Chapter Parker
PARKER
TWO YEARS LATER
The afternoon light slants through the live oaks, painting gold stripes across the lawn where my boys chase fireflies that won’t appear for hours.
Their laughter carries on the salt-sweet breeze from the harbor, mixing with Lottie’s shriek as Noah catches her around the waist, both of them tumbling into the grass Charles cut this morning.
My hand settles over the curve of my belly. I’m well past hiding now—round, soft, full of promise. The baby shifts beneath my palm—slow, deliberate—like she knows she’s safe here. Like she’s already listening to her brothers’ laughter and memorizing it.
The next breath catches when a ripple tightens low in my stomach. Not sharp. Not yet. Just enough to remind me that we’re close.
“Mama, look!” Liam holds up a stick that’s apparently a sword, his dark hair—Jace’s hair—falling into eyes that hold Cal’s mischief. “I’m protecting the castle!”
“My brave knight,” I call back, and he beams before charging after Jamie, who’s claimed the tire swing as his fortress. The air hums with heat and joy, and for a heartbeat I forget that once, all this—the laughter, the ease—was something I didn’t believe I’d ever earn.
The screen door creaks open. I don’t have to turn.
Silas’s presence finds me like gravity—quiet, heavy, inescapable.
He slides his arms around me from behind, palms smoothing over the silk of my sundress until they rest beneath the swell of my stomach.
His breath moves through my hair, steady and warm.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he murmurs, voice low against my temple.
“I am,” I say, though the wicker chair beneath me creaks its protest. “Someone has to supervise the war for backyard supremacy.”
His laugh rumbles through my spine, deep and rough-edged, a sound I never get tired of.
I let my head fall back against his shoulder, close my eyes, and breathe in the mix of him—smoke, cedar, and the faint trace of sawdust he carries now that he’s taken over Charles’s woodworking projects.
The scent grounds me, like home and danger made peace with each other.
Another wave tightens, slower this time. I breathe through it and say nothing.
“Cal’s making dinner,” Silas says. “Something that requires every pan in the house and at least three fire extinguishers.”
“And Jace?”
“Conference call. Trying to sound serious while Cal practices his chopping technique.”
I smile, picturing it—Jace in rolled sleeves, disciplined and unbending even in domestic chaos, while Cal teases him in that golden, easy tone that always pushes Jace to the edge of losing his composure.
It’s the rhythm we’ve found: order, chaos, quiet—all braided together into something that feels like balance.
The door opens again, and Charles steps out carrying two sweating glasses of sweet tea. He hands one to me, the ice chiming against the glass.
“Sienna’s at the gallery until six,” he says, settling into the chair beside mine. “Asked me to make sure you eat something before she gets home.”
“I ate,” I protest.
He raises an eyebrow. “Crackers don’t count, Parks.”
“They do when they’re the only thing that stay down,” I mutter, but I sip the tea anyway. The cold sweetness helps. The next tightening comes while I’m mid-swallow, and I hide it behind a breath and a smile. This one lingers longer. The rhythm’s starting.
Silas’s thumb strokes lazy circles against my hand, tracing the pulse at my wrist. I think about the night he told me he wanted the surgery reversed—how he’d said it in that same calm tone he uses when he’s already decided something.
I remember the look in his eyes when he held Liam’s hand for the first time, or when Noah fell asleep against his chest on the porch swing.
The quiet wanting that never needed words.
Now his palm rests possessively on my stomach, and I know this child will carry all the love he never thought he was allowed to give.
“Uncle Cal!” Noah races toward the porch, Liam close behind. “Can we help cook?”
Cal appears in the doorway, dishtowel slung over one shoulder, grinning like he was born of sunlight. “Only if you wash those swamp creature hands first. What have you two been doing—wrestling alligators?”
“Playing pirates,” Liam corrects solemnly. “Pirates don’t wash hands.”
“Mine do,” Cal says, ushering them inside. “Hygienic pirates are the most feared on the seven seas.”
The door swings shut behind them, laughter echoing. Charles chuckles. “Never thought I’d see Cal Morrison, public menace and probable arsonist, teaching hygiene to toddlers.”
“People change,” Silas says quietly, and we all know he’s talking about himself, too.
Charles stands and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Don’t stay out too long. Sienna’ll have my hide if you overheat.”
When he’s gone, Silas pulls me closer, his palm spreading over the curve of our daughter. The wind shifts, bringing the scent of jasmine and saltwater. Somewhere down the beach, someone’s playing music—soft, low, the kind of song that sounds like remembering.
“Regrets?” I ask, because sometimes I still need to hear it.
His answer comes like a vow. “Never. Not one second of this.”
I turn in his arms. The scar through his eyebrow has faded to silver. There are new lines around his eyes—soft ones, carved by laughter he never thought he’d have. The light catches on them, and I think he’s never looked more like peace.
Another tightening, stronger this time. It steals my breath for a heartbeat. I bite my lip, nodding as if agreeing with something he said, and press my hand to my belly until it passes.
“The baby could be anyone’s,” I remind him gently, though it’s a conversation we’ve had a dozen times. “We won’t know until—”
“She’s ours,” he interrupts, voice like stone. “However, she came to us. Whoever she looks like. She’s ours.”
The possessiveness should scare me. It doesn’t. It never has—not with him, not with any of them. Maybe because I understand it. Because it’s not about ownership—it’s about anchoring. About building something that won’t break, no matter how the world tries to tear it apart.
The back door opens again, and Jace steps out, tie gone, sleeves rolled to his elbows, that Wall Street shark look softened by the coastal air. “Dinner’s ready. Cal’s threatening to eat your portion if you don’t come in.”
“Idle threats,” I murmur, but Silas is already helping me up. The ground tilts slightly beneath me, and both men reach out, steadying me—Jace’s hand at my elbow, Silas’s at my waist. The next wave hits, quiet but insistent. I swallow hard and keep moving.
“You good?” Jace asks, eyes scanning me the way he scans every room before a meeting—searching for danger.
“Perfect,” I tell him, meaning it in ways he can’t yet guess.
Inside, the house smells like garlic and lemon and something sweet Cal snuck into the sauce.
The twins are setting the table, tongues poking out in concentration as they fold Sienna’s linen napkins into crooked triangles.
Cal’s plating dinner with the focus of an artist, hair curling from the steam.
He hums under his breath, off-key and happy.
Charles and Sienna’s windows glow across the yard, their laughter carrying faintly through the open doors. In an hour, she’ll be home, and we’ll all gather on the porch for dessert—the kids nodding off in laps while the adults talk about everything and nothing until the night wraps around us.
I used to think love was a single thing—one person, one chance, one path forward.
But looking at this table, at my sons arguing over the dinosaur plate while my men move around each other with practiced ease, I understand now that love isn’t linear.
It’s a circle. Expanding. Ever-growing. It doesn’t ask permission to exist. It just does.
“Mama!” Liam tugs my hand. “Sit by me!”
“No, me!” Noah protests, and before it can turn into a mutiny, Cal swoops in.
“How about Mama sits between you both? Everybody wins.”
They consider, then nod solemnly. I take my place between them, belly brushing the table’s edge.
Silas sits to my left, his fingers finding mine beneath the linen.
Jace claims my right, his thigh warm against mine.
Cal moves around the table with a serving spoon, his grin softening when he catches me watching him.
The twins giggle, mouths full of pasta. Jace murmurs something low about expanding the guesthouse again, and Cal snorts, teasing him about spreadsheets and nursery layouts.
Silas eats in silence, but his hand stays on my leg under the table, thumb tracing slow circles into my skin—a quiet promise that stills the world.
Another contraction. Sharper this time. I close my eyes and breathe through it, hand gripping the edge of the table until the wave ebbs. I don’t say a word.
Outside, twilight deepens to indigo. Fireflies begin their slow dance through the grass, blinking gold between the children’s laughter. Noah gasps, pressing his face to the glass.
“Mama! The light bugs came!”
“They always do, baby,” I tell him, smoothing his dark hair. “Even when we can’t see them, they’re there. Waiting for the right moment to shine.”
Silas squeezes my hand. Jace leans close, his breath brushing my ear. “You okay?” he whispers.
I nod, eyes on the fireflies. “I’m better than okay.”
Later, after dishes and stories and sticky goodnight kisses, the house falls into that rare hush that only comes when children finally sleep.
The air smells like dish soap and sugar, faint traces of garlic still clinging to the counters.
I move through it slowly, my body heavy with the rhythm of a night that isn’t over yet.
The porch light spills soft gold across the worn wood.
The harbor stretches beyond, silver and endless, breathing in time with me.
I pull Silas’s jacket tighter around my shoulders, the weight of it grounding.
It still smells like him—cedar, smoke, the faint musk of sweat and sawdust. Home wrapped in danger and devotion.
Inside, Cal hums under his breath, a low thread of sound that winds through the creak of the house. Jace’s deeper voice answers now and then, steady, measured, a quiet protector counting locks while his shadow moves across the glass. The sound of them together has become my favorite kind of music.
Another wave builds low in my abdomen, slow at first, then sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs.
I brace against the railing, breathing through it, my forehead damp with the effort.
The contraction fades, leaving behind a pulse that hums in my spine.
Ten minutes apart, maybe less. Close enough that my body hums with knowing.
I lay a hand over my belly, tracing the curve where she rolls beneath my skin. The air is thick with salt and moonlight.
“I know, sweetheart,” I whisper. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”
She answers with a firm kick. My laugh breaks on a breath and turns to a shiver.
The door opens behind me, hinges sighing. Silas steps out into the night, filling the space without a word. His shadow falls over me, protective and certain.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice rough from laughter and wine, from years of holding back too much.
I start to answer, but another contraction grips me—this one fierce, a ribbon of pain that blossoms and crests before I can hide it. My breath catches; the world narrows. I fold forward with a sound that’s half gasp, half prayer.
He’s there before I can fall. His arms lock around me, one hand at my back, the other sliding to my belly, instinctively protective. I feel the tremor in him before I see it—the moment realization hits.
“Parker.” His voice is low, sharp-edged with shock. “How long?”
I exhale, shaking my head through the fading ache. “A while. I didn’t want to—”
“Jesus.” His forehead presses to mine. I can feel his heartbeat pounding against me. Then the awe sets in, blooming across his face like sunrise over the water. “It’s time.”
I nod, tears stinging from a mix of pain and joy. “It’s time.”
For a second, he just stares—his eyes wide, wet, disbelieving. Then everything shifts.
He turns, voice breaking open as he calls for the others. “Jace! Cal!”
The stillness of the house shatters. Footsteps thunder down the hall, Cal’s sharp curse cutting through the air, Jace’s calm already unraveling.
Silas laughs—deep, wild, full of something that sounds like relief. His hands cradle my face, his forehead pressed to mine.
“You’re amazing,” he breathes. “You always were.”
The porch fills with light. The sea murmurs against the shore like a promise. Inside, voices rise—urgent, joyful, a beautiful chaos waiting for us to step into it.
The world tilts, and for once, I don’t fight the pull.
Once, forever terrified me. It meant surrender.
Now it just means home.
With my three protectors—my brother’s best friends—the loves of my life.
And the fathers of my children.
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