by M Never
“I’m fine.” I wipe the tears from my face. “I just need some water.” I try to smile, try to placate him, because the last thing I want is Kayne worrying that he’s the cause of my recurring nightmares.
“C’mon.” He lifts me to my feet and helps to steady me. Our bathroom is enormous so it takes several steps to get from the toilet bowl to the sink. The whole room is white marble with copper fixtures. It’s a spa-like oasis with the shower and soaking tub overlooking the picturesque landscape.
I turn on the faucet and rinse my mouth with some cold water then swish some Scope around to kill the nasty vomit taste. Kayne stands by my side, his worried stare searing through the side of my head the whole time.
Once I dry my mouth, he pulls me next to him, so my side is touching his. We gaze at each other in the mirror as he raises the hem of my shirt—one of his white clingy undershirts that I’ve made a habit of living in. He only lifts it as far as my ribcage, exposing the circular tattoo that matches his. Around the scar where Michael shot me are the words That which does not destroy us written in fancy cursive. The same words circle Kayne’s scar where Javier shot him in the shoulder. I know what he’s trying to tell me. Fight. And I am. I have been for the last four years, and I’ll continue to fight for the rest of my life. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t survive. And that’s just not an option.
The tattoos were Kayne’s idea. We got them on our first wedding anniversary. As a reminder, a symbol, a signification of strength. I’ve come to learn my husband loves philosophy, theology, and metaphysical poetry. He’s filled our home office with works of Richard Crashaw, Friedrich Nietzsche, John Donne, and John Wesley. Apparently, Jett was the influence for Kayne’s educational interests. When they first met, Kayne was a bit “rough around the edges.” That’s how Jett put it anyway, attempting to be sarcastic and empathetic all at the same time. Before Kayne met Jett, his reading material consisted of comic books and car magazines. The first book Jett ever gave him was the Canterbury Tales, and I quote, said, “Read it, Neanderthal.” Kayne wasn’t a fan at first, but somehow, Jett instilled a love for literature and philosophy in him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kayne asks, cutting through the severe silence.
I nod, resting my head against his arm. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t trigger it?” Insecurity peeks through his stoic façade.
I stare at him in the mirror.
Well . . . not in the way he thinks. Kayne’s dominant behavior didn’t bring on the nightmare. I think his mention of kids did. He asked about starting a family a few days ago. No pressure, he was just poking around to see how I felt about it. I can tell you that I feel the same way as I did four years ago—resistant to the idea.
I’m not sure I want to disrupt the perfect little life we’ve carved out. And starting a family would definitely do that. Am I being selfish? Maybe. Do I have justification to feel that way? I think I do, given everything I’ve been through.
“No,” I assure him once more. It’s half the truth. “I’m ready to go back to bed.”
“Okay.” He kisses my head tentatively then walks me back into our bedroom with a death grip on my hand. Once under the covers, I cuddle up next to him, my body drawing calmness from his warmth. He’s always warm and eager to hold me. I drift off listening to the sound of Kayne’s breathing and the soft laps of the ocean just outside. I don’t dream of Michael or Javier again. Instead, I dream of a young, dark-haired, green-eyed boy playing in the sand, calling out Mom.
“YOU ALMOST READY, KITTEN?” KAYNE asks, leaning against the doorframe of our office looking good enough to eat.
“I’m responding to my last email.” I flick my eyes up at him.
And also responding to the way you look in those wind pants and tight t-shirt. Whoa.
Our foundation, and my current baby, has taken off tremendously. Over the last three years, we have sent nearly four hundred survivors and their families to all seven continents. I personally coordinate all the arrangements with the help of a local travel agent on Oahu. So many stories and so many survivors. I correspond with each and every one of them. My soul just floods with joy knowing that I’m providing someone with something they could only dream about. I dreamed of paradise for so long, and at one point even believed my hopes and aspirations were stolen away from me. Luckily, that wasn’t the case, and I came away with more than I could have anticipated.
A husband who once told me he would kill for me, and then made good on his promise. A husband who gives me everything and asks only that I love him honestly in return, flaws and all. Which I do.
I’m compelled to share some of my good fortune, and through To Catch a Falling Star, I do. The foundation got its name from the tattoo scribbled on Kayne’s rib cage, A certain kind of darkness is needed to see the stars and the knowledge of all those girls he saved from Javier’s home. I think about them often, even though I never personally met any of them. I wonder if maybe one or two of them were part of the four hundred we’ve sent away thus far. A tiny piece of me hopes so.
I hit send, then push away from the desk. I’ve been plugging away at the computer since six a.m.
“Do you have everything you need?” I ask Kayne as we walk hand in hand down the curved staircase.
“Yup. Bottled water, snacks, and a hat.”
“What about a compass?” I ask.
Kayne smiles. “Have that, too.” He taps his chest, right where the brightly colored tattoo is inked over his heart. “It always brings me home. I just follow North.”
He makes me grin like an idiot sometimes. On the needle pointing North is my name permanently written in small lettering. That’s right. I’m home. Signed, sealed, and delivered.
Six months after Kayne and I got married, he and Jett left on one last mission; when they returned home, they both resigned from Endeavor. Although he was only gone a few days and in little to no danger, (his words though I’m still skeptical), it was trying. Very, very trying. Not knowing where he was or what he was doing. My imagination had a field day at my expense. I don’t know how spouses of duty men and women do it. I was a nervous wreck until the minute he came home.
And as thrilled as I was that he decided to retire from the super-secret black op spy business, I sort of had a feeling his retirement would be short lived. And I was right because six months later, a knock came at the door. It was the commander of Honolulu SWAT. The same SWAT team Jett and Kayne worked with to save me. A few openings had ‘materialized.’ I use quotes because two positions were basically created specifically for them. Both Kayne and Jett said yes, and my husband went from nonexistent undercover operative to specialized service provider. AKA full-time, gun-toting, Kevlar-wearing badass.
Which, of course, he loves.
I sort of do, too. Especially when he walks around the house dressed in black fatigues with firearms holstered all over his body. Hot.
We climb into my Jeep. Not the one I used to drive, no. Kayne felt I needed an upgrade, so he purchased a new white Rubicon complete with body armor—a steel cage looking thing over the roof and front grille—for me. Boys and their toys. I end up driving the Jag half the time because he’s always hogging the Wrangler.
We drive several blocks in the perfect October weather before we pull up to our destination. A large two-story house with a Chevelle parked in the driveway. We don’t even bother knocking as we walk into Jett and London’s home. They moved into the neighborhood shortly after Kayne and I did. It was sort of a whirlwind. Baby, house, marriage, in that order, but it was clear they couldn’t be happier, despite London’s horrific morning sickness.
“Peanut butter!” a high-pitched voice squeaks as soon as Kayne walks into the living room. Jett and London’s house may be as large and spacious as ours is with the same panoramic view, but it feels much different with baby gates and toys tossed all around.
“Jelly!” Kayne lifts Layla as she runs and jumps into his arms. I don’t exactly know where the nicknames c
ame from, but they’ve been calling each other that since Layla could talk. “Pretty girl, what’s all over your face?” he asks as he examines her.
“Makeup.” She chortles like she knows she’s not supposed to be wearing it but doesn’t care.
“Yup, Jett caught her red handed playing in our bathroom,” London says as she bounces six-month-old Beckett around on her hip, the newest member of the Fox household. “After he scolded her, he taught her how to apply blush. He’s stealing all my thunder.” She laughs.
“We were just having some daddy-daughter time,” Jett announces as he comes down the stairs. He’s dressed similar to Kayne in a white T-shirt, form-fitting hiking pants, and a pair of Ray Bans sitting on his blond head.
“Yeah, London, he needs his girl time or he’ll lose all his estrogen,” Kayne digs.
“What’s esprjin?” Layla asks cheerfully.
We all erupt.
“It’s your daddy’s super power,” Kayne tells her, highly amused.
“That’s right.” Jett tries to grab the gorgeous little blonde with her daddy’s coloring and mommy’s stunning face, but she latches onto Kayne’s neck. Jett should know by now those two really are stuck together like peanut butter and jelly.
“Fine, then,” he says to Layla, sticking out his tongue. She just laughs at him while holding Kayne tight.
“You’re going to have to let go sooner or later.” London delivers her the bad news as she puts Becks in his playpen. “Daddy and Uncle Kayne are going hiking.”
“I wanna go!” She bops in Kayne’s arms. “Please, please, please!”
Kayne and Jett throw a communicative look at each other.
“I don’t have a problem with it.” Kayne shrugs, more than happy to take her.
Jett huffs. “You really want to go?” he asks Layla directly.
“Yes, pleassse, Daddy?” Her turquoise eyes sparkle just like his.
“What do you think?” Jett consults London.
“It’s fine with me. I just need to grab a hat and some sunscreen for her.”
Let me tell you something. Kayne and Jett may think they run things, but this little girl rules the roost.
“I’ll grab the carrier,” Jett sighs, pretending to be annoyed. He pinches Layla’s calf right before he walks out of the room. She giggles loudly in triumph.
As we wait for Jett to return, London grabs sunscreen from the bathroom and lathers Layla up. She then retrieves some snacks and a juice box from the kitchen just as Jett returns with a blue book bag looking thing.
“I want to go on Uncle Kayne’s back!” Layla demands in a whiney tone.
“Fine with me,” Jett agrees all too willingly.
“Of course, you can,” Kayne placates her sweetly, resting his forehead against hers. “Your daddy couldn’t carry a butterfly up a hill.”
“I like butterflies.”
“I know you do, pretty girl.” He chuckles.
Jett leers at Kayne, “Aww, ffff . . . Fudgesicle.”
“I want a Fudgesicle!” Layla exclaims.
London and I can barely hold it together. The interaction between the three of them is just too cute.
“Okay. Time to go.” London starts ushering the two men and a little lady out.
Layla becomes excited. “I want to see fish! And a waterfall and a rainbow!”
“Whatever you want, jelly,” Kayne appeases her as he carries her out the front door. “You can put in your full order in the car.”
Yes, my heart actually skips a beat watching the two of them together.
“Have fun!” London yells. “Be careful! Jett, stay on the trail!”
I don’t hear Jett’s response clearly, but I think it was along the lines of “Yeah, yeah, woman, I know!”
Once gone, London shuts the door, turns around, and gives me a look. That look. Oh no, here it comes.
“That man needs a child.” The words fly out of her mouth as if on cue.
“Please don’t start,” I implore her, instantly annoyed.
“I am just making an observation,” she defends her statement.
“You’ve been making that observation a lot lately.”
“I can’t help what I see.”
I lean on the kitchen island and stare at London. “I’m just not sure.”
She dispenses a sympathetic look. “I know the subject of family is between you and Kayne, but Ellie, just tell me what you’re afraid of.”
It takes me a few moments to answer her, as I try to put my feelings into words. “Everything.”
“Everything?” She crosses her arms confounded. “Do you think you’re going to be a bad mother?”
“Compared to you, maybe,” I joke.
“Ellie.”
“No, it’s not that.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I just know what’s out there. I don’t want what happened to me to happen to my children.”
London’s face drops. “Oh, Ellie.”
I wipe my eye, a rebel tear forming in the corner.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know.” I try to smile. “I just don’t know how you do it.”
London moves closer to me until our bodies are touching. She plays with the ends my hair and looks at me sympathetically. “I wish I could give you a guarantee. I wish I could tell you that everything will always be perfect, but I think you’re smart enough to know that’s not true.”
“You could lie to me.”
“I could, but I won’t. What I will tell you is that you have an advantage.”
“Advantage?”
“Yup. You know what’s out there. You can recognize the danger and teach your children the signs. If you ever decide to have any.” She winks. “We’ve all been through our own traumatic shit. But the way I see it, if you let it get in the way of your happiness, you’re letting it win.”
She does have a point. And London has lived through her own personal hell, one that was way longer and way worse than mine, and she’s not letting it hold her back.
Are my negative experiences holding me back? Am I making excuses because of my fear? Maybe. Or maybe I’ve already committed myself to someone and I’m not ready to share him yet. Maybe, I’m scared it will change what we have. And like I’ve said before, I really love us.
“Whatever you decide, I’ll support you. I just don’t want you look back and have regrets.”
“I don’t want that, either.” I also don’t want to deprive my husband of something he really wants.
“Good.” London walks out of the kitchen to check on Becks, who’s been extremely quiet.
“God, I love this child,” I hear her say.
“Why?” I peek into the living room to see Becks cuddled up in the corner of his playpen fast asleep.
“Because he’s such a man. Eat, sleep, poop. That’s his life.”
“At six months old, what more do you need?”
“Nothing.” She smiles down at the little towhead. He, too, got his father’s coloring, but his mommy’s dark blue eyes.
“So . . . speaking of men, do you think you can get Malia to babysit overnight next weekend?” I decide now is as good a time as any to change the subject.
London snaps her head up. “I’m sure I can, why?”
I smile, unable to hide my excitement. “Kayne said yes.”
Her eyes widen to the size of satellites. “You got him to agree?”
“Yes!” The rock in the pit of my stomach does a summersault. “Do you suddenly have a problem with me sleeping with your husband?”
London and I have talked about this. Extensively. She knows how much I want to be with both Kayne and Jett and has been nothing but supportive.
“No.” She tiptoes away from Beckett quietly and directs me back to the kitchen. “I slept with your husband. It’s only fair. Just be prepared. I’ve been the filling in that alpha sandwich.”
“I know.” I pout. “And I’m tired of living vicariously through you.”
“Apparentl
y, you won’t have to much longer.”
WE WATCH AS THE LAST bits of daylight fade away, casting a grayish-blue hue on the ocean and mountainous landscape. Jett, London, Kayne, and I have just finished a dinner on the lanai of grilled steak, mashed potatoes, and sautéed asparagus. I swallow the last of my wine before I start clearing the table.
“Do you want some help, Ellie?” London asks, moving to stand.
“I’m fine.” I motion for her to sit. “You clean up twenty-four hours a day.”
“That isn’t a lie.” She smiles as she sinks back into her chair. I pile the plates and bring them into the kitchen as Kayne scrubs the grill and Jett irritates him by pointing out all the spots he missed. I laugh to myself while rinsing the dishes, highly amused by the three people I love in each their own way. After loading the dishwasher, I jump when I feel Jett standing behind me.
“Jesus!”
“Nope, just Jett.” He grins. I swear he and Kayne can be silent as shadows when they want to be. “Silverware?” He holds up a handful of forks and knives.
“Just stick them in the sink,” I instruct as I head to the refrigerator. I hear the metal clink behind me.
“Any dessert?” Jett asks, curiously. When he and London come over, I always know to have dessert. He has one wicked sweet tooth.
“Of course.” I pull out a cake from the fridge. “Red velvet.”
I place it on the counter in front of him and remove the Saran Wrap. I then swipe my finger in the icing and hold it up to him. “The cream cheese frosting is even homemade, especially for you.”
Jett stares down at my finger, a small little smirk playing on his lips. “You know it’s not nice to tease me, Ellie.”
I step closer to him. “Who’s teasing?”
Jett’s mouth falls slightly open. It’s not often he’s surprised, but when he is, it’s a classic moment. I watch closely as he glances outside to see Kayne’s reaction. He’s just standing casually next to London, the two of them voyeurs to our little show. He nods at Jett, as if giving him the okay.
