by Abby Brooks
CHAPTER FORTY
Jude
“Feeling like a queen yet?” I asked Izzy as I staggered up the porch steps, adjusting my grip on my end of the biggest couch in existence. “You doin’ okay back there, Brennen?”
His face appeared over the armrest. “You know it.”
“Do queens feel useless?” Izzy asked as she pulled open the front door. “Because that’s mainly what I’m feeling right now. Definitely useless.”
“No way. You are the best door-holder-opener I’ve ever seen.” I met Brennen’s eyes over the piece of furniture in our hands. “Am I right?”
“You are so right.”
Izzy shook her head as we wrangled her couch into my house. Or rather, our house. After she’d agreed to stay married to me, we decided to move her in the right way. Some of her stuff would stay, some of my stuff would go, just like a real marriage. For as much as I loved the furniture in my living room, hers was newer, bigger, and better quality. And significantly heavier.
While the guys and I moved the weighty items, Izzy, Amelia, and Evie worked on decorations. The pictures I’d used for my re-proposal found homes on the walls and more pillows than any human could possibly need covered my bed, the couch, even the damn love seat. Hell, if I found a pile artfully arranged on the floor, I wouldn’t be surprised. At this rate, we’d have the most comfortable house on the block—if the pillows didn’t chase us out onto the street first.
The guestroom became a nursery. Izzy painted the walls while Brennen and I assembled the crib and installed the rest of the furniture. At the end of the day, we stood in the doorway, admiring our work.
“You think I should write an article or something?” I asked. “How to go from single to a family of four in nine months or less?”
“I’m not sure our story is something anyone could replicate.”
“Damn straight.” I threw an arm over her shoulder and pressed a kiss into her hair. “There isn’t a man alive who could love someone as much as I love you.”
“You guys are kinda disgusting, you know that?” Brennen rolled his eyes. “Like, there’s a kid here. Maybe you should, you know, say stuff like that somewhere else.”
“If you can’t stand the heat, step on out of the nursery, my friend.” I pulled Izzy in for a hug and stared dramatically into her eyes. “Because I’ve got a lifetime of sweet talk to whisper to this beautiful wife of mine.”
Later that evening, I made burgers that put Mike’s to shame, narrating the recipe in the ridiculous voice that always made Izzy laugh. The laughter continued as we ate, and after we cleared the table, we moved to the living room where we watched old sitcoms that Brennen had never seen. As Izzy curled into my side and my brother giggled from the pillow laden loveseat, a sense of peace settled over me. This was right. This was the way. This was how I erased my father’s legacy, by overwriting his darkness with light.
“What’s got you grinning so big?” asked Brennen.
“I don’t know.” I wrinkled my nose as I stared his way. “Does anyone else think it smells like cheese?”
EPILOGUE
Izzy
“I’m as big as a house,” I grumbled at my reflection, turning sideways to admire the bulge of my stomach. “Are you sure you even want to be seen with me?”
Jude crossed the room to wrap me in his arms, meeting my gaze through the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Snow. Now more than ever.”
I wrinkled my nose as I leaned into him. “Do lines like that actually work with women?”
“I don’t know, is it working with you?” His adoration for me shone through his eyes, and as his hands came up to caress my stomach, wrapping Lily up like he wanted to protect her from the world, a surge of happiness bloomed in my heart.
But if I admitted how easily I succumbed to his charm, he’d be insufferable the rest of the night.
“Nope.” I grinned as I shook my head. “Not even a little bit.”
“Then I’m not doing my job right,” Jude said as he carefully turned me to face him, “because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I can’t believe you’re actually mine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He cupped my face and kissed me before pulling away. “You ready to go? I know I’m hungry, and I’m sure Lily is too.”
I ran a hand over my belly. With the due date looming, I could barely get comfortable most days and the slightest thing brought me to tears. “I wish she’d make her appearance already. I’m getting tired of carrying her around.”
“Any day now, right? Which is why we need to get out and have some dinner now before we’re stuck in new parent mode, wearing milk-stained shirts, all zombified from lack of sleep.” Jude took my hand and led me out of our room. Halfway into the kitchen, I stopped, clutching a wall as a strange tug twisted my belly. There was a popping sensation, followed by dampness in my underwear.
Excitement shimmied through me, with fear of the unknown trailing behind.
“Jude?” I glanced at my husband, heart pounding, still clutching the wall. “I don’t think we’re going to dinner.”
“Now don’t say that,” he replied, barely glancing over his shoulder as he gathered his keys and patted his pants to check for his wallet. “I promise you, you look amazing.”
“It’s not that. I think Lily heard what I said up there. About making her appearance…”
Jude stilled. Straightened. Slowly turned to meet my gaze, his eyes wide, the corners of his lips tugged into a grin. “Now?” His jaw dropped as he processed my posture. “Now, now?”
I nodded, one hand snaking around my belly. “I think my water just broke.”
“Okay, then. Right. You just stay right there and I’ll get our bags.” He raced toward the bedroom then came back to cup the back of my neck and kiss me deeply. “I love you so much, Izzy,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine. “So much.”
And with that, he dashed away to get our things.
Jude
Izzy had brought a lot of beauty into my life. First, with her smile, her laughter, and her sexy red lips. Then, with the love and patience she showed me as my wife. But now…today…she was officially the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, cradling our newborn daughter, staring into Lily’s face with an adoration that verged on reverence.
“I know I said I couldn’t wait to put her down, but now that she’s here, I don’t think I ever will.” Izzy ran a delicate finger down a chubby cheek. “She’s so beautiful, Jude.”
“Of course she is. She got genes from two of the most attractive people in Wildrose.”
“And the most humble.”
I perched beside my wife and daughter. “Definitely the most humble.”
Lily Malone had honey and sunshine eyes with the tiniest wisps of blonde hair poking out of a pink beanie. She had my nose and Izzy’s lips and even though she was barely an hour old, I was already head over heels in love with her.
“You know, before I knew about Brennen, I thought I was pretty happy, but then I met him and I found this sense of purpose that really propelled me forward. And then, before I asked you to marry me, I thought I was in a great place, but being with you has shown me how amazing life can be when you’re with the right person. I didn’t think things could get any better, but now I get to meet our daughter and wow…just wow. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, Izzy.”
My wife gave me a mischievous smile. “That’s a very beautiful sentiment, but could you maybe repeat it like you’re narrating a cooking show?”
The request shocked a laugh out of me that woke the baby, who started to cry just as our family and friends returned from getting lunch.
I met Izzy’s eyes and put a hand to my heart. “I love you,” I whispered and her smile bloomed.
“I love you too,” she responded, then gave her attention to my mom who came swooping in to cradle little Lily Bear, bouncing and shushing, and showing her off to whoever would listen.
Alex thumped me o
n the back.
Jack shook my hand.
Brennen hung by my side and Austin offered us a hearty congratulations, then faded to the back while Amelia and Evie peppered Izzy with questions about motherhood.
The room was full. And loud. And overflowing with people who loved us.
Just the way it should be.
I hope you loved Jude, Izzy, Brennen and Lily!
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BEYOND WORDS SNEAK PEEK
CHAPTER ONE
Cat
Dearest Journal,
Day 431… and the search continues.
WHERE IN THE WORLD HAS MY ORGASM GONE?? You know better than anyone I’ve looked everywhere. Under the bed. In the fridge. I even cleaned out the trunk of my car (just in case). Nash sure seems to find his without any problem. So, why in the name of all that’s holy has mine gone M.I.A.?
At this point I’m beginning to wonder if it’s my fault. Was it something I said? Please, if you’ll just come back, we can talk it out. I know we can. Please come back! Pretty please?
If I wasn’t in a public place right now, I’d laugh.
On second thought, maybe I’d cry.
Nah, I definitely think I’ll stick with laughter. There’s too much real tragedy in the world for me to look at something like this as anything but a joke.
On paper, Nash and I are good together. We’ve been good together and we’ll continue being good together. For the rest of our years. This is just a little bump in the road. He’s overworked and I’m…what? What am I?
Bored?
Uninspired?
Those are big words for someone like me, even though I know I’m the one who wrote them. Someone with so much going for her she can’t help but breathe it in and sit back in quiet awe.
But still…
I miss the way it feels to lose myself. That molten feeling that starts low. A thrum. A throb. Then it begins to work its way through my body and next thing you know I’m panting and screaming and lost in bliss and…
…I don’t know what else.
It says something that I can no longer find the words to describe it properly. That it’s been so long I don’t even remember how it feels.
I miss feeling beautiful.
I miss feeling passion.
I miss feeling.
I need to feel like a woman made of fire and energy and possibility again. Not this empty body, filled with gray and ash and boredom. I miss that surge of adrenaline that used to spin and twist through my stomach when Nash looked at me. A tornado of love, setting my nerve-endings on fire.
For that matter, I miss having Nash look at me, but that’s another thing altogether. He’s so busy with work and I respect that he’s building our future, but I sure as hell am bored in the present.
He’s tired, I get it, but one smack on my ass and I’m supposed to be ready to go? He climbs on. Won’t even look me in the eye. No kissing. No touching. No connection. No foreplay at all. It’s just, I don’t know, clinical. A means to an end.
My body is a tool, designed for his pleasure and his pleasure alone. And really, I wonder if he even gets anything out of it. I mean, he definitely finishes, so there’s that.
But there’s more to sex than just the physical side of things, right? I know men and women are different, but there has to be more than a muscle spasm and some fluid and we’re set. Right? I mean, right? Everything in this world revolves around sex.
Wars have started…
Empires collapsed…
Friends and family walk around with knives firmly lodged in backs…
If it’s really all about a second-long dick sneeze, then I’m just ashamed about the human race in general. It has to be about the connection. About sharing something that intimate and that special and that personal with someone you love and cherish and adore. There has to be something spiritual to it. There just has to be.
*sigh*
I stopped believing Nash feels anything but annoyed and obligated to me a long time ago. Although…that’s not fair. That’s me being melodramatic. He works hard. I know he loves me. Things just fade after that first burst of new love.
We’re in the Comfortable Zone now. Capital C. Capital Z.
That’s just as good. Better even. I know him and he knows me and we don’t need fireworks to remind us we’re special to each other.
Although I do miss the fireworks…
And you want to know the real kick in the shins? I can’t even get myself off anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried…
…and tried…
…and tried…
There’s just…nothing.
It’s like I’m numb.
Dead.
Like all the feeling has been sucked out of my body and I’m just a shell of who I used to be.
See? None of this is Nash’s fault, is it? If I can’t even do it for myself, it’s got to be something with me, not anything to do with our relationship. But honestly, I’m too young to face the rest of my life having to go through the motions of sex without getting anything from it. It’s messy. Awkward. Sometimes it hurts.
Please tell me this isn’t all I have to look forward to.
Please tell me there’s more to life and love than disappointment.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my years surrounded by people and still feeling completely alone…
CHAPTER TWO
Lucas
My feet thumped against the sand as early morning light glittered off the ocean. Sweat dripped down my back and chest and I fought the limp in my left leg for as long as was healthy. A few more steps and I stopped, shaking out my thigh as breath ripped through my lungs. My doctors called the fact that I was running at all nothing short of miraculous, but I was annoyed that my body continued to betray me time and time again. I still had miles left in me, but my damn leg was done.
I raked my hands through my blonde hair and stared out over the water, drowning in deep thoughts. My life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to be here, drifting and useless. I wasn’t supposed to wake up panting, drenched in sweat, shivering and shaking in fear until I remembered where I was. I was supposed to be making the world a better place, not wasting time and taking up space and being forced to give up long before I was done.
Everything I thought I was or ever would be, died back in Afghanistan. Every hope. Every dream. Every plan I had for the future. Before, I had purpose. Since the incident, I merely existed. Life was little more than a string of days to get through. Nothing more. Nothing less. With one last look at the waves rolling up to the beach, I turned and made my way back to my car, accepting my pace, walking slowly so as not to limp.
The docs assured me I wouldn’t do any more damage to my body as long as I listened to the warning signs. Over the last year, I had learned that pushing past the pain would leave me in agony for the next couple days.
So, time and time again, I walked right up to the pain, stared it in the face, and then turned around and sent myself home. Some days were better than others. Some were worse. But on the whole, I lasted longer than I used to, so I counted it as a win.
As I approached my car, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped it out and answered a call from my younger brother as gulls strutted in front of me, keeping a safe distance and a watchful eye in case I had food to toss their way.
“Hit me with the good stuff, Wy-guy.” I yanked open the door and pulled out a towel to swipe over my face.
“I have good stuff, and I have bad stuff. Whatcha want first?”
I ran the towel through my hair and closed my eyes. “Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way.”
“All righ
t. Bad stuff it is.” Wyatt paused. “Dad passed away last night.”
And so, that was that.
I had been waiting years to hear those words. For most of my adult life really. I knew for a fact all five of us Hutton kids wished our father would curl up and die more than once throughout our lives. Despite outward appearances, despite what the community thought about his philanthropy, despite the father he was when we were little, it turned out he wasn’t a nice man, after all.
“And the good stuff?” I asked my brother.
Wyatt huffed into the phone. “Dad passed away last night.”
I bobbed my head in agreement…understanding…acceptance. The asshole had held on too long as it was. “How’s Mom?”
“You know Mom. She’s taking it gracefully. Mourning the loss of the man she fell in love with while celebrating the loss of the man she ended up with.”
I never understood why she stayed after things got bad. She said it was for us kids, but that never made sense. Mom was too smart not to see the effect it had on us once Dad started drinking. We scattered to the wind as soon as we could, all of us but Wyatt, who said he stayed to help with the business. What he wouldn’t admit, but what everyone knew, was that he stayed to keep Mom safe and sane.
The scattering of the Hutton tribe was so complete, my sister couldn’t bring herself to make an appearance when I got hurt. Wyatt, Caleb, and Eli put their heads down and stood in stony silence next to Mom and Dad in the hospital room, but Harlow sent a text and a fruit basket and called it a day.
Wyatt droned on about the funeral arrangements, which would be massive to sate the public’s grief. No one understood why most of us Hutton kids left the moment we were able. They called us ungrateful. Selfish. Spoiled.
If only they knew.
“Mom’s calling in the cavalry. It’s time to circle the wagons, brother,” Wyatt said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
