“Because it did—it does…” I trailed off, trying to figure out how to put it into words. “It’s like when someone asks how many kids I have, and I immediately say three. Then, I remember, and it’s like losing him all over again. But not talking about him was worse. Just like the ornaments, he was part of our story. Good or bad, he was ours,” I finished, hiccupping on another sob.
It felt inadequate, but there would never be enough words to convey the enormity of losing a child.
“He’ll always be our boy. Never gonna forget him,” Teddy said fiercely. “Not for one goddamn second. But we were so busy trying to protect each other that we just?—”
“Broke,” I finished. “We broke, Teddy. Shattered into so many pieces, I didn’t think we’d ever find our way back.”
His hand moved to the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. “You think we can? Find our way back?”
The question hung between us, heavy with possibility and fear in equal measure. I wanted to say yes. Wanted to believe that this—whatever this was—could be more than just a temporary truce born of proximity and nostalgia.
But that felt too much like hope, and I’d learned not to trust hope.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. Because we hadn’t broken all at once. Between fertility treatments, raising three kids, Levi’s issues, and the shit that went down with the club, it just felt like we could never find our footing.
“We were always off-balance, and by the time we noticed the cracks, we were so tired, Teddy. So worn down. I didn’t know how to fix it then, and I don’t know where to begin to undo it all now.”
Teddy hummed in agreement. “Me neither. But maybe we don’t have to fix it all at once. Maybe we just take it one day at a time. One conversation at a time.”
I nodded against his chest, bone-deep exhaustion crashing over me like a wave. He must have felt it because he guided me back to the bed, pulling me down beside him. We didn’t bother getting under the covers. Just curled around each other, my face buried in his neck, his arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, turning his head to press his lips to my hair. “I’m right here, baby. Not going anywhere.”
Something in me that had been wound impossibly tight for years finally loosened, and I relaxed against him, letting the exhaustion pull me under into something that felt almost like peace.
15
Christmas Eve
kelsey
I woketo the weight of Teddy’s arm draped over me and the warmth of his chest against my back. With his fingers curved protectively around my hip, I could almost believe the past two years had been nothing but a particularly vivid nightmare.
Blue-gray early morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the snow-covered world outside in shades of shimmering silver and pearl. It was as though someone had taken an eraser to the earth, wiping away all the messy parts and leaving nothing but clean, white possibility.
For several minutes, I lay there, watching the icy sun creep up over the ridgeline, letting myself pretend this was my life… my home. Pretending I would wake every winter morning to the feel of Teddy’s breath against the back of my neck, our bodies pressed so close together that I couldn’t tell where his ended and mine began.
But then reality, relentless bitch that she was, intruded to remind me that nothing was permanent. Everything had an expiration date. Even peace.
If I shifted even an inch, the whole arrangement wouldcollapse—Teddy’s arm would tighten, or I’d startle him awake. We’d have to look at each other and acknowledge the emotional wreckage scattered across the sheets between us. The things we’d said and couldn’t take back. The absolution I still wasn’t sure I deserved.
So, I stayed right where I was, holding onto the fantasy in my mind until my bladder demanded I get up. I began the delicate process of extracting myself without waking him. One careful inch at a time, I eased my body away from his, sucking in a breath when his arm tightened momentarily before going slack again.
I grabbed the flannel shirt from where I’d left it draped over the chair and pulled it on over my pajamas.
Teddy stirred in his sleep, his fingers instinctively reaching for the empty space I’d left behind. The lines around his eyes appeared softer, the perpetual tension in his jaw released. He looked younger. Not young—we’d never be young again—but unburdened. Less like the hardened biker he projected to the world and more like the boy who’d taught me to ride a motorcycle when I was eighteen. The boy who’d anxiously pressed his lips to my throat and apologized for hurting me the first time we made love.
God, we’d been so naïve then. So certain that love would be enough to carry us through anything life threw at us. I turned away before the dull ache in my chest could grow teeth and rip me open all over again.
After using the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, carefully avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t need to see the evidence of last night’s emotional bloodletting. I felt it in every cell of my body. Like I’d been turned inside out and put back together slightly wrong.
The coffee maker beckoned from the kitchen, and I moved toward it on autopilot, my body remembering the ritual even as my mind stayed foggy. It was strange, being in someone else’s kitchen and knowing exactly where everything was. Teddy’s cabinets were organized the same as the ones in our old house.
While the coffee brewed, I drifted toward the living room. The fire had burned down to gray ash, all except for a few stubborn embers still glowing orange near the center. The tree stood in the corner, fullydecorated, golden lights twinkling softly. Evidence of our tentative truce, our fumbling attempts to be something other than two people who’d destroyed each other.
My eyes drifted to the hook by the door where Teddy’s kutte hung, the same one he’d had since he patched in at eighteen. The leather was worn soft from years of use, shoulders creased from where it had molded to his body. I’d washed blood from it more times than I cared to remember. Had even helped him patch a bullet hole in it once, my hands shaking as I worked the needle through the leather and tried not to think about how close I’d been to becoming a widow. It was as much a part of him as his wedding ring had once been. Maybe even more so.
In the chaos of the blizzard, my accident, and everything that had followed, I hadn’t really looked at it. Now I couldn’t seem to look away. I moved closer, drawn by the same masochistic impulse that made you press on a bruise just to see if it still hurt.
