Chapter 22
Reece
Ibrush my knuckles across Aurora’s cheek as she sleeps. The effect—the calm, the warmth—is immediate and visceral.
In the past, when we argued, she let me touch her, hold her. Not this time. This time, she was done with me—and the more she dismissed me, the angrier and more desperate I became.
Everything she said was dead-on, but I didn’t want to hear it.
I package people into tolerable little boxes. My parents, for instance—religious conservatives, but not terrible. Because if they were terrible, I would’ve done something about it. Right?
Wrong. They’re fucking awful, worse than I remember, and I did nothing.
Why did I allow my father to harass Harper at Sadie’s wedding rehearsal? Why didn’t I defend her? Has he always been that way? I think so. I think I shut down to keep him from escalating—another thing Aurora was on-point about. Except now, I shut down to keep myself from escalating.
I labeled Harper an unhappy military wife, but she wasn’t just unhappy, she was miserable. Depressed. She was being abused, and she never called me.
She couldn’t rely on me. I claimed to protect women and children, yet my own sister couldn’t come to me, and my father was one of her abusers. The life I thought I knew—the life I created in my head by avoiding home—is crumbling around me.
Aurora has been my constant. Wherever she went, I went—that was our thing. As long as I had her, the world could fall apart, and I’d be okay.
Now, she sees no clear path forward with me, and I can’t even begin to process the idea of life without her.
Jackson snatches his hoodie off the chair and smacks my arm. “Don’t wake her. Let’s go.”
The elevator ride is quiet. I’m no longer angry. Instead, I feel as though I’m trudging through a fog, searching for a way out.
The blessed silence doesn’t last long.
Jax zips up his jacket and scuffs his boots against the floor. “What’s on your mind, Viking?”
I sigh in defeat. I unfortunately can’t fix this without clearing things up with him. “I don’t own anything—not a car, not a house, nothing. I’ve never rented an apartment for myself or bought furniture. I’ve been living out of a bag. My career has been my life.”
We step off the elevator into the alleyway. The brisk winter air fails to mask the stench of garbage and exhaust. People say you get used to the smell when you live in the city, but I’m not convinced.
Jackson tugs the brim of his baseball cap lower to hide his identity. “Shit, dude. That sucks. You can have whatever you want now. Go wild.”
I want Aurora.
I stop and face him. “Aurora became my career, my life, my purpose. She’s my person.”
He holds my gaze with no trace of fear or anger—none of the jealousy coiled inside me.
“Look, it’s been an emotional day. You’re gonna make me cry.
I get it, I do. Ethan and I have talked about the four of us getting married—at your sister’s wedding, and again earlier today.
I was going to tell you about the partnership on Christmas Eve, when you called me out, but the morning was chaotic. ”
We head toward a nearby baby boutique, blending into the holiday crowd as I absorb his words. The four of us getting married is not real, and it doesn’t fit. We’re a family, but our relationships are not the same.
“You love Ethan, right?”
He furrows his brows. “Yeah, why?”
“How do you love two people? What’s the difference between them?”
I know he loves Ethan. I’m not doubting his love for either of them.
We turn down a quieter side street, and he slows his pace before answering.
“Aurora is my best friend, my equal, my smile. She lights up my soul. She’s mine to protect and comfort and care for.
Ethan is my hero, my safe place.” He blinks rapidly and clears his throat.
“I can go to him with all my darkness, rage if I need to, completely fall apart, and I know he’s got me.
” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“So marry him. Let me marry Aurora.” Sounds like a simple solution to me.
He shoots me a sideways glance. “Don’t push it.”
I growl—actually growl. “I’m gonna stuff you in a dumpster.”
He grins. “Thanks for the warning. Might be a little difficult, though, given your, you know, one arm.” At my lack of humor, his expression becomes serious.
“Not getting married, legally, evens the playing field, and if we all want kids of our own, it’s not possible.
That doesn’t mean we can’t work this out. ”
Having nothing else to say, I ignore him—until he grabs my arm and yanks me through a bright pink door.
I stumble to a stop, taken aback by the explosion of soft pastels and minuscule clothing.
He releases me and zeroes in on a display of sneakers. Beaming, he holds up a pair of tiny baby-blue Nikes. “Holy shit, we can match.”
I’m drawn to a pair of black combat boots similar to mine, except with a zipper on the side and lightning bolts printed on them. They’re so small, they fit in my palm.
“Yes! Get those,” he says with such enthusiasm, it’s almost infectious. “We need a pair for Aurora and Ethan. You think they got some little Italian loafers?” He chuckles.
“Make sure you vary the sizes. Babies grow fast,” I find myself telling him.
He glances up, a white pair of Converse in his hand. “Fuck it. I’m ordering every pair. He can wear them to games. I’ll donate them afterward.”
Something loosens in my chest, and I breathe easier. “Why not save them for the next kid?”
Balancing three boxes of shoes under his arm, he drifts farther into the store. “Is that what you want? More kids? One of your own?”
My life is upside down. I don’t have an answer, but I’m still clutching the tiny boots. “She’d have to forgive me first.”
He scoffs. “Believe me, I’ve fucked up more than anyone. She’ll forgive you. All she wants is for the four of us to be together. You don’t have to like me, but you can’t hate me, you know?”
“I don’t hate you.”
Hate is a strong word. I don’t hate anything about him as a person, honestly. I strongly dislike how he has been with Aurora the longest, seems to know her best, knows all her secrets, and has some stupid marriage contract with her that doesn’t include me.
He freezes in front of the baby bottle display.
“Choose the nipple that matches your infant’s preference,” he reads aloud.
“What the—” He leans closer. “There are different shapes?” He turns to me, jaw hanging open, his voice climbing higher with each word.
“We have to pick a nipple that matches? Like, to Aurora?”
I take that back—I hate his lack of filter and inability to feel embarrassment.
Heat rushes to my face. I sense eyes on us and yank his hood to move him along. “Just grab a body pillow and let’s go. You can research nipples online.”
This isn’t bonding. This is a punishment from Ethan.