Epilogue #3
Ethan cocks his head and gives him a blank look.
“I’m not,” Jax insists. “Reece is like a brother to me.” He can’t even say it with a straight face.
I scoff. “A stepbrother you insist on tormenting.”
“Whatever.” He waves me off. “What crawled up your ass tonight? Why are you being so fucking mean? I’m only trying to help.”
We glare at each other in a silent standoff, neither of us backing down—him a persistent nuisance, me unwilling to open up. This is just what we do: argue and annoy each other.
“Come on, big guy,” he urges. “Use your words. You can do it.”
I break eye contact to glance at Ethan. “Can I punch him in the face?”
He shakes his head. “No. He’s right. You’re being rather miserable—more than usual.”
I huff. “This is my Valentine’s gift to Aurora.” I gesture to him. “You got her jewelry.” Then I point to Jax. “You’re making a special dinner. This is my project.” I motion to my tidy rows of parts. “She saw it, fell in love with it, I bought it, and I want to be the one who gives it to her.”
It’s the first piece of furniture I’ve ever bought, my way of accepting the baby and making up to Aurora.
“Thank fuck.” Ethan gets to his feet. “Have fun.”
Jackson offers me his best puppy-dog eyes, but they have no effect on me. “I didn’t know. I was excited.”
“Well, now you know. Go away.”
He stands and starts toward the door. “Love you, brother,” he calls over his shoulder.
“God, I hate you.” But I must not, because I’m smiling, and so is he.
Jax has this way of getting under my skin. He knows exactly what to say, how to twist my words to provoke me. The meaner I get, the more annoying he becomes, until I finally break. I want to push him away; I don’t want to talk, but, nope, he wants to bond or some shit.
I pick up the instruction manual, ready to focus on the task at hand.
I caught Aurora eyeing the wooden cradle online while she was on bed rest. She argued it was too expensive for just two months of use, but I bought it anyway.
If we have more kids, they can use it. If not, I’m sure one of my sisters would love it.
But I hope we use it again.
The bassinet is solid. The spindles along the sides resemble a rising sun. It might be corny, but it’s the type of furniture that could be passed down through generations, a family heirloom.
I take pride in the way it all comes together. I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands—building, repairing, and understanding how things work—whether that pertains to the body, carpentry, or mechanics. It’s calming, meditative.
The bathroom door opens just as I’m putting the finishing touches on the bassinet. I smooth the cream-colored liner, then place the mattress pad.
Aurora softly gasps. “It’s beautiful—even more beautiful than the pictures.”
I turn to find her standing in the doorway, brushing her damp hair. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, falling to her mid-thigh. The sight of her in my clothes still does something to me.
“Perfect timing,” I sit on the edge of the bed beside the bassinet. “Here, let me finish your hair.”
She settles between my legs, a little stiff. I position myself behind her and take the brush. She smells like her bodywash—jasmine and vanilla.
I run my fingers through her thick, wavy hair, detangling the ends before brushing. “How are you feeling?”
“Almost human again. How’s your shoulder?”
In need of a break. “Fine. Your incision?”
“Fine,” she repeats in the same tone. “I patted it dry, put the scar tape and belly band over it.”
“It’ll get better, angel.”
“I know.” She runs her hand over the cradle bedding. “Thank you for this. It’s exactly what I wanted.”
She leans back against my chest. I set the brush aside and wrap my arms gently around her.
Her lips trace the line of my jaw. “Te amo. Gracias.”
My heart swells until I’m short of breath. “Te amo más que nadie.”
She melts into me. Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. The quiet between us says everything.
I nuzzle my face into her damp hair and breathe her in. I’ve missed this—holding her in silence. The past week has been a blur of hospital rooms, monitors, nurses, doctors, feedings, and constant vigilance. This is the first time we’ve had a moment to simply be.
She shifts in my arms, climbs onto my lap, and straddles me. My shirt rides up her legs, revealing rolled sleep shorts underneath. Her bare thighs bracket my waist, and I groan internally as she settles her weight on top of me.
She sets her head on my shoulder and threads her fingers through my hair. “I missed this,” she whispers, echoing my thoughts.
“Me, too.” I hug her to me, careful not to squeeze too tightly. She feels familiar but different at the same time. “Holy shit; it’s strange not having a baby bump between us.”
“Do you hate it?”
It takes me a beat to understand what she’s asking. “That you’re not pregnant?”
“Yeah.”
“You think I was only attracted to you because you were pregnant?”
She shrugs.
I scoff and shake my head. “You’re crazy, you know that?” I trail kisses along her neck. “Your ass is touching me, and I’m getting hard.”
“You have weeks to wait, Viking,” she teases, a smile in her voice.
I’m acutely aware of how long it’s been since we’ve had sex. Four weeks of her on bed rest. Another week in the hospital.
“I waited nearly thirty years for you—I can wait a few more weeks.”