Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
GRüSH
My excitement isn’t for my brother or the nephew I’m about to meet. It’s for Cate. I didn’t want to say good night when I dropped her off. I didn’t want to sleep without her one more night or wake up without her one more morning.
Now that I know where I want to be, where I’m meant to be, it’s hard to keep my distance. Even harder to believe I stayed away for six fucking years.
At least it’s not too late for us. She hasn’t given her heart to someone else. The only question is whether she’ll entrust it to me again.
My walk from Green Glen Cabins to the hospital took less time than I anticipated.
Ogram had work to do at the farm before our agreed-upon time for the baby’s name reveal, so I lean against the wall outside Hope’s room, giving Cate the time alone with Hope she said she wanted in her text this morning.
Eavesdropping isn’t my intention, but the sound of Cate’s voice drifting out the open door is impossible to ignore when it’s the only thing I want to hear.
“Should I go get a nurse?”
“No, I’m okay,” Hope says in a winded voice. “It’s sore when I move, which they said is to be expected after a routine cesarean section, and since they airlifted an almost-fifteen-pound troll baby out of my abdomen less than twelve hours ago—”
The baby’s whimpering cry interrupts his mother’s conversation.
“Already?” The exhaustion in Hope’s tone is unmistakable. “He’s only been asleep for an hour.”
“What can I do? Change his diaper? Pick him up and rock him?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything like that, Cate. I don’t want to make being around the baby any harder than it probably is for you.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness and consideration, but I’m fine, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and my grandbaby.”
“Okay, but if you ever need a moment or want to talk, I’m here for you, and I promise that anything you tell me will remain in the vault, along with the rest.”
Cate doesn’t answer, but she’s probably nodding and smiling. Acknowledging the conversation in a way that doesn’t continue it.
I’ve been on the receiving end of that move enough times to picture it as if I’m in the room witnessing it. What I can’t figure out is why Hope’s so concerned about Cate being uncomfortable with the baby. Same as last night.
“He doesn’t smell like his diaper is full,” Cate says. “May I pick him up and see if that helps?”
“Of course.”
“Come to Nana, sweet boy.” A string of whispers, cooing, and kissing sounds follows. “Oh, Hope. He’s absolutely beautiful. I love him already. But the way his precious little lips are smacking, I think he’s looking for more than a cuddle.”
“I’ll need some help to get situated, but I can buzz for the nurse if you’d rather not be here while I’m breastfeeding him.”
“I want to help, and I’m good, I promise.”
As Hope begins telling Cate how to assist, I take a walk to the end of the hall. By the time I return to the open door, everything is quiet.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Hope’s whispered voice breaks the silence. “The nurse said he’s a natural at latching.”
“Of course he is. He’s perfect in every way.”
“I think you might be as biased as I am,” Hope says with a soft giggle.
“I absolutely am.” A few seconds tick by, then Cate clears her throat. “I used to think about what it would feel like to nurse my baby someday. Breastfeeding would’ve been my choice. Thank you for letting me be here to experience it through you.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens at Cate’s admission. In all our conversations during our years together, the subject of having kids never came up. I took it to mean she didn’t want any. To hear her confide this desire that she chose not to share with me is like a fist squeezing my heart.
“Cate… the man you told me about, the one you were in love with but didn’t tell about the baby you lost, was it Grüsh?”
It can’t be me—she wouldn’t have kept something like this from me. It has to be someone from after I left town. Of course, she moved on during that time. But hearing that she loved someone else, that she wanted a baby with them…
“Yes,” she whispers. “It was Grüsh.”
The air rushes from my lungs, my chest tightens, and I can barely draw a breath. I close my eyes and press my fingers to my temples, but it does fuck all to calm the pulse pounding in my ears.
“Grüsh, I am so glad you are here.” Ogram’s hand lands on my shoulder, his booming voice cutting through the noise in my head. Probably through the quiet in his wife’s hospital room, too. “Why are you waiting out here in the hall?”
Fuck. “Cate wanted some time alone with Hope before you and I arrived.”
“Ah. Then perhaps it’s not a terrible thing that I’m a few minutes late.” One hand still resting on my shoulder, he motions toward the doorway. “But let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”
All I can do is nod and go along as if I didn’t just overhear something Cate never intended for me to know.
The moment Ogram steps toward Hope’s bedside, my gaze meets Cate’s. I’ve always seen through the mask she shows to those she wishes to keep at a safe distance, and now is no different. The small smile she gives me is intentional rather than genuine, and doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes.
I want to pull her into my arms. Comfort her. Ask her why she kept this secret from me. Why she cut me out of her life if she loved me so fucking much. Why she never told me she wanted a child.
“Grüsh, meet your nephew,” Ogram says, pulling my attention to the swaddled baby in his arms, where it should be in this moment.
“He kooks just like you did.” The memory brings a smile to my face.
“I was barely five when you were born, but I remember asking why you didn’t have tusks, and not being thrilled to find out it was so you could easily suck milk from our mother’s breasts.
I ran into the woods and stayed away until my desire to eat was greater than my mortification about how babies got their food. ”
The story brings laughter to the room. Even from Cate.
“You never told me about that,” Ogram says.
“Just remembered it now. Probably repressed the memory back then.” That gets another laugh. When it fades, I give my brother’s shoulder a careful squeeze, then incline my head in a nod toward Hope. “Your son is perfect. I’m very happy for you all.”
“Thank you, Grüsh.” Hope extends an arm from where she lies on the bed, squeezing my hand when I take hers. “We’re so glad you were still in town to share this special time with us. How long do you think you’ll be able to stay before your busy schedule calls you away?”
“To be determined. Hopefully for a long while.” I’m looking at Hope when I say it, but the words are for Cate.
“I hope that too,” Hope says, glancing from me to Cate. Then she jerks her attention toward Ogram, as if realizing she slipped up. “I think I should try to get a nap before our little boy is hungry again. He only slept an hour between his last feedings.”
“I will stay and take care of everything possible while you rest,” Ogram says, gently sweeping her dark hair from her face.
Smiling up at him, she leans into his touch when he cups her cheek. “Tell them his name before they go. It was so hard not to tell Cate when she got here, but I waited so we could all be together.”
Watching my brother and Hope together, there’s no doubt in my mind they’re true mates. If only I’d been more open-minded about the possibility of having a human mate.
Gently rocking the sleeping baby in his arms, Ogram smiles at Cate, then me.
“Initially, we planned to name the baby after our parents, Grüsh. A combination of Drogh and Kinah, to honor both of them. But having you and Cate present for the arrival of our firstborn was a sign to give our child your names. May our son, Cagrü, know you well and love you always.”
Cate covers her gasp with both hands before using the backs of them to whisk tears from her cheeks. “I’m so honored. But you couldn’t have given me a bit of warning, Hope?” She half laughs as she wipes more tears. “You know I hate crying in front of people.”
I step to her side and take her hand, interlacing our fingers. A gesture of more than family, more than friendship. A public display of the affection we share. Of our connection.
When I turn my attention to Hope, she’s practically beaming, whereas Ogram looks as if someone turned on the light in the middle of the night.
“We’ll let you get some rest,” I say. “I promise to live up to the special gift you’ve given me.”
Before we exit the room, Cate turns and wags the index finger of her free hand back and forth between the new parents. “If you need anything, either of you, text or call me. Day or night.”
Hope blows her a kiss. “We will.”
In the corridor, Cate slips her hand from mine. “Thank you for the support. When she’s healed and back to normal, I’m going to give Hope shit for making me weepy.”
“Happy tears are nothing to be ashamed of. Neither are unhappy tears.”
“I’m not ashamed. I just prefer to keep things like that private. But since you have an opinion on the subject, when did you last cry in front of anyone?” The arch of her eyebrow indicates confidence that her point will be made. She’s not wrong.
“I have no memory of crying in someone’s presence.”
Her bottom lip drops. “Ever? Not even around Ogram when your parents died?”
“No, and neither did he. We returned their essence to the earth and honored their lives with song.”
Her gaze remains on my face as we pass through the sliding doors of the maternity ward. “Is that something you did just for them, or is it a troll tradition?”
“Tradition. Though we’d never experienced it ourselves.”
“Because it was just the four of you in that home out in the woods. No other trolls,” she says softly. “I remember.”
“None that we associated with. My parents had cultivated a trusted relationship with the farmer whose land Ogram now owns, and a few other humans who were aware and accepting of the nonhumans living in secret, but aside from that, we had to be very careful not be known before the Great Revelation.”
“And yet, I found you sitting on rock, playing your guitar,” she says, smiling up at me. “Not at your most careful that day.”
Grunting a laugh, I capture her hand again. “I’ve thought about that a lot since we met. You weren’t the first or the last human to enter the area while I was there, but you were the only one who caught me off guard. Ever.”
“I guess that makes me the stealthiest human in Harmony Glen.”
“Not even if you tried,” I say as we reach the exterior door. “But it makes you the most important person I’ve ever met. I knew it then and every single day afterward, Cate, including all the ones while I was gone. Including the days since I came back to town.”
Outside, sunlight wraps around her, radiating from her golden hair like an aura.
Hands still entwined as we walk along Settler Ave, she turns her head and meets my eyes. “It was the same for me. It is the same for me.”
Turning the corner onto Pleasant Street, silence hangs between us. Not awkward, but heavy. Silence filled with things we’re not saying out loud. I told her I’d wait until she was ready to hear what I need to say, but if she won’t start the conversation, I will.
“Why didn’t you answer any of my messages after I left? The calls, texts, emails. Daily, for months. Then less frequently, but I kept sending them, Cate. For years.”
“I know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know that, too.”
I shake my head when she tries getting free of my hand. “Not letting you pull away that easily this time. If you want me to let go—to let you go—you’re going to have to say it to my face. Is that what you want?”
“No.”
“But it’s what you wanted back then. Six years ago.”
“No,” she says softly, shaking her head. “Not then either.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Hell, you did fool me.
” I wait a beat, but she doesn’t jump in.
Doesn’t offer a single word. “When you told me you’d decided not to leave with me, I thought that meant we’d do long distance while I took my shot in the music industry.
I told you I love you. You said it back.
I thought it was a temporary goodbye, not the end of our relationship. ”
Again, she tries freeing her hand, and again, I hold firm.
“When I finally accepted that you were done with us, I tried not to think about you. To convince myself that what I felt for you wasn’t love meant to last a lifetime. Just a moment in time, nothing more. But it was always more to me.”
“It was more to me, too.”
The next block takes us deeper into the downtown. More people to share the sidewalk with. Less privacy. When we reach The Corner Bar and she looks up at me, I expect her to take the opportunity to retreat and avoid more of this conversation she clearly doesn’t want to have.
“Come up,” she says instead. “Let’s finish this.” The way she says it sounds like she means something more than this conversation.