“And we never fuck around with safety,” Gage bites out, clearly offended. “It’s insulting that you think we’d compromise theirs.”
Ryker barks a sardonic laugh—I’d recognize the mockingdisdain anywhere. “You already did. Rena was nearly killed under your care.”
“Hey,” Liam chimes in, “Wells and I were the ones with her, and we kept her safe. That’s why she was returned to you in one piece. And you’re one to talk, Ryker. You assured Wells that everyone at his wedding reception was vetted and then let in a guy who roofied Ivy with every intention of killing her. And we never gave you shit about that fuckup.”
Wells intervenes with some sentiment to defuse the tension. The remainder of the argument blends into a cacophony of indistinct chatter as I stand frozen, breathless, and sick in the hall. My head is a cyclone of bits and pieces of that messed-up exchange. I can’t make sense of any of it.
And it’s not going to happen now because the muffled din of footsteps and chairs sliding jostles me from my stupor. I scramble back to the front door, quickly opening and closing it to make it seem as though I just entered, and take a beat to steady my erratic breathing. My lungs are glued to my spine, spurning proper function, but somehow, I manage.
Felicity’s babbling is the first noise to breach the hallway and trickle into the living space. She’s tucked inside Ivy’s arms, whose face lights up when she rounds the corner and spots me. I wish I didn’t know that she was in on whatever this lie is. Although I guess her family was encouraging Axel to tell me the truth. That might not mean anything regarding me. I’m guessing their motives are more self-serving, not that I can fathom what that would be.
“Hey, Rena,” Ivy squeals, ambling toward me. “I’ve missed you.” She glances around, her voice dropping. “Take me to your room.”
That piques my interest. It would have without my eavesdropping discovery. I’m all for forbidden, top-secret meetups, no matter the reason. But now … I’m desperate for answers.
I kick my chin toward my room and lead the way, my pulse battering my temples even as I affect the untroubled air expected.
“Thanks,” she says at a normal volume. “Little Bit here needs a diaper change.”
“Little Bit? At the wedding, everyone was calling the cutie F-bomb,” I tease, certain Ivy has a love-hate relationship with that offbeat term of endearment. I, on the other hand, think it’s about the coolest nickname I’ve ever heard. Well, maybe aside from Little Moon.
She giggles and quietly confesses, “It’s growing on me. But don’t tell any of them. They garner far too much joy from taunting me with it.”
That makes me ache. Their dynamic is so unique. Since I’ve always been surrounded by so many people, I’ve often wondered if married life would feel lonely. They’ve certainly thwarted that issue—all of them so close, connected, and under the same roof.
Liam and Celeste announced at their wedding about two weeks ago that they’re opting to stay in the same house, even when they have children. Sounds like that’s the plan for all of them.
The second we enter my room—my private sanctuary, marrying elegant touches with my music vibe, adorned in a magenta-and-black palette with crystal chandeliers, plush furniture, and vinyl records and vintage guitars lining the shelves—Ivy shuts the door, whips a mat out of her diaper bag, and lays the baby on it while unloading wipes, a diaper, and cream in a single sweep. I’m stunned, watching her move so fluidly. Motherhood is a foreign concept to me. I don’t think I’d ever been around a baby before Felicity. And other than the handful of spotty memories I hold of my own mom, I am wholly unfamiliar with these magical powers that must transpire postpartum. But it rekindles a host of deep-seated dreams.
And torment because at least some aspect of my childhood is a falsehood.
Ivy hops up from the ground and thrusts something into my palm. “Hide this. Now,” she whispers, her blue eyes fierce and determined.
Without question, I take it and dart over to my nightstand,opening a false drawer beneath my surplus of vibrators. None of my brothers dare to venture into my toy land. It’s a better defense than guarding it with a bomb.
A cursory inspection reveals that she gave me a rudimentary phone. Strange.What the hell is going on?
After stashing it, I plop down beside her while she changes the baby. “What was that for?”
She glances over her shoulder once, making sure the door is still shut and keeping her voice low—smarter than the menfolk were. “Things are tense right now, but you can always reach out to us. For anything.”
“Tense because of what happened with the Skulls?” I probe in the hopes that she’ll correct me and explain what I heard—assuage this restless agitation surging through my veins.
Her shoulders slump as she fastens the diaper tabs, keeping her tone hushed. “You clearly pay attention. Don’t let Axel or Ryker hear you say that. They don’t want you to know anything about our business or those we’ve fought with.” She bites her lip and flicks her gaze to mine as she hands her daughter a rattle. “It will all work out. I promise. But we would never hurt you or abandon you. We all feel that way. This is just a temporary mess.”
“All of you?” I glance away with that query, not even sure what I’m questioning.
Was Ty in there? I never heard his voice. Or Celeste’s. The rest all know that Axel is hiding something life-altering from me. If they didn’t want me to hurt …
My head is swimming in a sea of confusion. No. Sinking. Drowning. The only person I can trust is Jax. I need to get out of here and talk to him.
Ivy reaches for me, dragging me into her embrace while Felicity coos beside us. “Yes. We all love you, Rena. Please trust that. Wells gives Ivy TLC.”
That last sentence is pure gibberish and hilarious, even in my haze of angry bewilderment, so I cackle. “What the hell did you say?”
She pulls back and winks at me. “Not a sentence you’ll forget, right? That phone is a burner. Its number is on a master list with my family, and that is the only place you are connected to it. In an emergency or any situation where you need something, but you don’t want anyone to know you’re reaching out, you can call any of us. The numbers are listed without names. That sentence is a mnemonic device for the order.”
Wells gives Ivy TLC—Wells, Gage, Ivy, Ty, Liam, Celeste.
