Chapter 20
Elijah
“So, where's the beautiful Willow today?” Ezra asks, leaning back in his chair, beer balanced loosely in his hand. “Thought she was coming.”
I should scowl or hit him across the head. Normally, I would, but I don't have the energy.
We are out in the garden, early afternoon, sun cutting through the trees, laughter drifting from the house, the smell of grilled food hanging in the air. For once, I feel. Settled. Content. Maybe even happy.
It's not just because I’m finally close to divorcing that heartless bitch, or because my family are together, waiting for the birthday girl to make her grand entrance.
It's Willow.
She's… something else. Truly. The progress she's made is astounding. Don't get me wrong, she still has her bad days where she goes quiet, forgets to eat, worries at her skin, but she smiles more now. She's made a great friend, and today she signed up for dance classes.
That alone was everything.
“She's at the Ariamotion Studios,” I say, keeping my tone light, like it doesn't mean the world.
Ezra's grin widens, real this time. “Seriously?” He lifts his beer in approval, sloshing some onto the floor before he notices and swears under his breath. “Fuck, that's brilliant. Good for her. The girl can certainly move.”
He catches my expression and lifts both hands. “Not like that. Don't hit me. I just mean—dancing was everything to her, wasn't it? Sounds like she's starting to feel like herself again.”
Slowly she is, and I’ll be there by her side all the way.
I nod, eyes drifting across the garden, to the fence scattered with fairy lights, the trees, anywhere but the thoughts creeping in.
All I can think about is the other night in my office, fucking her throat and coming all over her tits.
Then, after the giggles and the way she teased me as I cleaned her up before taking her home.
All I wanted to do was crawl into bed with her, hold her tight, but I couldn't.
“She's doing really well.”
Even with the worry gnawing at her about the tests she did yesterday, the results take up to two weeks to come back. Two weeks is a long fucking time, especially when I’m desperate to sink into her and worship her body repeatedly. Guess I’m going to have to get creative until then.
Ezra squints at me, something spinning in his mind. “Something happened between you two.” he points at me.
I don't dignify that with an answer. I just hit his arm.
“Keep your voice down,” I hissed. “You know Mam has freakishly good hearing.”
He bursts out laughing anyway, but we both glance toward the house. Mam is still in the kitchen, fussing over the salad that nobody ever eats. Dad slips up behind her, kisses her neck, and she smiles at him like he's her whole world.
Ezra shudders dramatically. “They're so gross.”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up. Just because you don’t know how to love, and just fuck about. Like the fact that you had a threesome with not only Willow's friend, but River's biggest crush.”
This time he swings back, but instead of hitting me properly, he clips my arm and sends my beer flying—straight down the front of my shirt.
Shit, that’s cold.
“You little fucker,” I growl, already lunging for him.
He howls with laughter until it turns into a sharp grunt when I jab him in the side and drag him into a headlock. He squirms for half a second before retaliating by pinching my nipple.
“Nipple twist,” he announces smugly.
I push him hard. “I fucking hate when you do that.”
He rolls his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck, but still grinning away. “That’s why I do it.”
I take one step forward, ready to flatten him again, when our mam's voice interrupts us.
“Boys!” she snaps. “Will ye stop before ye break something and I have to put one of ye in time-out.”
She stands by the glass table, setting down the food casually, as if she didn't just threaten us. The garden looks like a party shop exploded—pink and purple balloons everywhere, K-pop Demon Hunters plastered across the decorations, ribbons tangled with confetti, the whole mad, joyful mess.
Ezra scoffs. “Mum, I’m a grown man. You can't put me in a time-out.”
She turns slowly, fixes him with an unimpressed stare, and plants her hands firmly on her hips.
“Don’t get cheeky with me, Ezra Michael. Or I’ll tan your ass, and you'll be getting no cake.”
I clamp my mouth shut, shoulders shaking, as Ezra just stares at her—visibly recalculating his entire life. We may be grown men, but she absolutely would.
“Listen to your mother, boys,” Dad says, strolling out into the garden beside her, his voice amused. He's carrying a jug of juice and a cooler stuffed with beer and fizzy pop in the other. “She's got the wooden spoon out today.”
I hate that thing.
Mum shoots him a look that says Don't encourage them, then her gaze drops to my chest. “Oh, Elijah—why are you soaked?”
I gesture lazily at Ezra. “Because that idiot knocked my beer all over me.”
She tuts, shaking her head. “Do you two ever not fight? It's been the same carry-on since ye were small.”
Dad sets the cooler down and chuckles. “Some things never change.”
Then he looks me over, eyes crinkling. “Go on, you can borrow one of my T-shirts. No need walking around like you've been baptised in Lager.”
Ezra snorts. I glare at him.
Mam points the wooden spoon at both of us. “And if I hear so much as a peep out of either of ye again, there'll be no cake. I don't care how old ye are, I’ll do it.”
We both straighten instantly.
Because in this house, the wooden spoon is law.
“So,” Mam says, putting the spoon down, wiping her hands with a tea towel, “when are River and Willow getting here? I can't wait to meet her.”
Just hearing Willow's name sends something warm and stupid fluttering through my chest.
“They will be here soon,” I say, and almost on cue, the doorbell rings.
I huff a quiet laugh. “That might be her now. Just—go easy on her, yeah? She's been a bit nervous about today.”
I step up beside my mam, lowering my voice. She tilts her head up to look at me, eyes soft for half a second before they sharpen with certainty.
“Nervous?” she repeats. “Ah, stop. We're a grand family. She’ll be more than welcome here,” without missing a beat, she adds. “Unlike that wife of yours.” And with that, she strides off toward the house.
Dad's hand comes down on my shoulder, firm and familiar, a quiet anchor. He watches her disappear into the house, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Your mam’s this close to making that wife of yours sign those bloody papers herself.”
He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Ezra takes that as his cue to vanish, nicking a sausage roll off the table on his way past. Mam would have his hands for that.
Dad's attention returns to me, expression softening. “You know how protective she is,” he continues. “Especially over her boys. And if Willow is nervous because she thinks we won't like her because of Rose… Well, there's no need.”
He pauses, eyes searching mine. “Leon raised her, and he was a good man. Just like you.”
Something tugs inside my chest at that. Leon was my best friend, gone far too soon and left his girl behind. I manage a small, sad smile.
“Cheers, Dad.”
He clears his throat, pats my chest once, gruff as ever. “Right. Go on and get changed. I’ll make sure your mam doesn't overwhelm the poor girl with questions—or hug her to death."
He turns and heads inside, already on his self-appointed mission.
I follow a moment later, moving past the kitchen toward the cluster of voices.
There's definitely more than Willow and River—my other brothers are here too, holding glittery, over-the-top presents, laughing and jostling together. The only one missing is Elliot, but he’ll be arriving with Aria and Millie soon, fashionably late to her own party.
Ethan swats at his twin, Ezra, two opposites as always, while Emmet stands off the side, scowling like he always does, letting Mam press a kiss to his cheek and fussing over him.
My eyes land on her.
Willow.
Everything else fades away, as if someone has pressed pause on the world around us.
Her hair, a cascade of soft waves, is styled half-up, half-down, with a delicate white bow nestled at the back.
No makeup graces her face, but she radiates beauty effortlessly—the natural glow of her skin captivating, while the dress she wears fits like a dream, flowing gracefully to her knees with a subtle slit along one side.
Her green eyes—bright, vibrant, and impossibly alive—lock onto mine, and her smile ignites everything in the room.
It’s warm and unguarded, reminiscent of sunlight breaking through in a shadowed corner of my heart.
An overwhelming instinct stirs within me, a desire to protect her, to shield her from the harshness that life can bring.
She's breathtaking, and all mine.
I want to see that smile every god damn day, no matter what it takes.
“Oh, Willow,” My mam interrupts my thoughts, stepping right in front of her, hands cupping her cheeks lightly. “Look at you, so blooming pretty. I’m so glad you could make it.”
She glances around the chaos of our family with a quick shake of her head. “Don’t mind these loudmouths—you'll get used to them. I do hope my boys have been taking good care of ye?”
Her eyes flick to me, then to River, and I don't miss the slight pink that creeps into her cheeks.
“They've been great, Mrs Lawson,” Willow says softly.
Mam waves her hand. “Ah, don't call me that; it makes me sound old—Moira will do just fine. No need for fancy words in this family. Now, all the food and drinks are outside, and the cake will come later when Millie decides to show up.”
Whenever that is.
“Where's the cake?” Ezra asks, River nodding like he's echoing the demand.
Mam lets out a light laugh, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve hidden it, of course. Because I know exactly what ye two are like… even ye, Emmet, with your sweet tooth.”