Chapter 49
KIRA
The next time we go into Moon Ridge, things seem different. The town hasn’t changed, but I have.
I don’t have to wear the wig anymore. My own hair is pulled back in a loose braid, the way I’ve been wearing it lately. In the mirror, my face seems more relaxed. Despite the difficulties that lie ahead, I’m happy.
How could I not be?
Even though it’s not yet time for another prenatal checkup, Andrew insists I get checked out, reminding me of the doctor’s warnings about how stress can impact the baby. I can’t deny that my stress levels were off the charts recently.
At the clinic, all three men accompany me into the exam room. Dr. Navarro, bless her, doesn’t even lift an eyebrow.
Andrew asks all sorts of practical questions about the last trimester and what to expect when it comes time for the delivery.
Boyd holds my hand when he thinks I’m nervous, and Silas is silent but observant, taking it all in while seeming like he isn’t listening.
If I forget anything the doctor tells us, I know Silas will have everything cataloged in his mind.
To the men’s relief, my vitals, and the baby’s, are within normal ranges.
To Boyd’s dismay, the doctor insists on a two-for-one visit and takes the opportunity to check on how his wounds are healing. To my relief, he also receives positive feedback.
After the visit, the four of us walk down the street toward the center of town. It’s a cold day, but the bright sunlight makes it pleasant. Being surrounded by my men makes it positively cozy.
I’m a bit of the odd person out, because all three of them are proudly wearing the scarves I crocheted for them.
Each is a different color—blue-gray for Andrew, forest green for Boyd, and charcoal gray for Silas—but they all feature a wide stripe at one end that combines all three colors along with some purple.
Next to the wide stripe, there’s a much thinner one woven in pink to represent the baby.
Something to wrap around them, the way their protection has always wrapped around me.
They were all touched when I gave them the handmade gifts. They acted as if the yarn was spun from gold. After I finish the baby blanket I’ve been working on, I plan to make a matching scarf for myself.
The Moon Ridge general store looks exactly as I remember it, with maybe one or two new displays near the entrance. Boyd reaches for a shopping basket, but Atlas cuts him off with a scowl.
“Only one side of me is injured,” Boyd protests.
I wrap my hand around his good arm and snuggle close. “The more you rest and let it heal, the sooner you’ll be back to full duty.”
We shop aisle by aisle, working through the men’s grocery list and picking up a few household items. Of course, they also pick out things for me that I don’t ask for, including more yarn.
When we’re about to check out, someone taps my shoulder. “Jennifer, is that you?”
It’s Elena Ramirez, one hand carrying a half-full basket, the other holding her son’s hand. T.J. has a football tucked under his arm.
“Oh, hi, Elena.” I smile as soon as I realize who she is, though inside I’m flinching at her use of my fake name.
“Hi there! I’m not sure I’d have recognized you if it weren’t for these three.” She nods at the men. They look the same as when we last saw her, but I sure don’t. Then her eyes drop to my midsection. A month ago, my pregnancy was easy to hide under a winter coat. It’s more obvious now.
I rest my hand on my stomach and smile to confirm what I’m sure she’s wondering.
“You look different,” she says.
“I am.”
She and I talk about recent weather and other light topics while Atlas checks out. While Elena’s paying for her purchases, Atlas lowers himself to T.J.’s height and asks him about the football.
“Okay if T.J. and I toss the ball for a few minutes?” Atlas asks Elena when she’s done.
She nods, smiling. “Sure. He’d love that.”
Atlas and Silas lead the boy across the street to a small park that’s between buildings. Boyd, his arm still in the sling, kisses my cheek. “I’m only going to watch,” he promises before following after the others.
Elena sits at a bench in front of the store and invites me to join her.
“When are you due?” she asks, her eyes drifting to my belly again.
“In three months.”
“How exciting! Is this your first child?”
When I tell her it is, she says, “You’re in for a wonderful adventure.”
Both of us are smiling as the action across the street draws our attention. T.J. is laughing as Atlas makes a tricky catch. Silas is playing, too, and Boyd is acting as a backstop for T.J., stopping the ball with his foot before it has a chance to roll toward the street.
I wonder if the men will teach my daughter to play football. Imagining them playing games with her has my grin spreading cheek to cheek, but I bring myself back to the present moment.
“I need to reintroduce myself to you,” I tell Elena, who cocks her head, puzzled. “My name is actually Kira. Things have been … complicated, but they’re better now.”
After a pause, she nods. If she’s seen my face on the news, she doesn't mention it.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be honest before.”
She waves off my apology. “I’m sure you had your reasons.
If you ever feel like talking about things, I’d love to get coffee sometime.
” Her eyes drop to my lap, and she quickly corrects herself.
“Decaf coffee, I mean, or herbal tea. And I’m not trying to be nosy. We can talk about whatever you want.”
“I’d like all of that,” I say, laughing.
A few doors down, Mae Whitaker emerges from the bakery, impossible to miss in that trademark red coat. Ed comes out a beat later, carrying a bag and two white boxes. They both walk past us, but Ed stays two steps behind her.
“Moon Ridge has a high tolerance for complicated stories,” Elena says. “Some of us come to this small town because staying where we were wasn’t safe anymore.”
“Yeah?” I keep my tone gentle.
She meets my eyes, something guarded flickering behind hers. “Yeah.”
I’ll definitely be looking forward to a coffee date with her in the near future. It sounds like we have a lot in common.
Across the street, Boyd and Atlas cheer as Silas launches a perfect spiral and T.J. catches it like a champ.
“They seem like good guys,” she says, watching the men.
“They are.” I put as much weight as I can into my words, but it could never be enough to convey all that I think about them.
“Good. So, do you think you might be sticking around? Moon Ridge keeps secrets, but it also keeps people.”
I give her a smile. “I think I might.”
I don’t feel like a visitor anymore.
I’m starting to feel like I belong.
And I have a feeling this town has more stories to tell.
That night, Atlas, Boyd, Silas, and I all end up in the living room together. The men’s typical routines usually have them heading off in separate directions after dinner, but ever since the attack, quiet moments like this are becoming more common.
Silas is in the chair that gives him a view of both the fireplace and the windows, as if he can’t fully choose comfort over vigilance.
Atlas sits at one end of the couch, a mug of hot cider in one hand. Boyd is at the other end with a pillow propped under his injured arm. His good arm is stretched across the back of the cushions.
I’m between the two of them, feet curled under me and a blanket over my lap.
It’s cozy and warm, but I’m restless. When Atlas notices and lifts a brow, I say, “I keep thinking about what you all risked for me.”
Boyd’s hand drops to my shoulder and squeezes. “You make it sound dramatic.”
I make a face at him, wide-eyed. Sometimes it’s hard to know when he’s being serious.
“I’d do it again right now,” Atlas says.
“Without hesitation.” Silas adds.
“And there’s no need to keep thanking us,” Atlas says. “We’re family.”
I lean closer to him, snuggling into his side before I reach for Boyd’s hand. He laces his fingers with mine like he’d happily hold on forever.
When I look over at Silas, he gives me one of his almost-smiles. Then he gets up, crosses the space, and sits on the floor, his back against the couch, his legs pointing toward the fire. He lets his head fall back against my knee.
“The next time someone tries to climb this mountain, they’ll regret it, too,” Boyd says.
Atlas tips my head toward him and kisses the side of my forehead. “There won’t be a next time.”
I lean into him and let my eyes close.
For the first time since Preston shook up my life and sent me running into a storm, the snowglobe truly feels peaceful.
Complicated, but warm and wonderful and real.
And ours.