“I get it,” I echo. “I told Edie’s husband once that if he ever hurt her, I’d find him anywhere in the world and feed him his own skin. Igetit.”
“Six hours really isn’t that far of a drive.” She means to be threatening, but her resolve is cracking, and I can’t help but smile at it. “Grady has three kinds of knives and a crossbow that he usesfor fun.”
“Yeah,” I say with a nod and a kiss to the side of her head as I wrap an arm around her neck, squeezing her. “We love him, too.”
Like Jules and Connor have had to do with me, we’ll have to earn Irina’s trust when it comes to her brother. She’s lost enough. She’s seen him lose more. We’re not playing checkers here, we’re playing chess, and if the prize at the end of the game is her full acceptance, I’m committed to winning it.
Pulling away from me with a playfully aggravated‘yuck,’which offers a glimmer of hope, she shoulders past me and into the house. When her brother finally rejoins us, freshly showered – again, we share a quiet breakfast together.
Our goodbyes are slow, with the Schepp siblings taking a few quiet moments away to talk. About what, I don’t know, and I’m not sure that it’s my place to. But they seem happy by the end of it, Connor in particular.
He seems lighter.
Chapter 41
JULIA
“My angel, my love, my beautiful wife! Are you here?”
I chuckle at the sound of Aislin’s voice pinging against the salon walls as it carries back into the office. The clip-clap of her sandals taps along the tile as she works her way back, poking her head into the door before pushing it all the way open.
“Morning, my sunshine,” I tell her with a smile.
Pulling our aprons off of their hooks, I toss hers over before wrapping mine around my waist.
“No car?” She gestures out the door, in the direction of our parking lot.
“Not today,” I say with a smile and a shake of my head, “I was dropped off by my husbands.”
“Your husband’s what, babe?” She asks, absently pulling her apron into place.
“Myhusbands, plural,” I smile, heat flooding my cheeks.
Her long locks are a blur of brown and green as she whips so quickly in my direction that she may topple over. Her hands have stopped functioning mid-task, the bands to her apron hanging in the air, much like her jaw.
“You— I— Juli—” Her head shakes like something out of a cartoon. “What?”
Now, her hands finally have freedom as they fly into the air in front of her, letting the fabric loosely held around her hips drop to the floor in a puddle. I don’t think she manages to blink for a whole thirty seconds, forcing my hand to cover my mouth as a harsh giggle escapes it.
“Things were horrible, and then they got really wonderful,” I tell her. “One day, we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you about all of the things that I’ve kept from you. Right now, though, I needyouto be the one keeping secrets.”
My head points in the direction of my purse, and with a pinched brow, she digs through it. When she finds purchase on the item she doesn’t know that she’s seeking out, her features melt. Confusion, shock, pride – she wears them all.
“Are you for real?” She squeaks as she pulls the thin white stick from its place. I nod, choked by emotion filling my throat that I can’t yet explain to her. “Oh my god! How do you feel? How long? When the fuck?”
Her arms snap around my body, and I return the embrace with shaking hands. “Only a few weeks. I thought maybe, when we were in Gainesville, but I wasn’t sure until today. And I’m terrified.”
I won’t tell her about the tears that I shed in the bathroom before she got here. I won’t tell her that I cried for seven different reasons. I will share this piece with her, though. I’ll let her in for this.
They say that you’re not supposed to tell anyone until twelve weeks have passed. That it’s bad luck, that you’ll jinx yourself. That too many things can go wrong. It’s safer, that way.
But we weren’t even safe eight weeks from our due date; so this time, I’m going to let the people that I love share in the goodparts. And if that sick terror in the back of my mind is right, if something goes wrong, they can be there for the bad, too.
With her hands squishing my face so tightly between them that my cheeks are in my field of vision, her tear-filled eyes move between mine.
“This is good, right? We’re happy?” She clarifies. “Does he— do they— how the hell does this work?”
“Tripp might have an idea because I’ve eaten a case of canned peaches by myself in a week,” I tell her with a soft laugh, “but I haven’t told them yet.”
