great women helping them.” His lips take mine and he kisses me until I can’t think. “Just like I do.”
I grab his face and hold it. “Truth.”
It’s our rule. No lies between us.
“I’m scared too. My parents weren’t the best. They made a lot of mistakes.” It’s a fear of mine I’ve lived with most of my life. “I don’t want to fuck shit up, either.”
“I won’t let you,” he says confidently.
“And I won’t let you.”
And I believe that.
That neither of us will let the other fail. We’ve been through too much to repeat the past. We’ll make mistakes; every parent does. But we’ll learn from them. We’ll adjust and do better. Because this is our chance to build something different.
We’ll give our family the kind of love we had to fight for. The kind that’s steady. Unshakable.
A life filled with love… one they’ll never have to question.
Thank you for reading Brutal Truths.! I hope you loved it!