Because I could not have this only be the past. I couldn’t have this be something that broke us. It was a promise of something bigger than any of us, even though the complications could implode and hurt us all in the end. I needed this. Needed to see what was next even with the thought that we could lose it all.
I was utterly terrified that if we weren’t careful, this could be the last time. The only time.
Chapter 7
Julia
It was two weeks after our date with Kincaid, and while I might not be sore anymore, I swore I could still feel them on either side of me, holding me close as we came together. The three of us hadn’t been together since that night, though we’d gone on several smaller dates and dinners. I was glad that we had given each other space and time to fall into what we were becoming, whatever that may be.
We often met at Madison’s for coffee since it was a safe space, as well as another café owned by a friend of ours. We’d had dinner at our house once more, but it hadn’t led to anything but a goodnight kiss and a promise of what was to come. We might’ve started out with the proverbial bang, but we were taking it slowly now. And I was grateful. Every night, I turned into my husband’s arms, and we made love. We held each other. And I couldn’t help but wonder what Kincaid was doing. When I voiced that to Ronin, he had said much the same.
I knew if we continued down this path, Ronin and Kincaid would soon go out together without me, and I didn’t feel even a single twinge of jealousy at that. It was what a true triad was, even if we weren’t thinking of permanence but rather connection right now. One day, I might go out with Kincaid on my own, and I was grateful for that. I wanted to know the man with the sadness in his eyes and discover how he could be direct one minute and hidden the next. And I wanted Ronin to be able to find that, as well.
It was such an interesting connection, the way we all worked together, and I was grateful that I had found the other part of my soul that understood—someone who wanted the same things. However, I knew the two of them had far more to talk about than Kincaid and I might. And I didn’t mind that. Because it meant that Ronin would be opening up about something that he might not fully open up to me about because I hadn’t been there. And I didn’t feel like I needed to pry that out of him.
I shook my head and looked down at my phone, wondering once again why I was letting my thoughts go down this path instead of getting out of the car and walking into my parents’ home. I didn’t want to be here today. I didn’t want to be here most days. But I was a good daughter, even if no one had given me that title and never would.
But I would do what had to be done. I would talk with my parents, and then I would go home, cry, and pretend that nothing had happened.
Just like every year on this day.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a text from Ronin.
Ronin: I can still be there. Say the word, and I will leave work.
I closed my eyes and pushed down everything that might hurt. I couldn’t let the people in the house see these emotions—or any. They would only pounce on the opportunity.
Me: No, I can do this. I won’t be long. You need your vacation days.
I could practically hear Ronin cursing, and I knew that Marcus would’ve covered for him, but I hadn’t needed that. When he got off work, I would lean on him. But for now, I needed to stand on my own two feet.
I hadn’t needed to go into work today because I had worked remotely over the weekend and had gotten my hours in that way. My boss was pretty amazing, and I could work from home most days as long as I had network access to the server. I liked going in and working with Ethan and the others, though. And sometimes I needed the space. But I had known that I needed today, so my boss had let everything work out the way it did.
Ronin: I love you. Call me when you can.
I choked back a sob, annoyed with myself for getting emotional already. I hadn’t even walked through the doors yet.
Me: I love you. And I will.
I turned off my phone, knowing that it would only annoy my parents if it rang or buzzed, and I didn’t want to add anything else to the fire.
I checked my reflection and smoothed my hair currently pulled back in a chignon at the base of my neck. My eyes were done up in subtle makeup, just enough to make them pop but not to look slutty—at least in my mother’s opinion. I looked normal, like I wasn’t dying inside.
As if I’d missed the fact that my sister was no longer here.
My baby sister would’ve had a birthday today.
She had died when she was only sixteen years old, and every day on the date of her birth, the family she left behind met. Though we didn’t celebrate. Sitting around a table and watching my mother come to hate me more and more, and my father turn in on himself with each passing moment, couldn’t be counted as a celebration. I was eighteen when my sister finally passed. Sixteen years old and dying of terminal liver cancer shouldn’t have even been an option. Kids did not get that cancer. It was something the doctors told us repeatedly, the refrain echoing often in my ears.
But she had died, and we had broken as a family. Or perhaps we had broken long before that. My mother had pushed me away, her precious baby dying in front of her. And I never once blamed Mother for that. Never once blamed the fact that she hadn’t wanted to look at me because I looked so much like Taylor. That I hadn’t been there when it counted.
Taylor had been a light. Had brought so much joy. She had faced the cancer head-on and told the world that she would make something of herself. And she had, even in the few short months that we’d had her with us after the diagnosis. She didn’t go to school. Instead, she worked full-time for a charity organization, donating what energy she had to helping others. My mother had been right there with her for every doctor’s appointment, every moment of horror and unending unknowns.
In the end, the cancer had taken Taylor swiftly, the pain and agony no longer digging their claws into her. I missed my sister with every breath I took, with every moment I was still here. I hated that Ronin had never gotten to meet her. I even hated that Kincaid could never meet her.
She hadn’t grown into the wonderful woman she could have been. I let out a shuddering breath and then got out of the car. I didn’t need to wallow in the what-could-have-beens and what-had-beens. Not when I needed to face my parents.
I knocked on the door since I no longer had a key. And even if I’d had one for emergencies, they never would have let me walk right in. Ronin could walk into his parents’ home and be welcomed with open arms. He could go straight for the fridge, grab something to eat, and laugh with his mom as she rolled her eyes, patted his head, and made him a sandwich because she could. She might still work forty-hour weeks and be connected to the military even after she’d retired from active duty, but she loved her baby boy.
Honestly, I wasn’t even sure the welcome mat that lay in front of my parents’ door symbolized acceptance for me. My father opened the door, his face gray, the lines of the years digging grooves into his skin. He had aged during Taylor’s sickness and had turned into an old man when Taylor died.
He didn’t say anything, just gave me a slight nod and stepped back. I held a single lily, my baby sister’s favorite flower, and walked into the room. I set the lily on the foyer table where Taylor’s pictures were, a single candle lit for her, and closed my eyes tightly, doing my best to breathe.
My father didn’t offer to take my bag, didn’t move to help me with anything. Instead, he shuffled away, much like he had done through life.
My mother was in the living room, her head held high, a handkerchief in her hand. She looked over at me, her gaze going from my head to my toes. She gave me a slight, tight nod. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, I was in the car, and it took me a moment to get in. It’s a tough day.” I held back a wince, knowing I shouldn’t even bring it up, even though it was the only reason I was here. Other families might discuss it, but we wouldn’t. We couldn’t.
My mother glanced at me and then looked straight ahead to where our family photo was, the last one we had taken. There hadn’t been any more pictures on the walls after Taylor died. Not in the more than fifteen years we had lived without my sister. It was as if this house and everything in it had stopped at that moment. There had been no growth, no more living.
And I didn’t know how to make it end. I didn’t know how to make it better.
“I didn’t cook,” my mother said.
I nodded.
We had stopped having family dinners on Taylor’s birthday. Instead, I came over, sat with them for a moment while we tried to rekindle something between us, and then I went home, where I’d cry and heal.
I knew this wasn’t what Taylor would want, but I didn’t know how to fix it. And, honestly, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to continue trying.
“I’ll be working on the garden soon, that’s what Taylor would have wanted,” my mother spoke up, and I nodded. I had been wrong. One part of the house did continue to change.
The garden in the back.
That was what my mother and Taylor had worked on day in and day out together, something just for the two of them. I had loved to garden with them, but when Taylor got sick, it’d become something for mother and daughter, and I had understood. I had backed away, and now, my mother gardened with fervor, trying to bring life into each plant as if she could bring life back into Taylor.
I hated that I couldn’t do anything about that, so I only nodded tightly, knowing that soon there would be new blooms, a thrilling masterpiece of a garden that I would likely never walk into.
I wasn’t welcome.
I stood in the living room as my father came back and sat down in his recliner, rocking back and forth. The creak of the old wood echoed in my ears, and I looked around, peering into the time capsule that was over fifteen years ago.
Taylor wasn’t here anymore. She had long since passed on, but the shrine to her memory echoed within these walls, begging for freedom.
That was what she had wanted. Freedom. The ability to make her own choices and keep our family whole. But it hadn’t worked. Taylor had found her freedom, at least I hoped—freedom from pain and from the lack of dignity that came from cancer. But our family was never the same.
And I couldn’t change that.
I stood there for another twenty minutes without saying a word before I left, not bothering to look at them. They weren’t looking at me.
I got into the car, leaned my head against the steering wheel, and let out a shaky breath.
“Happy birthday, Taylor,” I whispered.
Then I started the car and headed towards home.
I didn’t even realize I’d stopped in front of Madison’s coffee shop until I was already there. I needed caffeine. Something. I didn’t want to go home alone, even though I knew Ronin would be there the moment I asked him to come. I didn’t want to ask him for help. He had work to do, and we had both known that today would be hard. I shouldn’t need help with every single little thing.
I sighed, annoyed with myself, and went in for coffee. Madison wasn’t up front, but one of her friendly staff members was. I smiled and ordered myself a chai latte, the one that came in the big mugs that usually made me happy to look at. Once in hand, I went back to one of the tables, holding back tears. I probably shouldn’t be out in public, but I really didn’t want to be home.
I faced the door, just needing the light, and then I looked up and suddenly realized I wasn’t alone.
Kincaid stood near the table, his head tilted to the side as he studied me, a cup of coffee in a recyclable cup in his hand.
“Julia? What’s wrong?”
I looked up at him and then blinked, before bursting into tears. Gut-wrenching sobs that scared even me.
Kincaid cursed, set down his coffee, and sat in the booth, somehow bringing me into his lap. Others were looking, but he waved them off, running his hands over my hair.
“Ronin said today was about your sister,” he whispered, and I nodded, embarrassed that I couldn’t stop crying.
Instead, Kincaid kissed the top of my head and pulled out of the booth, using his strength to carry me.
“I’m fine, don’t carry me. This is embarrassing. I need to come back in here one day without having everyone remember me like this.”
“They’re fine. They understand.”
From the way he growled it, I was pretty sure if they didn’t, he’d beat them into it. It didn’t matter. I didn’t look at anyone. Instead, I leaned into Kincaid, needing to breathe.
“My car,” I whispered.
“Oh, you’re not driving, we’ll come and get your car later.”
“Give me the keys,” Madison said, and I sniffed, looking over my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry. We all need to cry sometimes. Kincaid will get you home,” she said softly, giving me a searching look. “I’ll get Aaron to drive your car back later. We’ve got you. Don’t worry.” She kissed my cheek, took my car keys from my purse as I tried to fumble with them, and we left after taking my house key.
Kincaid got me into the car and silently drove to my home. I wondered how the hell I’d gotten into this situation.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“I already texted Ronin. He’s in a meeting but will get out as soon as he can.”
“He doesn’t need to. I had a tough moment. I’m fine.”
Kincaid glared at me, his red hair fiery in the sunlight. “I’m getting you inside, then I’m going to tuck you in, and you’re going to deal with me learning this whole caring shit.”
I snorted. “Oh?” I laughed. I didn’t think I could laugh today. Who knew someone other than Ronin could do that for me?
“Come on. Text Ronin so he knows you’re okay. At least as okay as you can be.”
I pulled out my phone and leaned into Kincaid as he walked me into the house.
Me: I’m home.
Ronin: Are you okay?
Me: I am. Kincaid’s here. I feel like such an idiot.
Ronin: Don’t. Let him take care of you. Let him hold you.
I frowned.
Me: What do you mean?
Ronin: Just let him hold you. Do what you need to do. I’ll be home later. I love you.
Me: I love you too.
I put my phone down and looked up as Kincaid walked into the living room, a cup of tea in his hand.
“I have no idea how to make a chai latte thingy, but you had tea and a teapot.” Kincaid sat next to me and kissed me hard on the mouth, shocking me. “Did that kiss help you get out of your funk?”
I snorted, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t call it a funk. I just…today sucked.”
I explained in detail about my parents and my sister, and Kincaid shook his head, growling when I got to the harder parts.
“You know I want to say that I can’t believe your parents would do that, but as my parents are pretty similar, I can’t say that.”
I set the now-cooling tea aside and looked at him. “Your parents blame you for your sister?” I whispered.
“They do. They’re pretty shitty people, but I can’t blame them for hating me. I hated myself for a long time. I’m only now realizing that I don’t have to hate myself every day.”
I reached up and cupped his face, his beard soft on my skin. “You don’t need to blame yourself at all. Accidents happen.”
“And you don’t need to feel guilty that you are here and Taylor isn’t.”
I closed my eyes tightly, let out a breath, and leaned into him. “For someone who says he’s not good at this whole caring thing, you sure know exactly what to say.”
“Sometimes, I do. Other times I feel like I’m forty steps behind. But I’m catching up.”
I looked at him, and he tucked my hair behind my ear.
“Is Ronin going to be home soon?” he asked, his voice deep.
I swallowed hard, looking at his face, my lips g
oing dry. “He’ll be home later. He told me I need to let you take care of me.”
Kincaid studied my face, then tilted his head. “What do you think he meant by that?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Knowing my husband, it could mean anything. You know Ronin.”
“You know, I do. I thought maybe he had changed over the years, but he’s still a man who puts everyone else before him.”
“That’s what he says about you,” I whispered.
Kincaid snorted. “And you know what? That’s what he says about you. The three of us together really need to learn to take rather than just give, right?”
“Or maybe it all balances out.”
We were both silent for a moment before Kincaid leaned closer and gently brushed his lips against mine. “Can I keep kissing you?”
I wanted to feel. I wanted to be. In this moment with Kincaid? It felt right. It felt like what Ronin would want and what I wanted. And so, I leaned into him and kissed him. “Please.” He kissed me back.
He ran his hands through my hair, pulling it out of its chignon, and I grinned. I hated the damn thing. He yanked me against him, and I landed on his lap, straddling him. He kept kissing, tugging my head to the side so he could lick at my neck. I rocked against him, his cock pressing against his pants.
“You’re killing me.”
“I want you,” I whispered.
“Are you okay wanting me without Ronin here?”
I nodded. “We already talked about it. All three of us. We’re duos and a trio. Ronin knows what we’re doing.”
Kincaid smiled. “Yes, he knows what we’re doing.” And then he kissed me again.
He methodically pulled up my shirt, exposing my breasts. He lowered the lacy cups of my bra, sucking one nipple into his mouth and then the other. I was wearing a skirt, the soft folds bunched up over my hips, and he slowly ran his hands up my thighs, gripping my flesh.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered.
“And you’re not,” I said, my hands moving up and down his chest, learning the hard planes of him.
He grinned and let me pull off his shirt so I could keep touching him. He was all cut edges and hardness. Ink, scars, and man. I kept touching him, wanting more. He was different than Ronin, who was also ink and scars. I loved that I was learning them in different ways, and that this was different than what I had with my husband. This wasn’t Ronin, and yet it felt right. This was what Ronin and I had been missing, even if we would have had a perfect future without Kincaid. I knew this only enhanced everything.
Captured in Ink: A Montgomery Ink: Boulder Novella Page 7
