method for matrimony

A Jupiter Tides Novel

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anne malcom

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Copyright © 2023 by Anne Malcom

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents products of the author’s
imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is
purely coincidental.

Cover Design: TRC Designs

Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading: All Encompassing Books

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for my Baby Daddy.

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 contents
Author’s Note

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue

Dorito Casserole
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Anne Malcom

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 author’s note

Write what you know.

Rather trite, but a well-established phrase for a reason.
All of my books are deeply personal, one way or another. They all
contain pieces of myself, of whatever I was struggling with at the time,
whatever I was feeling at the time. Even what TV shows I was obsessed
with at the time.
Sure, I’ve taken a lot of creative license with some things. I’ve not had
experience with outlaw bikers, hitmen, vampires, demons, or witches… yet.
But a lot of my heroines’ struggles mirror my own.
If you’ve read any of my books before, you might have noticed I’ve
mentioned miscarriage a couple of times. Unfortunately, that is a ‘write
what you know’ kind of deal.
I worried in this book that I was treading over old ground. That my
readers might feel ‘sick’ of this subject, as it’s an uncomfortable topic
we’ve historically swept under the rug or been urged to ‘keep to ourselves.’
Then I gave myself a mental kick up the butt.
First and foremost, I can’t decide what I will and won’t put in a book.
The characters decide that for me. And if I was to force myself not to write
something, it would be doing this story and you, dear reader, a great
disservice.
 Second, this is my story. This is countless other women’s stories. And
again, we’re urged to keep this subject quiet, lest it make others
uncomfortable. We’re meant to suffer in silence and think we’re in this
alone.
But you’re not. Alone.
There are millions of women who read romance to escape. But there are
millions, too, who need to feel spoken to, seen.
So that’s what I’m doing.
I’m also writing this to give you hope. I’m writing what I know.
I know what it’s like to feel joy and hope one moment and then have an
entire future lost the next. I know the pain, both physical and emotional,
from losing our babies.
And, for the first time, I know what my daughter’s kicks feel like. I see
my body changing, growing, and giving me hope.
As I write this, I’m six months pregnant.
So a lot of the cravings, the meltdowns, and the anxieties Fiona goes
through come straight from me.
Also, all of Kip’s dedication, kindness, and devotion comes from my
husband. He made me brownies when they were the only thing I could
stomach. He fretted over sound waves from the ultrasound. He helps me out
of bed every morning, he rubs my feet, talks to our daughter, and weathers
all of my meltdowns.
He is my happily ever after.
And so is she.
So this is the most personal book I’ve ever written. Down to dealing
with immigration to get my own Green Card once I fell in love with a
veteran. Except I loved him from the start, no visa fraud here… in case you
work for USCIS.
Beyond that, this book is a love letter to myself. To my husband.
And most importantly, to our daughter.
 I hope that this book gives you all the things you’re looking for: an
escape, your next favorite book boyfriend, some laughs, and just maybe,
some hope.

Anne
xxx

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 one
. . .

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 The Proposal

“DO you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Not a question I thought I’d ever be asked again in my lifetime.
In fact, when I’d come to this country, I’d made very specific promises
to myself about marriage, about belonging to a man in any way.
Namely that I’d never belong to a man again.
But the problem was I was fucking terrible at keeping promises to
myself.
“I do,” I said through gritted teeth, not slurring my words, which in and
of itself was pretty fucking impressive considering how drunk I was.
Not drunk enough, it seemed.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Ocean-blue eyes bored into mine. They were hard, angry, almost
communicating that he was doing this, standing here, against his will.
Except he’d gone into this with his full faculties, and this whole thing
was his idea.
“I do,” he ground out. The two words sounded like they were painful.
Like someone was holding a gun to his head.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Fuck.
 I’d known this part was coming. Which was, in part, why I was so close
to being wasted. That and the whole being married thing.
We had to do it. The whole point of the wedding was to make it
believable. I feared we hadn’t been doing so well up until this point. I’d
stumbled down the aisle, Kip glowered the entire time, and both of us were
standing as far away from each other as we could, like we were afraid the
other was contagious.
We’d agreed ahead of time that the kiss had to happen. But now that it
was right here, I couldn’t make myself move. The man across from me—
my husband—looked like he was glued to the spot.
There was a tense moment.
Fuck.
It was going to be over before it started.
That was okay, wasn’t it? This was a ridiculous idea in the first place.
Could we still pull off the whole ‘being in love’ thing without the kiss? I
could say I had a cold sore. Or that he didn’t like PDA.
But before I could blurt out something of the like, he kissed me.
Grabbed me by the back of the neck and laid one on me.
This was not a chaste peck on the lips to satisfy our tiny audience. No.
This was a kiss. With tongue.
A lot of it.
I was so shocked that I responded.
I went into auto-kiss mode. That had to be it.
There would be no other reason why I would essentially make out with
the man I kind of hated who I’d just married.
And my body’s response? The heat in every inch of my skin, my thighs
clenching together with need… yeah, that had to be the booze. And the fact
that I hadn’t gotten laid in three months.
It couldn’t be because I was attracted to my new husband.
No.
How in the fuck did this happen again?

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four years earlier
When I first met Kip Goodman, it wasn’t exactly hate at first sight, but it
was close. When I first met Kip, he walked in with Rowan. Who was tall,
muscled, dark haired and wore broody like it was embedded into his skin.
He walked around with a grimace, like he had the world on his shoulders
and would literally growl at someone if they looked at him wrong.
Kip sauntered in beside him with an easy smile, straight white teeth,
tanned skin and dirty blond hair escaping from his baseball cap.
“Well, I know that this is going to be my new favorite bakery,” Kip said
when he made it to the counter. He rested his elbows on the pink surface,
his sinewy forearms on display with his flannel shirt rolled up to his
elbows.
His azure gaze went lazily up and down my body as he shamelessly
checked me out.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” he asked when he finally made it to my
eyes, which were narrowed at him.
“Well, it’s certainly not darlin’,” I responded, imitating his accent on the
last word, my tone sharp and aggressive.
His eyes flared and his smile widened at my response, not put off in the
slightest. “Ah, an accent, Australian, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve never had an
Australian before.”
I scowled at him, at his words and the easy, confident way in which he
delivered them.
“You certainly won’t be having this one,” I replied, voice tight and
hackles up.
He thrummed the counter with his fingers. They were long, slender yet
manly.
 “I wouldn’t sound so sure,” he murmured. “I’m gonna grow on you.”
I tilted my head as I ran my eyes purposefully up and down his body in
the same manner he had to me. He was tall, wearing faded jeans that were
stained with paint, work boots and a tee underneath a red flannel. He was
wearing a worn baseball cap. His angular jaw was covered in a light dusting
of stubble only a shade darker than his dirty blond hair.
Objectively attractive.
If he weren’t quite obviously a massive douchebag.
“I doubt that,” I replied. Then I purposefully turned my attention to the
person beside him, essentially dismissing Kip.
The person beside him just happened to be Rowan Derrick. His business
partner and best friend.
I was attracted to Rowan first. In fact, I’d all but ignored Kip and his
shameless attempts at flirting with me every time they came in, which was
often.
I’d been flirting with Rowan. Not quite shamelessly. But I’d gotten a
little more … aggressive when Rowan didn’t respond to my normal efforts.
Not that I’d needed to make an effort normally. I was blonde, had an
unoffensive face, great tits and an accent. Men usually came easily to me.
Rowan did not.
He did not give any kind of inclination that he found me attractive. He
was polite, spoke in as few words as possible and kept his gaze at my eye
level at all times. Not even one glance down to the chest area, and I had
been wearing some pretty chest-exposing outfits.
It was not until later that I understood that my best friend and boss Nora
was into him. In a big way. Then I backed the fuck off. Even though she
was engaged to a complete asshole at the time. Though I didn’t say it out
loud that I thought her fiancé was a complete asshole. Not until she called
off the wedding at least and then tumbled headfirst into a relationship with
Rowan.
 I was very happy with those turn of events, to put it lightly. Any
attraction I had to him went up in smoke. It was all superficial anyway. I
didn’t do deep. Didn’t do relationships. And I certainly didn’t do love.
Though I liked watching my bestie fall in love.
Unfortunately, Kip was also watching his best friend fall in love. Which
meant he was around me. Often. And since I was no longer flirting with
Rowan, I was subjected to Kip’s continual efforts to get into my pants.
He was somewhat notorious in Jupiter. Ever since him and Rowan
arrived, started Derrick & Goodman construction, they caused a stir.
Women—and men—all over town suddenly had remodeling jobs that just
had to be done.
Rowan, as I understood, was not a monk by any means. But he was
somewhat discreet with his dalliances.
Kip was not.
He fucked around.
A lot.
Not that I was judging, exactly. I fucked around a lot too. So, my dislike
of him for simply being a manwhore was the pot calling the kettle a slut.
Still, something about him rubbed me the wrong way.
And also, something about him rubbed me the right way. Which pissed
me off. I did not want to be another notch on his bedpost. I wanted him to
be a notch on mine.
Therefore, I decided I was never ever going to fuck him.
Especially when our friends got involved.
We’d been at Nora’s house one night, at yet another dinner party with
the four of us, a blatantly obvious attempt to create some kind of weird
couple group.
Nora and Rowan were huddled in the kitchen, him likely whispering
sweet nothings in her ear.
 That meant I was alone with Kip. Or would’ve been had I not bolted to
the bathroom the second our foursome became a twosome.
Except who was standing right outside the bathroom door, leaning
against the wall, bottle of beer dangling between his fingers?
Fucking Kip.
“It’s creepy to wait outside bathrooms for women,” I snapped at him. I
intended on walking around him, back to the living room and to my drink.
Or maybe finding a blunt object. But Kip pushed deftly off the wall, right in
my path.
“You know, now that Rowan and Nora are fucking…” Kip stepped
forward to twirl a strand of my hair around his finger.
He smelled of wood, of dirt, of … man. It was not attractive.
Okay, it was a little attractive.
Or it would’ve been, had the scent been coming from anyone but Kip.
Kip who was getting in my face with those sparkling blue eyes of his, that
cocky grin and overall arrogant demeanor.
I restrained the urge to knee him in the balls. Just barely.
Instead, I painted on a sensual smile and fluttered my eyelashes. “So…
we should fuck?” I finished his sentence.
“Took the words right outta my mouth,” he drawled, mouth in question
lingering closer.
“We will fuck,” I murmured, lips almost brushing his, “when the sun
explodes and we’ve got eight minutes and twenty seconds left on planet
Earth.” I grabbed a hold of his wrist, forcing my hair from his finger. “On
second thought,” I said, squeezing as hard as I could before I dropped it and
stepped away from him. “I could think of many more pleasurable things to
do with my last eight and a half minutes on Earth.”
Kip did not look perturbed in the slightest. “Your loss, darlin’,” he
murmured, shrugging. "But in eight minutes and twenty seconds, I’d be
able to rock your whole fucking world.” He winked and walked away.
 “Asshole,” I muttered, though my thighs had inexplicably pressed
together.

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two months before the wedding
Booze was to blame, as it often was for bad decisions.
I was drowning my sorrows in the local bar. Not something I was
known to do.
Nora and I enjoyed good wine at her place most of the time. And if we
did go out, it was to restaurants without sticky floors and twenty-one-year-
olds crying in the bathroom.
Been there, done that, got the T-shirt and the pregnancy scare.
Now my bestie was shacked up with her grumpy veteran who absolutely
adored her, and I was profoundly happy for her. Normally, if I needed to
drown my sorrows, I’d go to Nora’s house. She’d feed me, give me fancy
wine in equally fancy glasses, and, if I imbibed too much, I’d stay in her
guest room.
Though Nora and Rowan were accommodating to me being a third
wheel—apart from their laughable attempts to get Kip and me together—
there was only so much of that I could do.
Beyond that, Nora had been through enough lately. She didn’t deserve
any more drama.
Sure, I could be somewhat of a drama queen, but I’d done well at
leaving all the actual drama on another continent.
So, Nora’s house was out.
But considering the letter I’d gotten today, I needed something. I could
not sit in my little seaside cottage in my favorite place in the world
contemplating the time I had left, contemplating what was waiting for me
on the other side.
Yeah, the noisy bar and the shitty drink were definitely needed.
“Haven’t seen you in here before.”
 I glanced to my right, to the man who had settled onto the barstool next
to me. My immediate reaction was to scowl at him.
“Even if I had come in here before, I’m not in my early twenties, full of
lip fillers and naivete. Therefore, I’m not on your radar,” I said sweetly.
Kip chuckled at the jab, as he tended to do whenever we spoke. It was
irritating, the way he treated my disinterest as cute, as if it wasn’t something
that should be used as a warning.
He was not cute. He was tanned, blond-haired, square-jawed, and
muscled with blue eyes and the All-American macho vibe.
So not my scene.
He was used to being every girl’s scene, which was why he’d never left
me alone. If I’d just let him fuck me the first time he’d tried to get into my
pants, he’d likely find someone else to try to fuck.
But no way. I wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t another notch in some
overgrown playboy’s bedpost.
“Touché,” he replied, sipping his beer. “But alas, there are no beautiful
young women at the bar tonight, so I spotted you.” He winked.
“Charming,” I replied, finishing my margarita and gesturing for another.
It was a quiet night at Jupiter’s one and only bar that served cheap
drinks, had a live band, and was a surefire place to find a quick fuck—if
you were into that kind of thing.
Kip most certainly was.
“What’s got you sitting here on a Tuesday night drinking alone?” he
asked, obviously settling in for a while. Unfortunately.
“Something that makes it so I’m not in the mood for company,” I said,
not looking at him.
“If you weren’t in the mood for company, you’d be making your own
margaritas at home,” he observed. “And if you were in the mood for good
company, then you’d be at Nora’s place, drinking fancy wine and eating
cheese boards or whatever the fuck.”
 Ew. He was far too observant.
“But you’re here,” he continued, holding out his hands, “drinking cheap
cocktails and snacking on peanuts.” He stared at the large pile of shells I’d
accumulated from stress eating.
“Are you a construction worker or a detective?” I snapped at him.
He tilted his head, regarding me with dancing eyes. “I’m a curious
dude.”
I took a long sip of my fresh drink, feeling drunk but, unfortunately,
worse. “You’re not going to go away until I tell you, are you?” I sighed.
“Nope,” he said, smiling and holding his bottle up to the bartender,
signaling another. “Like I said, it’s a dry night.”
Fuck.
Tequila loosened my tongue. Worse, I couldn’t keep this bottled up.
This panic, this fear. It had to go somewhere. And, unfortunately, Kip was
closest at my moment of weakness.
“I’m getting kicked out of the country,” I sang before taking another
large sip, staring at the array of bottles behind the bar.
“What do you mean?” Kip asked, his tone no longer teasing.
I didn’t dare look at him. “I mean I’ve been pretty creative these past
few years with student visas, with all sorts of loopholes, but there’s only so
long an Australian without a bunch of money or resources can dodge Uncle
Sam.”
My stomach flipped, likely as a result of the volume of tequila in my
body and the peanuts trying to soak it up.
And because I was shit scared.
“And since I haven’t fallen in love with a Yank or at the very least
bewitched him with my pussy in order for him to marry me and give me a
Green Card, I’m outta here in a little over ninety days,” I finished.
My heart wouldn’t stop pounding, drowning out the thumping bass of
the sound system. My mouth was dry from the salt around the rim of my
margarita.
It was then that I looked at Kip. He was no longer regarding me with his
familiar teasing, probing gaze. He looked much more serious than I’d seen
him. Ever.
This expression was almost… handsome. If that were an appropriate
thought to have at this juncture. Which it wasn’t.
“Three months, then you’re out?” he asked, voice rumbly and deep.
I nodded once. “Yep. Again, unless I trick a man into falling in love
with me or, at the very least, thinking I’m worth committing fraud for,” I
scoffed, shaking my head.
It was a joke, of course. Not because of the whole fraud thing. That
didn’t bother me overly much. No, it was more the marriage thing. I’d
made a vow to never commit to holy matrimony with someone ever again.
The mere thought of it made my blood run cold.
Marriage was my only option to stay in the country at this point. And
that wasn’t even an option.
“I’ll do it,” Kip said. “I’ll marry you.”
I jumped at his voice, having forgotten he was still sitting beside me. I
blinked rapidly, focusing on him, trying to find his smirk.
There was none.
“You’re fucking with me.” I rolled my eyes. “Good one.”
Kip and I had traded jabs since pretty much the first time we’d met.
This was as far as our relationship went. We didn’t like each other. Me
because he was a womanizing asshole with no depth, him because I didn’t
want to fuck him.
It made sense that he’d capitalize on my shitty situation.
The prick.
“I’m not fucking with you,” he replied, still sounding serious. “I’ll do it.
I’ll marry you so you can get your Green Card.”
 I squinted at him. I must’ve been drunker than I thought. “Fuck off,” I
muttered, turning my attention to my drink.
There was pressure at my chin. It came from Kip’s fingers grasping it,
turning it so I was once more looking at him. His face was closer to mine
than I remembered. His eyes glinted with an intensity I didn’t recognize.
Inexplicably, my pussy seemed to appreciate it.
Damn it. I’d gone so long without sex that I was getting turned on by
cocky assholes.
“I’m not fuckin’ with you,” he said quietly. “You’re important to Nora.
Rowan is important to me. Whatever hurts her hurts him. And when he’s
hurt, he’s like a bear with a splinter. I don’t want to have to be around that
grumpy bastard day in and day out.”
I stared at him. “You’re saying you’ll marry me because you don’t want
to deal with Rowan being in a bad mood?” I clarified.
“Partly,” he agreed. “Also, I haven’t been in a position to help someone
out in a while. Definitely not a woman with fear painted all over her at the
prospect of returning home.” His jaw clenched. “Know a thing or two about
that.” He let me go, thankfully, because then I could breathe again.
His easy smile returned, and he tagged his beer from the bar, standing.
“That’s my offer, sweetheart. Take it or leave it.” He winked. “You know
where to find me.”
Then the asshole sauntered off.
“Over my dead body,” I called to him as he walked away.

I found myself at Kip’s house two days later.

Two fucking days.
That’s how long my resolve lasted. That’s how long I spent exhausting
every other possible option. There were no other options. Except go home.
 Which wasn’t an option.
I was left with two choices. Both of them things I’d promised myself I’d
never do.
I picked the lesser evil.
Or so I thought.
Kip grinned when he answered the door. Grinned. Like he’d been
fucking expecting me.
That made the whole thing worse.
I almost turned on my heel and left right then.
Almost.
“Hey, baby,” he drawled, beer bottle dangling from his left hand.
“Ugh,” I groaned, pushing past him, snatching the beer as I went.
“Don’t call me baby.”
His laugh followed me down the hall.
His house was small. Had a nice exterior, but inside it looked exactly
what it was—a bachelor pad. It smelled of bacon and beer. The kitchen had
a bunch of dirty dishes in the sink. The living room to the left boasted two
leather couches, a stained wood coffee table, and a TV that was laughably
large compared to the entertainment unit it was precariously perched on.
“Not a good way to start the marriage,” Kip teased as he walked
through the kitchen, opening the fridge to retrieve himself another beer.
“This is not a marriage,” I spat, hating that I was here, second-guessing
myself even now. I took a long pull of the beer and put my palm to my
forehead. “Oh my god, what am I doing?” I cried, circling the room. “I
mean, if I am going to get married for a Green Card, it needs to be someone
else. Anyone else.”
Kip leaned against the kitchen island, smirking at me. “I don’t see
anyone else lining up to be your husband, sweetheart.”
I scowled at him. “There are plenty of men who would marry me like
that.” I snapped my fingers together.
 Kip raised a brow, as if he were inviting me to list them.
I racked my brain. In no way had I been a nun since I moved to Jupiter.
I enjoyed sex. There was a good number of single men in this town and
surrounding areas for me to engage in sex with. Plus, in the summer, the
population almost tripled with tourists and people who owned vacation
homes. I was never short of suitors.
Suitors who were more than willing to fuck me. Marry me? No. I
couldn’t even recall the last man I let stay over.
“Frank,” I blurted. “Frank would marry me in, like, a moment.”
Kip looked at me with a placid expression. “Frank is eighty years old.”
I pursed my lips. “He looks like a young seventy,” I countered.
He really did. Frank was my landlord. And he was former Army, a gruff
widower who read mystery books and ate muffins in the window of the café
every morning at nine. And he was a shameless flirt, plus a born protector.
“By all means, go marry Frank, then,” Kip invited with twinkling eyes.
Fuck.
He was enjoying this. My lack of options. Watching me squirm. What a
fucking asshole. Did I really want to be married to this guy? Even in a fake
marriage?
“Are you recording me or something?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.
“Are you trying to get me arrested? Because this was your idea, and that
would be entrapment.”
I had no fucking idea whether it would be entrapment or not. I didn’t
pay attention to the American legal system beyond watching SVU. But it
sounded right.
Kip chuckled. “That would be a lot of work. Plus, I’m not a narc.”
I rolled my eyes. “Getting married to me and breaking federal laws
while doing it, that’s not a lot of work?” I asked, taking another, longer pull
of the beer.
It wasn’t really hitting the spot. I needed tequila.
 He shrugged. “Like you said, it’s not gonna be a marriage. Basically, a
contract.”
I contemplated this. A contract. “If this is a contract, what do you want
out of it? I don’t have money.”
I had enough to buy expensive home decor, good wine and cheese, and
pay the rent on my cottage. In addition to my drunk online shopping
escapades, which were, unfortunately, numerous.
Kip screwed up his nose. “No, baby, I don’t want your money.”
He sounded offended at the insinuation, like he was some honorable
prince doing this out of the goodness of his heart. Except I knew that this
fucker was the furthest thing from honorable.
I placed my beer on the counter a little harder than necessary, not that it
mattered, considering the surface was covered in rings, stains, and crumbs.
Gross.
“I’m not fucking you either,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.
Kip’s eyes flickered to where I’d inadvertently pushed my tits upward.
My body tensed with his attention, but I refused to change my stance.
His gaze returned to my eyes, a little heat and hunger in it now. It was
only because he was a man and I had nice tits. That made sense.
What didn’t make sense was that I felt a little fire. Down there.
Had to be a UTI. No way was Kip’s smoldering look actually doing
anything to me.
“As much as you want to, we’re not fucking,” he told me with a tone
full of authority.
I wanted to argue with him on instinct.
Except I did not want to fuck him.
“As I said, this is a contract,” Kip continued. “We’re not muddling it up
with sex. Much to your disappointment.”
“Eat me.” I scowled at him.
 “Nuh-uh.” He waggled his finger at me. “Against the terms of the
agreement.”
Okay, fuck this guy. He was having far too much fun.
“So, you don’t want anything out of this?” I clarified.
He shook his head.
“You know that this actually has to be a believable marriage,” I
informed him. “To our closest friends and family, at least. USCIS could
interview them if they found this”—I waved my hands between us
—“suspicious.”
I’d done some preliminary research last night about it. Then I’d freaked
out about the NSA or whomever tracking my search history and using it
against me in my trial for defrauding the government.
I would not look good in orange.
But, from what I had gathered, we actually did have to be convincing as
a couple.
Kip’s carefree expression remained. “Figured as much. Is it really gonna
be that painful for you to pretend you like me and want my dick?” he asked
conversationally.
I felt my ears heat with irritation, and I decided not to deign that
question with an answer. “In addition to acting like a couple, we have to
live together.” I looked around his house with distaste. “And it won’t be
here.”
Again, Kip shrugged. “You got a guest room?”
I nodded.
“That’s sorted.”
He was making this too easy, being far too agreeable. I was waiting for
the other shoe to drop. Or I was missing some kind of ulterior motive.
“I know why I’m doing this. Why are you doing this?” I put my hands
on my hips. “Be honest with me. Your last name might be Goodman, but
you’re no one’s hero.”
 His expression was tight. Cold. “My reasons are my own. You try to
push it with the questions, you try to dig into my shit, we’re gonna have
problems.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
“Jesus, okay,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “I feel like it’s
only prudent to ask the man willing to commit immigration fraud by
marrying you as to why he wants to do that, but if you’re gonna go all Seal
Team Six on it…” I didn’t sound perturbed. I sounded casual, breezy.
But I would be lying if I said the abrupt change in his demeanor, tone,
and posture didn’t set my teeth on edge.
The Kip I knew—and granted, I didn’t know him that well—was jovial,
flirty, and much too cocky for my liking. Sure, he had the muscles that
communicated he was a tough guy, but I never got the dangerous, tortured
vibe from him. The vibe that was now etched into him.
He hid it well.
It was interesting, an untold depth. Nora had told me that he and Rowan
were deployed together, but she’d never delved into the details of what that
was.
I didn’t ask because it wasn’t my business.
And even if I was marrying this man, it still wasn’t my business. I didn’t
need to go learning things about him. And he certainly didn’t need to learn
things about me.
“We’re going to have to see a lawyer, to hammer out the details, but I
imagine we’ll need to be married for an extended amount of time… or at
least until my Green Card arrives,” I said, wringing my hands. “And we’re
not having sex. So…” I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to phrase this.
“I’m not going to be a nun in the time we’re married,” I blurted. “I have
a great collection of vibrators, but sometimes I need the real thing.”
Kip’s eyes widened, and his grin was even wider. “As much as your
vibrator collection intrigues me—”
 “Dream on, buddy,” I interrupted.
His smile dimmed. “We need to take care of our needs, we do it outside
of town limits. We know what this fuckin’ town is like. Last thing we need
is some kind of cheating scandal.”
I nodded once, careful to keep my face blank. It was a smart idea. This
application process was going to take a year, if not more. It was unrealistic,
to say the least, to expect both of us to stay chaste in that time. Despite that,
a bitter taste entered my mouth at the thought of Kip ‘taking care of his
needs.’ A double standard since I was the one who brought it up.
“Okay,” I said brusquely. “So, we’re really doing this.”
“We’re really doing this,” he responded.
“Last chance to back out.” I wasn’t sure if I was talking to him or me.
Kip was silent for a second. “Not known for backing out on my word”
was his response.
Ugh, what an American macho guy thing.
“So, we’re doing this,” I said again.
“For better, for worse, till death do us part,” he replied with a wink.
Though he was teasing, those words settled inside me like a stone. Cold,
heavy, foreboding.

The next order of business was an immigration lawyer.

I went two towns over for that. Mainly because we had one law practice
in Jupiter, and they were all regulars at the bakery—everyone was regulars
at the bakery because it was the tits—and therefore, people I would see
every day.
Not that I didn’t trust them to stay true to the whole lawyer
confidentiality thing, I just didn’t want the added hassle of continuing to
shit where I ate. And because I loved the town and almost everyone in it—
save for Nora’s ex’s mother, a right cunt—I didn’t want to engage anyone
else in this little federal crime.
The offices in Portsmith were nice, clean, modern, and devoid of any
warmth or personality. Exactly what I needed. I didn’t want anything to
make this process feel fun or romantic in any kind of way.
Kip was here because he had to be. It would’ve been weird if I came
alone. I was already resenting having to rely on him.
The first five minutes with the lawyer ensured that I would not mistake
this for a romantic process.
Our lawyer was Indian, maybe a little older than me, handsome, and
sharply dressed in a suit with a Burberry tie. He talked fast and was no
bullshit.
I’d spouted the whole ‘we’re in love and couldn’t bear the thought of
being apart’ spiel, with Kip by my side nodding and rubbing the back of my
neck. The asshole.
Our lawyer had listened for about two point five seconds before he
interrupted me.
“Okay, so we’re gonna get you married,” he said. “You’ve been together
for how long?”
I looked to Kip, panicked.
Shit. We hadn’t really debriefed on our pretend relationship. That was
something important, since we were going to face a lot of questions, not just
from the government but from our friends and every single person in town.
“Ten months,” I replied at the same time Kip said, “Seven months.”
I glared at him.
He smiled easily, picking up my hand and lifting it to his lips. “We
calculate our relationship differently,” he told the lawyer. “She goes by our
first official date.” He nodded to me. “I go by… something else.” He all but
waggled his fucking eyebrows to make his intention clear.
 The lawyer looked between the two of us with a blank expression but a
twitch to his lip.
Did he know? Suspect? Would he report us to the government? Lawyers
couldn’t do that. I’d already paid a fee. That’s what happened on Suits—you
gave them some money and they couldn’t narc on you.
But he could be an honest lawyer.
Shit.
I waited for him to call us on our bullshit.
“Okay,” he said, clapping his hands together.
I yanked my hand from Kip’s when the lawyer looked down at his
notes.
“There are a whole lot of forms we’ll need to fill out. My paralegal will
go through them with you. In addition, we’ll need photos, mementos from
your time together,” he said, looking back up at us. “As well as your joint
bank statements, bills, whatever you have together. Rental agreements.”
I struggled to keep my expression calm. He’d just listed a whole lot of
shit we didn’t have. Could we fake almost a year’s worth of couple photos?
And even if we could, we didn’t have any of the other shit regular couples
who were madly in love with each other did. Our closest friends believed
we hated each other—I still hadn’t quite figured out how I was going to
convince Nora, Tina, and Tiffany that I had not only been hiding the fact
that I was dating Kip but was planning on marrying him.
“Um, yeah, I’ll contact my landlord and get Kip on my lease,” I said,
clutching the arm of my chair. “We, um, haven’t really gotten around to a
lot of that other stuff.” I pasted on a smile. “It’s been a whirlwind. Is that
going to be a problem?”
Half of me wanted him to tell me yes, it was a huge fucking problem,
and we shouldn’t bother getting this visa because it would just get rejected
anyway. That would give me a whole new set of problems, but I didn’t
know how I was going to make it through this entire process. My boobs
were already sweating.
“No,” he said smoothly. “It’s not a big problem. I’d like you to get as
much together as you can now—like I said, health insurance, bank
accounts, whatever you can.” He waved his hand with nonchalance.
My mouth was bone dry.
Bank accounts. Health insurance.
What had I been thinking? That the government would just be happy
with a piece of paper, hand me a Green Card, and I could be on my merry
way?
“Well, at least we’ve got one thing sorted,” Kip said, sounding as if he
were coming through a tunnel. “I just finished the purchase of Fiona’s
house. I’ll have her added to the title right after this.”
I snapped my head to Kip. “What?” I shrieked.
He grinned at me. “I had planned on a romantic surprise, baby,” he
drawled. “But considering the time constraints and the legal process, I’ll
have to save the celebrating for later.” Another brow waggle that made me
want to punch him in the dick.
“You bought my house?” I clarified, a low ringing in my ears.
He nodded, glancing to the lawyer and back at me. “Like I said, I
wanted it to be a surprise. Now we own your home.”
“You own it,” I ground out.
He shrugged. “But your name will be on the title.”
That fuck. That fucking fuck.
He bought my house. Because he likely knew a little bit more than me
about what was required with the visa process. And because he saw an
opportunity to fuck with me.
Yeah, my name might be on the title, but he’d have all the control.
I grabbed his hand. “Honey, that is such a wonderful surprise,” I told
him sweetly, digging my nails into the skin of his palm as hard as I could.
 He inhaled a sharp breath, but his eyes were dancing, lips still turned
up.
“Now that’s sorted,” the lawyer said, scribbling. “As I said, my
paralegal will go over a bunch of forms with you, and there will be a lot of
questions. But have the two of you ever been married before?”
I froze. Again, this question should not have taken me by surprise. It
was par for the course. Nothing was private. Though I’d had the mad idea
that Kip wouldn’t be in the room when I was asked this question, that it
would be on a form with a box I could check.
“Yes,” I said, staring at the lawyer.
At the same time, Kip tensed beside me and muttered, “Yep.”
Again, I didn’t know who was more surprised, me or him.
We stared at each other. His expression was morose, somber even. He
was closed off, that playful exterior he’d plastered on for the lawyer gone.
So, we both had secrets.
“Okay, well, as long as both marriages have been appropriately
dissolved, that shouldn’t be a problem,” the lawyer said, jerking me away
from Kip’s gaze.
I realized I still held his hand in mine. I dropped it.
“Yes, appropriately dissolved,” I murmured, thinking of the nightmare
that had been. The months it took for me to even find the courage to meet
with a lawyer. The endless forms, the police reports. The fear.
Then… the freedom.
Kip nodded fiercely in response to the lawyer’s statement.
Despite the need to stay out of Kip’s personal life—as much as a fake
wife could—I found myself very curious about his previous wife.
Obviously, it was a bad breakup. I wondered if he cheated on her. His man-
whoring ways were not subtle.
But maybe the man-whoring was an aftereffect of her leaving him. Or
her cheating on him.
It didn’t do good to wonder.

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 two
. . .

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The Wedding

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present

kip
“I NOW PRONOUNCE you husband and wife. You may kiss
the bride.”
Those words echoed in my ears the whole goddamn night. And the kiss.
The motherfucking kiss.
Fiona, although drunk, looked shocked and terrified at the prospect of
the kiss in front of our small audience. Both of us had known it was
coming. Both of us were of sound mind when we made this decision.
Well, I think she was, at least.
I couldn’t say my mind had been sound in about… five years. Suffice it
to say, I was sober when I made the decision. Painfully so.
Sure, I’d had a beer or two in me the night I proposed the wedding, but
the days after, thinking about it, I’d known I was serious. And if Fiona
showed up at my door wanting to get married, I’d do it.
And she did show up.
Looking like I was holding a gun to her head.
As she’d looked pretty much the entire day. She strutted down the aisle
as if she were preparing for battle, her bouquet her weapon. Her chin was
held high in defiance, and she’d made a concerted effort not to look at me.
That had been my plan too.
Except you couldn’t not look at her. She’d forgone the traditional white
—as I’d expected. This was far from a traditional wedding, and Fiona
wasn’t exactly the puffy white dress kind of woman.
 She went with red. Like a flame coming out. Her blonde hair was down
in wild curls, framing the delicate face, the full lips, the electric eyes. The
dress clung to her every curve. And fuck, were those curves impressive. I’d
spent months drinking them in, wondering what it would be like to see her
naked, taste her nipples, her pussy. What it would feel like to be inside her.
Which had been the problem. I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about
the women I fucked. I usually singled them out on the night in question, did
some smooth-talking, took them home, fucked them, and forgot them
before they even left the bed.
Yeah, the feisty Australian was dangerous. I’d tried to fuck her, of
course, because I couldn’t help myself. But she wasn’t interested. A good
thing for the both of us.
I’d done well flirting with her and pretending it wasn’t her face I
thought of when I jerked off, but then I had to go and agree to fucking
marry her.
I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to fuck her. And the surefire way to
do that, in my fucking warped mind? Marry her.
She needed a Green Card. I needed my mother to stop calling me, and
then my sister to stop calling me to tell me how much Mom was worrying
about me. I needed my father to stop sending me fucking emails about my
‘responsibilities’ that made me throw my computer across the room. I
needed my whole goddamn family to get off my back.
The marriage solved a problem for me. I wasn’t just doing it out of the
goodness of my heart. Yeah, I’d seen the fear and panic in Fiona’s eyes that
night in the bar, and I didn’t want a woman to feel that fear. I especially
didn’t want Fiona to feel that fear. In fact, I had a fleeting moment of rage
toward whoever the fuck put that fear in her eyes and a need to kill them.
That passed quickly.
It had to.
I didn’t have strong feelings like that.
 Not for a long time.
Selfish reasons.
That’s why I was marrying her. Nothing else.
“Interesting ceremony,” Rowan said as he sidled up to me. I was
nursing a whisky and watching Fiona down yet another glass of
champagne, taking a chunk of our wedding cake with her bare hands and
shoving it in her mouth. I guessed we weren’t doing the whole ‘cutting the
cake’ thing. We’d already gotten a handful of pictures we would use for the
lawyer and our little couple album. Though I had the suspicion that Fiona
was scowling in all of them.
“You could say that,” I replied, still watching her. “You know me. I
don’t do things traditional.”
“Your last wedding was pretty traditional.”
The words hit me like bullets. Every cell in my body tensed up. I
gripped my glass with enough force to shatter it.
Now I dragged my eyes from Fiona—my wife—to glare at my best
friend.
“Don’t,” I ground out in warning.
My reputation here in Jupiter was as the easygoing ladies’ man. A
reputation I’d crafted on purpose, one that wouldn’t hint at any of the truth,
wouldn’t attract women wanting to stick around to try to settle down with
me.
But sometimes my mask slipped. And I felt him. The man I’d starved,
silenced, and struggled against for years. The one who wanted to hurt. To
kill. With his bare fucking hands.
And right now, part of me—a fucking large part—wanted to tear my
best friend apart.
Rowan could see that. Because part of his job before this was to
establish threats. Take them out. He was well aware of how dangerous I
could be. How unhinged.
 “Does she know?”
I mashed my teeth together, trying to find some semblance of calm. It
wouldn’t do well for the bride to get shit-faced and the groom to beat the
shit out of his best man at the wedding.
“That’s none of your damn business,” I hissed.
Rowan nodded once, watching me intently. His overall posture seemed
casual, but I knew he was tensed, prepared for me to lash out.
“Your parents know?” he continued.
We’d originally planned on getting married at city hall. Except we
actually needed our friends to know about the wedding in order for them to
believe we were a couple. And when Nora found out, she was appalled at
the idea of city hall. She’d taken over. Fiona had reined her in somewhat,
but even I wasn’t brave enough to step in.
It didn’t matter much to me.
What did matter was that my parents and my family most fucking
definitely were not coming.
“They will,” I said, sipping my whisky.
I fucking ached to get drunk. But Fiona was getting drunk enough for
the both of us. Someone had to get us home safely.
Home.
I hadn’t had one of those in years. My place in Jupiter served its
purpose. Had walls, a roof, a place to sleep, eat, and fuck.
Fiona’s cottage was most definitely a home. She’d spent a whole lot of
time collecting knickknacks, making it full but not cluttered. There was
light coming in at all points of the day, bookshelves full of tattered
paperbacks, candles, throws, plenty of places to sit and relax.
I wasn’t a man to say the word ‘cozy’ out loud, but fuck, it was cozy.
She loved it here. You could see that with how she’d established a
home. Created roots.
 And I’d bought the house. Because I understood that we’d need shit like
that in order to convince Uncle Sam we were serious. Because I had the
money. And yeah, because I was a sick asshole who wanted to fuck with
her, just a little.
She’d been pissed.
Really fucking pissed.
It turned out she was hot as shit when she was pissed off.
That didn’t bode well for me, since she was pissed off whenever she
was in my presence, and I had to be in her presence for a good while and
not fuck her.
“Your mom will be happy,” Rowan commented, sipping his beer. He,
too, was nursing one because he was driving his woman home and wouldn’t
do anything to put her at risk.
The way he loved her hurt me to look at sometimes.
I was happy as all hell for my grumpy best friend. He deserved that shit.
And Nora was sweet, funny, and goofy as shit. It was great to see two
people who deserved it get happiness.
But it made me bitter. Angry.
I hid that well, fortunately.
“She will be happy,” I agreed. I dreaded telling my mother. Because she
would be ecstatic. She’d jump in the car and try to make the drive down
before hanging up the phone. She’d try to inject herself into my life, into
Fiona’s life. Because that’s the kind of person my mother was. She was
sweet, easily excited, and had a giant heart. But she was overbearing. It had
caused tension in my last marriage. A lot of it.
And that had been a real marriage.
It was already going to be hard enough around our friends and the
busybodies of this fucking town. The last thing we needed was my mother
scaring Fiona off all the way to fucking Australia.
 “Might mend some things,” Rowan continued, not gauging just how
tenuously I was holding on to my shit. “This marriage.”
“That, I doubt,” I replied.
Some things couldn’t be mended.

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fiona
I didn’t remember much about my wedding reception.
On account of me getting blackout drunk.
Just like I planned.
Unfortunately, I remembered getting home.
Or parts of getting home.
Namely Kip carrying me from the car to the house.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I slurred, trying weakly to struggle. But
his arms were a vise, and my limbs weren’t exactly cooperating.
Kip didn’t answer. His face was tight in my porch light, something
similar to the glowering he’d been doing all night. When I looked at him,
that was. I tried my best not to do that.
But we had a part to play. Our best friends were in attendance at the
small wedding ceremony we’d held at the bakery.
If I had to guess, my getting wasted and Kip frowning the entire time
weren’t exactly convincing them.
“You’re carrying me over the threshold?” I groaned. “Lemme down.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered as we stepped inside the house.
There it was, the groom carrying the bride over the threshold.
It was so ridiculous I let out a giggle. Well, it was more of a snort. Not
attractive. Then again, I didn’t need to be attractive. It wasn’t like I was
planning on seducing my husband on our wedding night.
Kip moved through the house, switching on lights as he went. He’d only
just moved his things in the day before, when I had thankfully been
working. Giving him a set of keys was physically painful, and I didn’t need
to see him settling into a space that had been mine for so long.
 All day yesterday I’d been convincing myself to back out, to find other
options, any other option.
There was no backing out now. I was married.
I landed on my bed, and the air came out of me in a whoosh. Kip stood
above me in his suit, frowning. “You need a bowl to vomit in?”
I propped myself up on my elbows, displeased with our positions and
the distribution of power between us.
Originally, I had intended on standing up and going toe-to-toe with him,
but the ceiling moved dangerously with the simple act of propping myself
up.
“I do not need to vomit,” I assured him. “What I need is a… grilled
cheese.”
Kip quirked his brow. “You want me to make you a grilled cheese?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything for me,” I snapped. “I can make it
myself.” Once I figured out how to make the ceiling stop spinning.
“You can’t stand on two feet, let alone operate anything that’s capable
of setting this house on fire,” he pointed out. The asshole. “Stay here,” he
said, then strode out of the room.
I tried to get up because I didn’t like being told what to do. I especially
didn’t like Kip telling me what to do.
Kip.
My husband.
“Ugh,” I said out loud, falling back on the bed when I tried to get off it.
My stomach churned. I was pretty fucking wasted. By design. I knew
myself well enough to know that if I didn’t eat in the next fifteen minutes,
I’d be vomiting the rest of the night.
I didn’t have any snacks on my nightstand. A rookie fucking move. And
the kitchen was too far away.
The room was spinning.
I was fucked.
 I wasn’t sure how long I lay there staring at the ceiling, but it couldn’t
have been fifteen minutes because I didn’t vomit yet.
Kip’s footfalls sounded as he walked back into the bedroom.
“You’re deluded if you think you’re sleeping in here,” I informed him,
though I wasn’t in any state to properly protest him if he decided to.
He didn’t reply, just set something down on my nightstand.
I gazed lovingly at the plate with a grilled cheese. He placed water and
pills next to it, but they were far less interesting.
“You made me grilled cheese?”
“Either that or you choke on your vomit in the night,” Kip said.
“Did you put arsenic in it?” I asked, sitting up.
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t be smart of me to poison my new wife on the
night of our wedding.”
I regarded him, trying to figure out his tactics, why he’d make me a
sandwich of all things.
His lips were still stretched upward, but his eyes were doing something
different. They looked almost… melancholy. But surely that was too
complicated of an emotion for a man who was so shallow.
I snatched the grilled cheese, shoving it in my mouth with a groan of
pleasure. “You can go now,” I mumbled past the food. “Thanks,” I said after
I swallowed, reluctant to say it. I waved the sandwich in his face. “For this.
And for, um… marrying me, I guess.”
His mouth thinned. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said gruffly. “I did
this for my own reasons.” He stared at me, and I suddenly felt small and
vulnerable. “I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, Fiona.
You’d do well to remember that.”
Then he turned and walked out of my room.
I stared at the empty spot he’d been standing in, blinking rapidly. “Well,
fuck,” I muttered. Then I went back to my sandwich.
 There might’ve been a time to think further on his cryptic little parting
statement, but when I had a hot grilled cheese in front of me, I had other
priorities.
And despite the sandwich and what such a gesture might communicate,
I’d never forget that Kip wasn’t doing this for noble reasons. I’d never
mistake him for the hero.

My head was pounding the next morning.

Daggers were being plunged into my temples.
I was on a boat. My bed was jerking as if we were in rough seas.
Once I blinked the blinding morning light from my eyes, I realized I
was not, in fact, on a boat, and I was indeed in my bed.
I was just really fucking hungover.
Getting drunk had seemed like the only sensible solution on my fake
wedding day. Now I was kind of regretting it.
I groaned, rolling over in bed and almost face-planting into a plate of
half-eaten grilled cheese.
Vague moments of last night started piecing themselves together. The
vows. The kiss. Nora being pregnant. I’d deduced it when she didn’t touch
the expensive champagne I’d charged on Kip’s credit card.
“What’s mine is yours, remember, honey?” I’d called to him when I’d
requested the card that he had interestingly forked over without a fight.
She’d been trying to keep the pregnancy a secret so as not to ruin my
special day. Because she thought it was a special day.
Ugh.
My best friend was preggers.
Ah, at least one happy thing had happened yesterday.
Had Kip… carried me over the threshold?
 Yes, he had.
Then he’d made me a grilled cheese.
And I remembered it being fucking amazing.
Then again, anything fried and full of cheese and carbs when you were
wasted was amazing. Nothing to be impressed by. I’d eat a human head if it
was deep-fried when I was in that state.
I rolled onto my back, wincing at the pain and the churning of my
stomach that came with the movement.
Staring at the ceiling, I contemplated my day. Nora had insisted I have
the day off. She’d tried really hard for the week, trying to convince me that
I needed a honeymoon.
I’d fought hard on that one. We were doing enough for this thing, lying
to our friends, committing fraud, living together for an indefinite amount of
time. I did not need Kip to ruin a perfectly good vacation.
Beyond that, I couldn’t afford it.
Nora paid me well. Far too well, honestly. I was nothing but a glorified
barista. Sure, I helped managed the place when Nora was spiraling, sick, or
baking up a storm. Tina did that too.
It wasn’t a chore. I fucking loved working at the bakery—except the
early mornings, I’d never get used to those. I got to work with people I
loved, and there were always delicious sugary sweets around. I had
freedom, full benefits, and enough money to pay the rent on my seaside
cottage, plus buy myself clothes and nice furniture. It was enough to make a
life, a great one.
I’d been in America long enough and worked enough jobs to understand
that was hard to come by.
So yeah, my best friend was a fucking gem. Except when she was trying
to force me to go on a honeymoon and take the day off after I got married.
Granted, if I actually liked my husband, I’d be happy to spend the week
shagging and drinking umbrella drinks on a beach somewhere. It’d be
awesome.
As it was, it was a fucking nightmare.
“What the fuck have you done, you stupid bitch?” I said out loud, lying
back on the pillow placing my palm to my forehead. “You’re fucked.”

It took me a long time to get out of bed.

Then I sat in the bottom of the shower for about thirty minutes before I
brushed my teeth and slapped on some moisturizer that Nora gave me
because she’d been horrified to know I used the same stuff on my face as I
did on my body.
I wasn’t into expensive skincare like Nora was, but I had to say that I
did enjoy the feel of the stuff she gave me. It smelled nice too. Though I
didn’t notice a huge difference, especially not for the price tag of the stuff.
My skin was holding up well without Botox and in spite of my
preference for sunning on Bondi Beach without sunblock in my youth.
Good genes. The one thing my mother did for me.
I wasn’t some kind of low-maintenance bitch. I got biweekly manicures.
A massage every month. I had my golden hair highlighted every six weeks
so it looked sun-kissed, and the split ends were sheared off. Thanks to all
that tanning I did in my youth, I had a base layer of sorts, and my skin
always tanned easily. There was a small scattering of freckles across the
bridge of my nose that became more pronounced in winter.
I bit my lip as I regarded my naked body.
Back in my twenties, when I’d been married, it was always slim, toned,
and without an ounce of fat to be found. I was constantly hungry, counting
the calorie of every piece of food that went into my mouth and always
finding something wrong with my body.
 My relationship with myself and food had been unhealthy to say the
least.
It had taken years after my divorce and my move to let go of that shit.
To eat what I wanted, to love my fucking body. To not want to kill myself
for eating a slice of cake.
Working at a bakery helped.
Not my waistline, but to determine that my worth was not measured by
my dress size.
As it was, my hips were wider, and my stomach was no longer
washboard flat, but I was still what most people would consider slim. I still
looked great in clothes.
Sometimes, staring at my naked body, I heard my ex-husband’s voice in
my head, telling me everything that was wrong with me.
I especially heard his voice on days when I was so hungover, I deeply
believed I was a terrible person and would never feel joy again.
“Fucking booze,” I muttered to my reflection, stomping into my room to
yank on some sweats and a faded tee that might’ve once said ‘I saw The
Kooks in Barcelona.’
I didn’t bother making my bed. Usually I did, even though I despised
the task, especially at the early hours of the morning I got up. But I’d read
something once about how making a bed would set you up for the entire
day and make your life feel less like a dumpster fire.
As it was, there wasn’t much I could do to not make my life feel like a
dumpster fire.
Coffee was the most important thing to me right now.
I stumbled to the kitchen, wincing at the sun streaming through the
windows, glaring at the ocean and the view that normally brightened my
mornings and reminded me of home.
No sign of Kip.
That was good.
 I couldn’t deal with that right now.
I especially couldn’t deal with him and the grilled cheese he made me
last night. He didn’t need to make it for me. He could’ve told me to fuck
off. I would’ve told me to fuck off.
The gesture was far too… considerate for my liking.
Roommates. That’s what we were.
I busied myself with making coffee and convinced myself that you
could not, in fact, die from a hangover.
I jumped when the front door opened and closed, and for a second, I
considered lunging to the kitchen counter to grab a knife from my knife
block to wield at the intruder.
Then I remembered.
My roommate.
Kip came into the kitchen sweating.
And shirtless.
Music blared from the headphones still in his ears.
And his abs.
Holy fuck, his abs.
Washboard.
Like I could literally scrub my laundry on those fucking things. If I
scrubbed laundry. They were sculpted. Perfect. Or they might’ve been
except for the long, jagged scar that ran diagonally across his torso. A
couple of smaller ones surrounded it.
Of course, the scars only made him more attractive. Dangerous.
Shirtless and glistening with sweat, he did not look like the cheeky,
cocky Kip I’d come to know and low-key despise.
No, he was a guy I’d fuck.
He grinned at me when he took out the headphones. “How’s the head?
Did you wake up covered in your own vomit? I debated sleeping with you
to ensure you didn’t actually choke on your own vomit, but I didn’t want
you yakking on me, so I figured you’d survive.”
Ugh.
There was the asshole.
Definitely not a guy I’d fuck.
Ever.
I made a mental note to etch that in stone somewhere.
I scowled at him, pointedly looking him up and down. “You’re really
one of those guys who jogs without his shirt on?” I asked, leaning against
the edge of the counter, cradling my coffee cup. “Women work out just as
hard and get just as hot, and you don’t see us jogging down the street with
our tits flopping about.”
Kip grinned. “Unfortunately.”
I sipped my coffee. “You’re a fucking perv,” I said. “And contrary to
what you believe, we do not want to see your nipples when you’re going for
a jog. Keep your shirt on.”
He regarded me, still grinning, teasing in his eyes.
“You want to see my nipples, don’t you?” he mocked. “I need to keep
my shirt on because my wife can’t control herself.”
I almost choked on my coffee when he said the W word. Even in jest, it
slammed into me with force.
I was in my kitchen, violently hungover, bickering with a man I’d
married yesterday.
My husband.
What the fuck had I done?
“I can control myself, since none of that appeals to me,” I spat, waving
my hand at his impressive torso. “Wear a fucking shirt.”
Then I walked out of the room so I could bury myself in my duvet and
pretend this was all a dream.
Or a fucking nightmare.
OceanofPDF.com
 three
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Mince and Cheese Pies

I WAS ENJOYING the brisk temperature of the Atlantic Ocean

and the distraction I got from battling against the tides when something
grabbed me.
Because I was previously alone in this vast stretch of ocean, I was taken
somewhat by surprise. I wasn’t proud of the shriek I let out, or the seawater
that entered my mouth after that shriek. Because I was trying to expel the
seawater from my lungs and not drown, I didn’t get to fight against the
thing holding me as much as I wanted.
So, the man assaulting me in the ocean was able to do it without much
resistance.
I did manage to catch a glimpse of the man in question in order to
ascertain that he was not some wild serial killer or rapist.
No.
It was my husband.
Literally dragging me out of the ocean. For whatever reason.
We made it to the shallows, my feet finding the sand and struggling to
keep up with the waves and Kip’s long and purposeful strides.
“Let me go, asshole!” I yelled at him, struggling a little better now that I
was on somewhat solid ground.
 “What the fuck were you doing?” he roared, still gripping my upper arm
and dragging me from the waves.
I tried to fight him, but his grip was a vise, and I was disoriented. For
whatever reason, he was obviously intent on getting me out of the water.
Maybe he’d seen a shark.
I squinted back at the ocean, looking for the telltale fin of a great white.
There had been increased shark sightings off the coast but nothing that
worried me too much. I was from fucking Australia, for fuck’s sake. A
shark or two didn’t scare me.
Kip kept dragging me as I muttered curses, which he ignored. This day
was really shaping up to be a shitty one. I should’ve stayed in bed all day
and binged the Harry Potter movies. That was a surefire hangover cure.
But no, I’d been determined to get out of the house, far too aware that
Kip was banging around the place, sullying my sanctuary.
Now here he was fucking up another place I held sacred.
The proximity to the beach was one of the main selling points of my
little cottage. That and the cheap-as-chips rent because my landlord was a
seventy-year-old local man who didn’t want to capitalize on his investment.
All he asked for was for me to save a croissant for him daily. Which I did.
Not for the first time, I wondered how in the fuck Kip managed to
charm the grumpy former Marine who’d owned my cottage since he was
first married. He’d once told me it would be sold over his ‘cold dead body.’
Since he was still alive and well, Kip must’ve charmed him somehow.
The asshole.
Once we made it back to the beach and I wasn’t being assaulted by
waves, I managed to shake him off more easily.
“What the fuck?” I demanded, hands on my hips, pissed off.
Though if I was pissed off, Kip was something else entirely. He looked
positively murderous.
 “My question exactly,” he said, voice not quite a yell but much louder
than was polite in conversation. Then again, it wasn’t polite to go about
dragging people out of the ocean.
“What the fuck were you doing out there?” he demanded, pointing to
the waves with an angry jab.
I looked from him to the water, dripping on the sand, a little chilly from
the wind picking up and wearing nothing but a bikini.
“I don’t know if the swimsuit is a giveaway or not,” I informed him
smarmily, putting my hands on my hips and pushing my chest out just a
little.
Kip’s eyes flickered down my body, and I was incredibly aware of my
nipples pressing through the fabric of my top.
It was because of the cold. It was nothing to be ashamed of. Free the
nipple and all that.
I ignored the heat that sparked in my body with Kip’s fleeting gaze.
“Are you mad? Or just trying to kill yourself?” he gritted out.
I glared at him for a second before snatching my towel from the pile I’d
left on the beach.
“Up until about three months ago, I really liked my life,” I stated,
wrapping the towel around me. “And you, though irritating, are nowhere
near important enough to make me want to take my own life. In fact, no
man has ever or will ever be important enough for that.”
I lifted the towel and wrung my hair out with it, purposefully not
covering myself for too long. Fuck him, I wasn’t going to huddle into
myself like a coward.
“And though our nuptials may say otherwise, I am of sound mind,” I
added.
His nostrils flared as he continued with the whole murderous glare
thing. “You’re swimming at one of the most dangerous beaches in the
area… in a fucking bikini,” he growled, his gaze moving angrily down my
body again. This time it garnered no heat. “You could either be caught in a
goddamn riptide or get fuckin’ hypothermia.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been swimming in the ocean since I could walk,”
I informed him. “My parents weren’t really good at keeping an eye on me,
so I learned how to sink or swim real quick. I’ve been swimming in that
water…” I tried to point angrily like him, but I ended up worrying whether
that weird flesh of my triceps wiggled when I did so.
I mentally added some kind of arm routine to my workout schedule.
Then I mentally added ‘workout’ to my schedule.
“I’ve been swimming in that water,” I repeated, “since I moved here.
And I’m still standing, still breathing.”
Kip’s gaze didn’t falter. “That’s the last time you do it.”
He said it just like that. As if by speaking the words, they were etched
into stone. Into law.
I hated nothing more than being told what to do. “Well, mate, here’s
some news.” I stepped forward so I was toe-to-toe with him. “You’re not
the boss of me.”
Kip’s gaze was thunderous. “First thing, I’m not your fucking mate. I’m
your goddamn husband.”
The word sent shock waves through my body, just as it had this
morning.
“And second, I’m goin’ through enough shit for you right now,
pretending to be in love with you,” he continued, his voice a low, pissed-off
rumble. “I sure as shit don’t want to have to pretend to mourn you at your
goddamn funeral.”
“No one forced you into this,” I snapped at him. “And again, I am not
stupid enough to die in the ocean. I am stupid enough to marry you and
think I could consume as much booze as I did in my twenties and not want
to live in a deep hole for the remainder of the day. What I really need to
cure this hangover is a mince and cheese pie. But this fucking country has
not embraced meat pies for some ungodly reason. I mean, you have every
other grease-filled, deep-fried junk food on planet Earth. Except pies.” I
threw my hands up in the air. “Madness.”
The wind cut against my skin again, and I ignored it.
“So, I can’t have a mince and cheese pie to make me feel halfway
human,” I said. “But there is an ocean right there, cold and wild enough to
shock the hangover out of me, remind me that I’m alive, and jump-start my
metabolism or whatever the fuck Joe Rogan and his scientist buddies are
talking about it doing.”
Kip looked at me with a measured gaze for a long time. Too long. My
teeth were going to start chattering soon, but fuck if I was going to cover
myself up. He’d ranted about hypothermia, and I bet it’d make his fucking
day to see himself proved right. I forced my body not to shake and met his
level gaze.
“You go out there again, I’ll tan your fucking ass,” he said quietly.
Now, I should’ve argued with that in theory. I really fucking wanted to
argue with that. Beyond telling me what to do—which he had no fucking
right to do—it was such a misogynistic bullshit threat that went against
everything I stood for.
Spanking did not do it for me. I did not manifest my daddy issues that
way.
So yes, I should’ve argued with him on that.
But I kept my mouth glued shut.
Because I was too busy thinking about Kip tanning my ass.
And I was fucking liking that visual.
His eyes flickered with something that resembled hunger as if in
response to whatever expression was on my face.
Luckily that was only fleeting, and a frown quickly replaced it before he
turned on his heel and stomped off the beach.
 I should’ve jumped right back in the water the second his back was
turned. Just to show I could, that I wasn’t afraid of him.
Except I didn’t.
Because although I wasn’t technically afraid of Kip, I was smart enough
to know that was not an empty threat just now. He would literally tan my
ass if I got in the water.
And I did not need that on top of everything else.
So I grabbed my shit, dried myself off, and stomped back to my house.
This was going to be a long fucking year.

I avoided Kip for the rest of the day.

It was easy because he was gone by the time I got back. Thankfully. I’d
found my senses once I’d warmed up and gotten back inside, and I felt
confident and angry enough to shout at him about the ‘tanning my ass’
comment and general ‘manly man’ bullshit on the beach.
Him ordering me around for the duration of this marriage was not going
to fly. He was acting like Rowan did with Nora, all macho and dominant.
Granted, that worked for her, and he really pulled it off. Plus, she got
really fucking amazing sex from it all.
Maybe the alpha thing might’ve worked—on occasion—if I got mind-
blowing orgasms, but we were not doing that. Our marriage was on paper
only. And fuck if I was only going to get the shitty parts of these masculine
American men without the benefits.
I stewed on it in the bath with Taylor Swift blasting so I didn’t have to
hear him when he came home. If he came home.
Ugh. It was still gross and uncomfortable thinking of him living here. In
my home.
I didn’t do roommates.
 Even when I first moved to the States and had fuck all to my name, I
scrimped and saved and worked my ass off in order to live in a semi-
sketchy neighborhood without having to label my food or whatever the fuck
you had to do when you lived with someone.
No thank you.
It’d been years of shitty apartments before I finally found Jupiter and
my cottage. Like it was fate. Like the universe was finally giving me a
break. A sanctuary.
I had cultivated a lovely space that was my own.
And now Kip was here.
But I’d also put myself in a situation where him living here was my
only option. So I really only had myself to blame.
Suffice it to say, I was not in the best of moods once I dragged myself
out of the lukewarm bathwater.
I was also still hungover and fucking starving. I’d grazed on what I had
in the pantry—which was basically nothing because I’d purposefully not
stocked up for Kip moving in. I didn’t want to give him any ideas about me
being some kind of fucking housewife.
I’d done something to be petty toward him and only ended up punishing
myself. Served me right. I was in my mid-thirties. I should probably grow
up.
When I walked into the kitchen, I’d been mentally hyping myself up to
enjoy some baked chickpeas with a bunch of old cheese melted on top. But
I was assaulted with something else.
A smell.
A fucking delectable smell.
And Kip. In my kitchen. Cooking. With an apron and everything. I was
sure I didn’t own an apron.
I stopped in my tracks to stare at him. He’d obviously been in here a
while if the dishes on the drying rack were anything to go by. I hadn’t heard
him return on account of Taylor Swift reverberating in my bones.
“What are you doing?” I asked, peeved about the use of my oven and
about how fucking good whatever he was making smelled.
“Cooking,” he said, tone teasing.
Gone was the pissed-off macho man of before. I was glad for it too.
That version of him was confusing and somehow more infuriating in a hot
way. This cocky version was infuriating in a way that was… safer.
I scowled at him. “I have eyes,” I snapped. “You know how to cook?” I
asked, surprised. When I’d been to his house—granted, it was only once—it
had been messy with all sorts of take-out boxes and packages of microwave
dinners lying around.
I’d taken those hints to deduce that he didn’t cook. Or clean.
But the tidy workspace and the smell in my kitchen directly argued with
that.
He glanced up at me. “I have been known to in my life.”
I scowled at him again.
“I need to use the oven,” I whined, extra sad about my fucking
chickpeas now. But no way would I ask him to have whatever he was
making. I was too stubborn for that.
He leaned against the counter to stare at me. “You can cook?” he asked
with a knowing tone.
I, in fact, could not. I had a nice kitchen—my landlord had it upgraded
before I’d moved in, as if he was doing me a favor. I’d oohed and ahhed
over the stainless-steel appliances and stone countertops because I didn’t
want to hurt his feelings, but the truth was I could poach an egg and that
was about it.
Domestic goddess I was not. And I didn’t need to be. Not when I had
Nora Henderson, baker and chef extraordinaire, just down the road.
I ate at her place often and fended for myself where I could. America
had a lot of options for a shitty cook like me to eat reasonably well. Though
I did have bouts of guilt every now and again about the food I was
consuming and whether it was contributing to the decline of my health or
whatever.
Luckily those bouts were fleeting.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I can cook,” I told Kip.
“Babe, we’re gonna be livin’ together for the foreseeable future. Lying
to me right now isn’t really gonna do much but embarrass yourself in the
long term.”
I wanted to scream. Or punch him. Right in his smug face. “Fuck you,”
I replied. “And don’t call me babe. We’re not a couple.”
“You might want to be a little more agreeable to the man who just made
you mince and cheese pies,” he told me, bending down to retrieve a tray
from the oven.
I blinked, realizing why the scent had smelled so good. Because it was
familiar. It was the smell of pie warmers in dairies from my youth.
Except better. Way better.
Kip put the tray of pies on top of the oven, and I stared at them. The
crusts were golden, and the pastry looked flaky. Cheese and mince bubbled
over the side.
“Glad you married me now, aren’t you?” he asked cheekily.
“Don’t,” I snapped, holding my finger up to shush him. “Don’t you ruin
it.”
The pies captivated me, both the look of them and the scent. My mouth
literally watered.
I forced my gaze from the pies to Kip. “Is there some catch?” I
demanded. “Are you going to make me get on my knees or something?”
Though I would never get on my knees for a man normally, I would for
a freshly baked mince and cheese pie when I was hungover.
Kip tilted his head, grasping his chin in an exaggerated pondering
gesture. “Hmmm,” he hummed, dragging the sound along.
 “Fuck you, asshole,” I muttered. “I’ll go and buy myself something.”
Though I sounded resolute, I didn’t actually move. My feet didn’t seem to
want to work.
He chuckled as he regarded me. “As tempting as the idea of you on your
knees is, I’m not going to make you do anything.”
I regarded him with skepticism. “You’re not going to make me do
anything?” I parroted. “You just made mince and cheese pies from scratch
out of the goodness of your heart?” Saying it out loud made it sound all the
more ridiculous.
“Not exactly out of the goodness of my heart,” he said, reaching up into
the cabinets for plates. “I’m hungry, too, and as soon as you talked about
them, I was curious. I like making and eating new things.” He waggled his
brows, and I groaned at his childish sense of humor.
“No strings,” he told me, placing a pie on the plate and holding it out to
me. “Scout’s honor.”
Walking away probably would’ve been the best option.
But my feet carried me forward, and I grasped the plate from him.
“There’s a good girl,” he murmured.
I froze immediately. “No,” I snapped, pointing at him with the hand not
clutching the plate. “I am not into praise kink,” I lied.
Kip held up his hands in surrender, and I turned to walk away.
“I’ll find your kink,” he teased.
My step stuttered, but I kept walking.
I bit into the pie—the perfect buttery crust, the seasoned mince, and the
rich and sharp cheese complementing it. For the duration of the meal, I
found myself thinking it was entirely worth marrying Kip for the pie alone.

OceanofPDF.com
 four
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Deidre

THE FIRST MONTH of being married sucked.

Especially since everyone in town knew we were married. And not even
my best friend knew the marriage was fake.
Therefore, I had to pretend I was in some kind of honeymoon period.
That I actually liked Kip. No, that I was actually in love with him.
The first time he came into the bakery, I swore the fucking clock
stopped ticking and the music muted. That’s how quiet it felt. I could
fucking hear people’s eyeballs moving in their sockets as they watched the
interaction between us.
I hadn’t even thought there would need to be an interaction between us.
I’d been doing really well at not thinking of any of the everyday realities
that came with marrying Kip and lying to literally everyone I knew.
Therefore, I froze when he and Rowan sauntered in.
Well, Rowan didn’t saunter. He strode, like a badass.
Kip, on the other hand, sauntered. He strutted through life knowing
everyone was looking at him because he was hot.
It was fucking infuriating.
Rowan, of course, went right for Nora, who was behind the counter and
lit up the second her husband walked through the door. It really was a
marvel to see, especially since she used to run and hide whenever Rowan
came in.
Oh, how things had changed.
Rowan didn’t hesitate to round the counter, snatch Nora into his arms,
and lay it hot and heavy on his wife.
The customers were used to it by now and barely even blinked.
It turned out they weren’t blinking because they were too busy
eyeballing me.
Unluckily, I was not behind the counter. I was clearing tables.
Therefore, Kip had no barriers. I didn’t know what I was expecting from
him. I didn’t know what I expected our dynamic to be as a married couple.
Maybe I wouldn’t call him an asshole in public anymore and I’d smile
at him or something.
A kiss on the cheek if required.
I did not expect him to grab me from behind, whirl me around, and
plant his fucking lips on mine.
Because I didn’t expect it, I didn’t fight him. Not even a little.
It did not bode well for me that I didn’t fight random strangers who
grabbed me and kissed me.
It really did not bode well for me that I kissed the stranger back.
It boded worse for me that the stranger was actually Kip.
And it took me way longer to realize that than it should’ve. Well, I
actually realized it straight away. It just took me way longer than it
should’ve to disengage from the kiss.
My first instinct was to punch him in the face when I pulled back.
Except I wasn’t physically able to fully pull back from his tight grasp.
Fucker was strong.
And, as annoying as it was, it was likely good that I didn’t have the
opportunity to rear back and punch him, because the whole bakery was
watching, and we were supposed to be married.
 Therefore, I wasn’t supposed to hit him for kissing me.
“Hi, wifey,” Kip greeted, rubbing his nose against mine.
My entire body rebelled against the label and the gesture.
“No,” I hissed at him, glancing around to see who was watching.
Everybody.
Everybody was fucking watching.
“We are not doing nicknames,” I said a bit softer. “I fucking hate
nicknames with regular fucking couples. No fucking nicknames.”
Kip seemed completely amused at my fury. And he was still holding on
to me.
My heart was thundering, and my stomach felt weird. Obviously
because of the rage. I’d never felt rage like this before.
That was why.
“Okay, no nicknames,” he said, quieter and with some kind of sultry
voice I was so not into.
And he was still looking far too fucking satisfied and amused.
“Are you going to let me go any time soon?” I gritted out.
I was gently trying to extricate myself from his arms in a way that didn’t
look obvious to observers, but it wasn’t working.
“Soon,” Kip said. “Just giving the peanut gallery what they want. Plus,
we don’t know who’s watching.” He winked.
I blew out a frustrated sigh. “As highly as I think of myself, I truly don’t
believe the government is wasting resources on me right now.”
“You don’t know what my government wastes its time and resources
on,” he countered.
So, he held me just a little while longer.
Much too long.
When he finally let me go, I stomped back to the kitchen with an armful
of cups.
My knees were not weak.
 No, they were not.

I was sitting with a glass of wine and a simpering temper by the time my
front door opened and closed.
My fury had been brewing for quite some time. Kip and Rowan had
come to the bakery first thing this morning, as was their norm. Kip then
finished work just after five.
“Hey, wifey,” he said easily, again sauntering into the kitchen.
“Hours,” I said, thrumming my fingers against my wineglass. “I’ve had
hours of thinking about all the different ways I could kill you, dispose of
your body, and get away with it.” I took a sip of wine. “And, like many
women my age, I am obsessed with serial killer documentaries, so I know
all the best ways to do it. Vats of acid. Pig farms. Or simply throwing you in
the ocean and letting the sharks get you.”
I stared at him, standing in my kitchen, wearing faded jeans, his socks—
he did have the decency to take off his filthy boots at the door—a tight tee
that had grimy streaks on it. He still had his cap on, and his dirty-blond hair
was curling under the bottom of it.
He hadn’t shaved, so there was also a dirty-blond shadow on his damn
chiseled and square jaw.
And he was fucking grinning at me. Grinning. Showing off a white,
slightly crooked smile.
“They always look at the significant other first,” he said easily, not at all
perturbed by my words or my tone.
“I can charm my way out of it,” I informed him. “You Yanks are
enamored with the accent. And I have great tits.”
Kip’s gaze flickered to my chest area. “You have wonderful tits,” he
agreed.
 My pussy tingled.
Just a little.
But a little was far too much.
We were getting off track.
“What you did in the bakery today was not fucking okay,” I stated
firmly, narrowing my eyes.
“What did I do?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I know I ordered six
cookies, but I promise only four of them were for me. Plus, Nora is a
magician. And I am blessed with a fast metabolism.” He gestured down to
his perfect fucking body.
“This isn’t about the cookies,” I snapped. “But of course you have a fast
metabolism. Because nature yet again rewards men with eyelashes and hair
shades that women have to pay a fuckload for,” I muttered.
Kip shrugged. “I’ll take it up with God when I meet her.”
Okay, this was getting really off track.
“You cannot kiss me in the bakery,” I told him. “Ever again. It’s twice
now that you’ve stuck your tongue down my throat in my place of
employment.”
Kip strolled to the fridge, taking out one of the many beers that was now
stocked in there. I drank beer also, but I never actually stocked my fridge
with it so efficiently.
He’d been shopping. Not just for beer but a bunch of food too.
“The first time was our wedding, so that doesn’t exactly count,” he
said… after cracking the top of the bottle open on my countertops.
“Hey!” I cried. “Those are my quartz fucking countertops.”
Kip rested his hip against the counter, taking a long chug of his beer as
he regarded me. “Technically it’s my countertop,” he corrected.
Red tinged my vision.
“You really are trying to get me to dissolve you in a vat of acid after
I’ve bludgeoned you with this wine bottle,” I stated.
 Kip smirked at me.
“I’m serious,” I insisted, laying my hands flat on the counter. “We need
rules. I know we’ve got to play some kind of part, but that part does not
need to involve PDA. We’ve got a long game to play, and setting a
precedent for tongue hockey every time we see each other really isn’t going
to work for me. Like at all.”
He raised his brow. “You’re sure it’s not gonna work for you?” he
asked. “Because it seemed like it was working for you this morning.”
That fucking asshole.
I snatched my wineglass and took a long gulp. “I’m really sure it’s not
gonna work for me. And I assure you, whatever you were feeling this
morning was in your fucking head.” I looked him up and down.
“Whichever one of them has more brains.”
Kip chuckled. “You’ll find us both pleasantly intelligent.”
I did not smile. “No more kissing,” I declared before walking outside,
nabbing my bottle on the way past.

After the first day, the first rule was created.

No shoving your tongue down your wife’s throat.
After the second day, the second rule was created.
No grabbing your wife’s ass at a dinner to celebrate your nuptials with
your best friend.
It went kind of like that until we got a list of about ten rules.
Kip enjoyed this process. I knew because he did not hide his enjoyment.
Not even a little. He got off on it.
Which infuriated the absolute fuck out of me.
So yes, the first month of marriage was pretty much me lying to my best
friends, trying to avoid any and all topics about ‘newlywed bliss,’ trying not
to kill Kip, and constantly questioning what the fuck I’d done with my life.
A plus side was my best friend was actually living in bliss and
impregnated by a man she loved dearly.
And luckily Kip was done fucking with me after the first week, and we
settled into somewhat of a routine.
Sure, we had to act vaguely affectionate when we were out in public or
around our friends, but I’d forced myself to become weirdly desensitized to
it. I convinced myself I was playing a role, outside of my body and outside
of reality.
It was easier than I thought to slip into that mindset. That of a lie.
Yes, sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night covered in sweat,
feeling guilty and absolutely panicked about what I was doing, but other
than that, I was fine.
Totally fine.

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kip
My day was shit from the start. I didn’t sleep. Not that that was unusual. I
didn’t sleep much. But usually when the voices got loud and I couldn’t get
my shit together, that’s when I went to the bar, picked up a woman, and
fucked her until I could think again.
I couldn’t fuck. My hand did nothing. Especially when it was Fiona’s
face, her tits, the fucking wrinkle between her brows that came to my mind
when I was jerking it.
Then all I’d think about was that she was in a bedroom, in this house.
And that kept me up all night long.
How in the fuck I was going to live here for upward of a year was
beyond me.
But I’d figure it out. The attraction would wear off.
Except I’d gotten up this morning, grumpy as fuck, to see Fiona
stumbling around the kitchen in some sheer robe, PJ pants, and a camisole
that showed the shape and the pink of her nipples.
Fiona grunted to acknowledge me. She was not a morning person. She
walked around with her eyes half open, muttering to herself and glaring at
me if I tried to talk to her or get in her way.
It was, unfortunately, cute as hell.
And I couldn’t get a damn coffee because I didn’t trust myself to be in
her small kitchen, that close to her and her pert nipples, without doing
something really stupid. So, I’d started my day without caffeine today.
Then, since I didn’t want to do the whole song and dance of being
newlyweds at the bakery this morning, I’d gotten coffee from the gas
station, which was dogshit in comparison.
 The day only got worse from there. Clients changing their minds about
fixtures after they were installed. Shipments being delayed. Invoices not
being paid.
Usually, all this kind of shit was water off a duck’s back for me. Rowan
was the guy who got all grumpy about it.
But fuck if I gave him a run for his money today. Plus, that fucker had
been grinning from ear to ear since he found out his wife was pregnant.
By the time I made it back to Fiona’s house, I could only think of a cold
beer and a plate of food.
Until I saw the car in the driveway parked beside Fiona’s.
My fucking mother’s car.
I seriously considered driving off. Hitting the nearest bar and not
coming home for the night. The problem was I lived in a town where
everyone knew me. Before, that didn’t matter much. I didn’t care if the old
ladies at the bridge club knew I fucked half the single women in this town.
Didn’t care who said what about my bar tab.
Except now I had to care.
Because they all knew I was married.
And to one of the town’s most beloved residents at that.
Fiona was easy to like, not just because of her accent, which was
endearing—and sexy as fuck. She was fucking gorgeous too. Effortlessly
so. With her clear blue eyes, tanned skin, blonde hair, and sinful fucking
curves, every male in the area who liked tits and pussy took notice of her.
But she also swore like a sailor and spoke her mind, standing up for herself
and others without hesitation.
Plus, all of her weird little Australian idiosyncrasies and sayings.
Suffice it to say, she was liked.
I hadn’t realized what a responsibility that would be, making it look like
I was taking care of her as she deserved, as a husband should . To be fair, I
was thinking about a whole lot of other shit. The extent to which my day-to-
day life would be changed didn’t hit until I went to the bakery for a coffee. I
felt it. Everyone watching, waiting. To see how I spoke to her, how I treated
her.
Then there was the talk that Frank had with me. Namely what he’d do
with my ‘gonads’ if I hurt her.
There was no way I could drink the night away at the bar without the
town gossip mill churning—and the town likely turning on me. Not great
considering the situation, and the fact that Rowan and I owned a
construction business that largely relied on the residents of this town.
Yeah, there were a bunch of factors why I couldn’t just turn and leave.
Beyond the obvious that it was a douchebag thing to do.
Without all the other reasons, I would’ve left, douchebag or not.
I wasn’t a good man. I had made my peace with that. Being a good man
did not protect you from the horrors of life. Being a good man did not stop
your wife and daughter from dying. So, who gave a fuck?
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, slamming my palms on the steering wheel
before I got out of the truck.
I braced myself as I walked in the front door. Memories of similar
situations washed over me. Of coming home to my mother at our house
without being announced. There was always tension in the air. There were
looks from my Gabbie, strained, annoyed, and communicating that she’d
have something to say to me later.
Of course, my mother was oblivious to the tension and the looks.
I could only imagine Fiona’s reaction to a mother-in-law she never
wanted turning up on the doorstep of her house without notice and being the
kind of woman my mother was.
Music was playing when I walked in the door. That was not out of the
ordinary. Fiona was constantly playing music. She had a weird and eclectic
taste. One day she’d be blasting Taylor Swift, Shinedown the next. She’d
introduced me to a couple of bands that I enjoyed. Not that I’d ever tell her.
 Something was in the oven. It smelled fucking great. Dishes were neatly
stacked on the rack, drying. That was my mother. Fiona wasn’t much of a
cook. Nor was she a slob, but she tended to wait a few hours before
cleaning up after herself.
Laughter spilled out from the open doors leading onto the deck. Fiona
spent a bunch of time out there, too, despite the temperature. She loved
being outside, in the sun. The house always had windows open, she rarely
used the air conditioning—which drove me fucking mad—and she was
constantly forgetting to close windows and doors before she went to bed.
Which led to many arguments about her needing to do so for her safety.
It made my skin crawl thinking of her living out here alone and doing it
before I moved in. She was lucky some sicko hadn’t taken advantage of the
opportunity.
I’d told her as much.
She said, “That sicko is lucky they never chose this house.”
There was no talking to the woman.
I followed the sound of laughter.
My mother and Fiona were sitting on the outdoor sofas. Each of them
had a wineglass in hand, the bottle resting in the cooler in front of them,
along with a plethora of snacks which my growling stomach zeroed in on.
Or it would’ve, had it not been for Fiona.
Smiling. Really smiling. And when her eyes found mine, there was no
look there, no promise of a ‘conversation’ later. Nothing. For once, the
woman wasn’t promising some kind of conflict with me.
It almost took me back a step.
“Kip!” my mother cried, pushing up from the sofa to run over and give
me a hug.
She smelled of the same perfume she’d worn all her life. The hug, like
always, lasted a little too long and ended with her holding me at arm’s
length, inspecting me with her weathered gaze.
 I did the same. My mother, though approaching seventy, did not look it.
She had lines from age, from worry, grief, and loss. But she also had
crinkles from happiness, joy, and love. She was small. Especially compared
to me. Petite, and delicate-looking. Her hair was blonde, pulled back off her
face. The face that was always expertly made-up. Same with her clothes—
always pressed, expensive-looking.
My father thought appearances were important.
“Go and have a shower,” my mother ordered me after her inspection.
“You’re filthy.”
“I work on a construction site, Mom,” I said, smiling because I couldn’t
help it.I’d missed her.
She pursed her lips. “Well, we’re eating in ten minutes, and you can’t sit
at the table in that.” She gestured to my clothes.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m a grown fucking man, Mom,” I groaned.
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain,” she snapped.
“You’re an atheist,” I pointed out.
“Yes,” she muttered. “But we don’t know what your new bride is,” she
stage-whispered.
I chuckled at that.
As did Fiona. The sound was warm. Genuine. I felt it in my dick. Not a
sensation I enjoyed while standing this close to my mother.
“Oh, take his name in vain all you like,” Fiona offered. “Blasphemy is
my favorite.”
Mom grinned at that, her eyes dancing. “I like her,” she stage-whispered
again.
I needed a fucking beer.
“I’ll get changed,” I said.
“Aren’t you going to kiss your wife hello?” my mother asked, frowning.
She stepped back. “Don’t mind me. Act as if I’m not here.” She waved her
hand as if she weren’t going to look, but I knew she was watching every
second.
If she weren’t here, I’d nod hello to Fiona. Maybe exchange bullshit
small talk. Then we’d each retire to different rooms of the house, then sleep
in different bedrooms.
Fiona raised her brow at me from her spot on the sofa. Her eyes were
dancing with mischief. She looked… light. Carefree.
My cock stirred again.
“I’m dirty,” I tried to protest.
“I’m sure Fiona doesn’t mind you a little dirty,” she teased.
Oh Jesus fucking Christ.
She wasn’t going to stop. I knew my mother. There was nothing for it.
I strode over to where Fiona was sitting, leaned down, and gave her a
quick peck on the cheek. Though it was quick, I could still smell her.
Citrusy and sweet.
My cock twitched once more.
“Oh, come on now, you’re not eighty,” Mom chastised. “You’re
newlyweds. Act like it.”
I glared at her, as she was grinning ear to ear. And fuck if that didn’t hit
me. She hadn’t smiled at me without sadness in years. I’d made a point to
make sure I wasn’t in her presence for extended periods of time because of
it.
Guilt overcame me for that.
So, what the fuck did I do?
I grabbed Fiona from where she was sitting, yanked her upward against
my body, and kissed the ever-living fuck out of her.
She tasted of the wine and the ocean and… fucking her. My cock
wasn’t just twitching now. It was demanding I put it inside her wet pussy.
But then I remembered my mother. Standing a few feet away. Watching.
 I let Fiona go abruptly—so abruptly that she kind of fell backward onto
the sofa, a shocked look on her face.
Not shocked in a bad way. Because she’d responded to the kiss. The
exact same way she had on our wedding day. The exact same way she had
the day after our wedding day.
I didn’t even know why I’d kissed her that first morning. I’d told her it
was to appease the spectators. And part of it was that, to be sure. But most
of it was because I’d been coming into the bakery for fucking years, and I’d
always wondered what it would be like to be able to grab a hold of her and
kiss her in front of everyone.
The marriage might’ve been a fucking sham, but I was going to get that
one thing out of it.
Especially since Fiona couldn’t slap me as she looked like she wanted to
—once she’d pulled back, that was.
Not exactly noble of me, kissing a woman without consent. But that
woman was my fucking wife, and her body definitely consented.
“I’m going to have a shower,” I told my mother, who was now grinning
between the two of us with steepled fingers like Mr. fucking Burns.
I didn’t look at Fiona. I figured I could imagine the glare she was
directing my way since I was well used to them.
It was rather hard walking in a position to ensure my mother didn’t see
that I’d gotten a half chub from kissing my wife, but I managed it.
I wasn’t surprised that Fiona followed me.
“I just have to… talk to Kip about something,” she said from behind
me, sounding breathless and panicked.
I couldn’t help but grin at that.
“Oh yes, dear, I completely understand. Take your time,” my mother
replied, grin in her voice.
She likely was thinking there was going to be some continuation of the
kiss.
 I was expecting a tongue-lashing—and not the kind I wanted—from
Fiona. In fact, I was looking forward to a tongue-lashing from her. She was
fucking adorable when she was pissed off. Which was why I teased her so
much in the first fucking place.
Her nose would wrinkle, her eyes would widen, her cheeks would
redden, and my cock would stand to attention.
“Not so fast, mate,” she hissed, grabbing my arm as I walked into my
bedroom. It was on the other side of the house. Not that that was saying
much—Fiona’s house was compact—but at least we had a bathroom and a
kitchen to act as a buffer between us.
I hated and loved this whole ‘mate’ thing she had going on. In fact, I
was pretty sure she knew I didn’t like it and therefore went out of her way
to use the fucking weird Australian colloquialism.
“You need to get all your shit out of there”—she pointed to the spare
room—“and get it into my room. And you need to change the sheets. I have
spare ones in the linen cabinet.” Her eyes were frantic, and her skin was
flushed, likely from her energy but also from the wine and her time in the
sun.
She was fucking gorgeous.
“Are you listening?” she demanded, snapping her fingers in front of my
face. “I’ll come to inspect the way you make the bed because I’m sure it
won’t be up to standard, but make sure that room looks like a quaint guest
room that hasn’t been occupied by a messy man for the last couple of
weeks.”
I wanted to tell her that if there was a messy one in this house, it sure as
fuck wasn’t me, but I figured with her overall energy, that wouldn’t be the
best idea.
“And you need to shower, like your mother said,” she added, her eyes
flickering over me. “You need to do all this in ten minutes. Go!” She
clapped her hands and then all but ran from me.
 I didn’t know if it was my mother’s presence or the kiss that turned her
into someone who didn’t even threaten to cut my balls off for kissing her,
but I wasn’t going to fight her.
I got all my shit from the guest bedroom and deposited it in her room. I
didn’t let myself linger in there, the place that smelled like her, that was
more feminine than I expected but in a way I liked.
Then I had a shower—in Fiona’s shower, which I enjoyed immensely,
and might’ve enjoyed more if my mother weren’t in the house—made the
bed in the guest room, and tried to make it look ‘quaint,’ whatever the fuck
that meant.
Then I went to have dinner with my mother and my wife.
Not something I thought I’d ever do again.

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 five
. . .

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Only One Bed

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fiona

IT WAS the best night I’d had in a while.

In weeks, in fact.
And it was the first meal I’d shared with Kip at my dining room table.
We hadn’t eaten a meal together since the celebratory dinner at Nora and
Rowan’s place. I’d get home before him, make something easy and within
my skills, and then grab wine or beer and either retire to my room or sit
outside and speak as few words to him as possible.
Though I didn’t have a moment to dwell on that because his mother
spoke a mile a minute.
I didn’t even find myself being caught up in or infuriated by the act of
being Kip’s wife. Even when he brushed hair from my ear or slung his arm
around the back of my chair when we’d finished eating.
He’d even insisted on doing the dishes while his mother and I finished
the bottle of wine and gossiped over chocolate cake I happened to bring
home from the bakery.
One of the major perks of working at the best bakery in town—or the
state, for that matter—was all the take-home goods.
Kip was almost… charming.
He obviously loved his mother, but he found her over the top. Which
she was. And I fucking loved it.
It wasn’t until after I’d shown Deidre to her room—which Kip had
surprisingly made up to standard—and said our goodnights that I actually
realized what was going to be happening.
I’d be sleeping.
In my room.
With Kip.
 I’d done pretty well at ignoring him since we got married, but this
would be a little harder.
There was nothing for it. I just had to ovary up.
I’d gotten up at an ungodly hour this morning, it was later than I usually
stayed up, and I was exhausted.
Kip was lingering by my bedroom door, looking almost… awkward.
“I can go to the sofa,” he offered, speaking quietly. “I’ll get up before
she does. Though she’s an early riser.”
“Don’t be insane,” I hissed. “I’ve slept with plenty of men I didn’t like
in my past. You’re not special.” I winked at him as I walked through the
door of my bedroom more confidently than I felt.
“You’re pissed,” he said the second the door closed behind him.
I screwed my nose up, confused. Deidre and I had polished off a bottle
and a half of wine, which was counteracted by the feast she’d cooked up.
So I wasn’t drunk. I just felt… soft. Content. Though the door closing and
Kip being in my bedroom made me a little panicky.
Plus, all the casual affection we were forced to share throughout dinner.
Yeah, that bothered me, now that I thought about it. It wasn’t nice or natural
or underwear melting.
None of those things.
“Yeah, I guess I’m not thrilled I have to share my bed with you,” I said,
frowning from him to my perfectly made bed with throw pillows, expensive
sheets, and throws that Kip seemed like he’d ruin with his pure masculinity.
My room was girly. I wasn’t what someone would call a girly girl, nor
was the room itself floral and full of pinks. But the duvet cover was a warm
beige gingham print. The throw was a chunky knitted wool blanket in the
same shade. All of my pillows were arranged artfully. My bed frame was
wooden and ornate. The chest at the end of my bed had more pillows. There
was a cozy armchair in the corner covered with clothes, though I’d never
actually sat in it. It served as storage for clothes I was too lazy to put away
and weren’t quite dirty enough for the laundry.
The walls were painted an off-white and covered with art depicting
women in gowns throughout the centuries.
Kip—tall, muscled, and masculine—looked out of place here in my
sanctuary.
Men had been in here before, of course. But only long enough to give
me an orgasm and get out. I didn’t do sleepovers.
He was staring at me intently. His gaze was heavy and uncomfortable,
especially since we were in my bedroom and my inhibitions were
sufficiently lowered by the wine.
My nipples thrummed, and I did my best to ignore them.
“Not about the sleeping situation but about my mother,” he said. “Who
is responsible for the sleeping situation.”
I crossed my arms, still confused. He had a weird energy about him.
There was no teasing—I fully expected him to have a lot to say about
sharing a bed—not even his trademark gruffness.
“We’re responsible for the sleeping situation, since we’re responsible for
the whole fake marriage thing that instigated her visit,” I reminded him.
“Okay, but I know my mother is… a lot, and this isn’t what you signed
up for,” he said, running his hands through his hair. He looked stressed.
Apologetic.
It was cute, and I had the absolutely wild urge to comfort him.
My foot even lifted to move toward him before I changed my direction
and went to mess with the pillows on the opposite side of the bed. A piece
of furniture between us was good.
A piece of furniture we’d both eventually be sleeping in.
Not so good.
“Your mother is great,” I told him, focusing on the pillows.
“Don’t bullshit me, Fiona,” he growled.
 That made me look at him. These fucking men and their growling. I
didn’t know men made noises like that in real life until I moved to Jupiter
and encountered Rowan and Kip.
Granted, I only experienced Rowan’s growling and alpha male behavior
secondhand, and I thought it was hilarious. Now that it was here in my
bedroom and I was married to it, I wasn’t a fan.
“I’m not,” I said honestly. “Your mother is funny as fuck, a great cook,
loves wine, and welcomed me like I was family before she was even in the
front door.”
It had knocked me for a six, and I had spent some time waiting for the
other shoe to drop, trying to find the telltale signs of manipulation, but
nope, Kip’s mum was just a great and nice person.
“We’re getting breakfast and going shopping tomorrow. She agrees with
me that my sofa needs updated.”
I inwardly winced at the price of the one I wanted, especially when I
added up the lawyer’s fee and visa application fee. Shit was expensive.
But I wanted a new couch.
So I didn’t have a retirement plan.
Who gave a fuck?
Kip was still regarding me. “You really mean that,” he said slowly. “You
really like my mother.”
If I hadn’t seen him drink only two beers with dinner, I would’ve
thought he was drunk or otherwise impaired.
I threw a pillow to the end of the bed. “Like her? I love her! Who the
fuck wouldn’t? She’s great. I might’ve had a shit hand in the husband
department, but I really lucked out with a mother-in-law. That could’ve
been bad.” I winced even thinking about it.
Then again, my bar was pretty much on the floor.
Kip’s mother was truly unexpected. Though I really didn’t know what I
expected. But from his womanizing ways, asshole attitude, and general
machoism, I just figured she’d be… different.
She was warm, funny as fuck, and a joy to have around. If I could’ve
picked a mother, I might’ve picked her. Of course, I’d only spent an
evening with her, so she could turn out to be a raging bitch, but I didn’t
think so.
Kip’s demeanor was interesting. I knew he’d been married before. And
his previous wife—who Deidre did not mention—obviously didn’t have the
same impression of his mother that I did.
That much was obvious.
Though he wasn’t showing off being practiced at being a good husband.
He seemed practiced at being a guilty one.
Guilty for having a mother who loved him, smiled often, and seemed
generally excited about life in general.
Very interesting.
Not my business.
“Now that’s sorted, I need to go to sleep,” I said. “I may not be getting
up at an ungodly hour tomorrow on account of Nora giving me the day off
without notice—yay for being besties with the boss!” I grinned at him. “But
I am tired, and I don’t want to go through any more with you. I need to go
do my skincare routine, which isn’t a routine so much as haphazardly trying
to get makeup off my face and maybe slathering on some oil.” I pointed at
Kip. “Don’t tell Nora that. She’s serious about skincare routines. Anyway,
we have to sleep together tonight, but I don’t have to talk to you. And I
swear to fuck, if you try to touch me in your sleep or I so much as sense a
boner, I’m making myself a pair of ball sac earrings,” I promised.
Then I stomped into the bathroom. I took much longer than usual and
pointedly ignored Kip when he passed me for his turn. Then I shed my
clothes quickly, donning an oversized tee and flannel pajama bottoms, and
curled up in bed, pretending I was asleep when he emerged from the
bathroom.
 Pretty damn cowardly.
But it served me well when the bed depressed and Kip’s scent attached
itself to my sheets.
I liked it. A little too much.
I half expected him to push his luck and try to get close to me. But he
didn’t. He kept the distance between us.
And that was good.
I wasn’t disappointed.

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kip
Getting out of bed without waking Fiona turned out to be easy. In fact, both
her alarm and mine had gone off rather loudly without her even moving. I’d
had to half climb over her in order to silence her phone.
Nothing.
She slept like the fucking dead.
Which made it all the more fucking creepy that I was half on top of her
and hard once I looked down at her sleeping form and saw the tee she was
wearing had slipped off her shoulder, exposing the smooth, tanned skin.
I was getting hard over her shoulder.
And her face. It was scrunched in sleep, not peaceful. It seemed like she
was arguing with someone even though she was unconscious.
That made me smile. And I had the utterly fucked-up urge to brush
away the hair obscuring her face.
I shook myself out of that.
Jesus, sleeping with her had really shaken me up. That and my fucking
mother’s presence.
I forced myself out of bed and into a cold shower, shunning all thoughts
of Fiona and her fucking shoulder from my mind.
Think of your wife. Your real fucking wife, you piece of shit.
Yeah, that made my hard-on go down almost immediately.
Fiona was still sleeping when I finished my shower and got dressed.
Fucking hell. It wasn’t safe for a woman living alone to sleep that deeply.
Especially because she ‘forgot’ to lock her front door routinely.
We’d be talking about that.
Then we’d likely be arguing about that, because if there was anything
Fiona hated, it was me telling her to do anything.
 Stupidly, I looked forward to the argument.
I smelled coffee when I left the room. It didn’t surprise me that my
mother was up this early.
She was wrapped in a robe and peering inside the fridge.
“Darling!” she called when she saw me. She was holding a carton of
eggs. “What do you think about pancakes?” She frowned. “Is Fiona on any
kind of low-carb diet?” she pondered. “No,” she decided without waiting
for my answer. “She needs carbs. More curves never hurt anybody.”
The fridge slammed closed, and she began opening and closing cabinets
at random.
“What kind of organization system is this?” she cried. “Pans need to be
beside the oven, not across from it.” Metal clanged as she rummaged, as if
it weren’t six in the morning and there wasn’t another person sleeping in the
house.
Then again, I could renovate the fucking kitchen without Fiona waking
up.
“I’ll rearrange to a better system after breakfast,” Mom said, placing a
frypan on the stove.
“Jesus, Mom,” I muttered, moving forward in the direction of the
coffee. “You don’t need to rearrange anything.”
I felt a terrible sense of déjà vu. She’d been exactly like this with…
before.
It didn’t help that I’d deployed soon after I got married. We were young.
Mom thought she was helping Gabbie get the house together.
“Fiona won’t mind,” Mom said with a wave of her hand. “And sit
down.” She pointed to the barstool. “I’ll get your coffee. I still know how
you take it. Plus, I’m loving playing with this coffee machine.” She nodded
to the espresso machine on the counter. The one thing in the kitchen that
Fiona seemed to use on a daily basis. She took her coffee seriously and was
always muttering about the ‘dirt water masquerading as coffee in America.’
 Though it frustrated me, I knew fighting with my mother, especially at
six in the fucking morning, was futile. I went to the barstool instead.
“Mom,” I said as she banged around with the espresso machine.
“Seriously. Don’t rearrange our kitchen cabinets.”
“You’ll thank me in the end,” she said to the coffee machine.
Fuck.
She wasn’t going to listen. Unless I got mean with her. And I didn’t get
mean with my mother. That was my father’s job.
“I just love Fiona,” she half shouted over the low roar of the espresso
machine. “She’s beautiful, funny, and that accent—wonderful!”
She reached up for a mug and clattered around making my coffee.
“I’m upset about not being invited to the wedding and not even being
told about Fiona’s existence, but I’ll forgive you,” Mom said as she slid the
mug across the counter. “She told me it was rushed and overwhelming, and
her own parents weren’t even there. Then again, they live in Australia,
which is like eighteen hours away, and we live less than four hours away,
but whatever.” She turned back to the kitchen, presumably to make
pancakes.
I was surprised that my mother was shrugging the wedding off so easily.
I’d known it would cause some kind of familial drama and hurt my
mother’s feelings.
I’d braced for it.
Except here she was, shrugging it off.
My mother did not shrug things off.
“Plus, maybe we’ll throw a proper wedding back home on your first
anniversary,” she said as she grabbed a bowl.
There it was.
I didn’t have the energy to have that argument.
We’d hopefully be divorced, or at least separated, by our first
anniversary. I still wasn’t quite sure how long we had to actually stay
married in order for the Green Card shit to work.
Something I should’ve probably done more research on.
“Mom,” I said urgently, glancing toward the hall. Fiona had yet to
appear. I couldn’t count on her sleeping like the dead much longer. She was
an early riser, though not by choice but because she worked in a bakery.
And although I had no idea how the fuck she actually made it there every
morning, she seemed to always be able to get herself out of that dead sleep.
“Yes, sweetie?” my mother replied, mixing things into her bowl.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Fire away.”
I sighed, taking a long sip of my coffee. I really fucking did not want to
have this conversation. But I had to.
“Can you please look at me?” I asked.
“I can hear you from here.”
“Mom,” I barked a little harsher than I intended.
But at least it worked.
Though I did fucking curse myself for the small, familiar look on my
mother’s face. The one she wore when she was tiptoeing around my father.
“What did you say to Fiona last night when I wasn’t here?” I demanded.
I knew she hadn’t told her everything because Fiona hadn’t been treating or
looking at me differently.
With pity.
I caught Nora looking at me like that every now and then. Rowan had
told her. I wanted to be pissed at my best friend for that. But she was his
wife. They were sharing a life together. That’s what you did with the person
you married. You shared secrets.
“Oh, we talked about her getting a new sofa, which I’m really looking
forward to today. Then a little about that bakery she works at. I cannot wait
to try the croissants.”
 My mom spoke quickly and with a light to her eyes. She got excited and
happy easily. Nothing got her down for long.
I clenched my fists. “Did you—” I sucked in a breath. “She doesn’t
know. About… before.”
Her expression sobered immediately. All lightness left her. Slipped from
her face like a mask. She looked older, full of sorrow.
It clawed at my insides.
Especially when it had been so long since I’d seen my mother,
witnessed the pain in her eyes. After it happened, I’d desensitized myself
from it. I had to, in order to survive.
But if I’d been standing, Mom’s grief might’ve taken me back a step.
“I don’t want her to know,” I said firmly. “I know you’re going to be
spending a lot of time with her and talking about a lot, but I don’t want you
talking about… that.”
She stared at me with glassy eyes, then nodded once. “Okay, sweetie,”
she said softly. “Of course, I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” I said, not sagging with relief because I knew my mother.
“I understand you wanting to start fresh,” she said, staring at the ocean
behind me. “And this is a wonderful town for a fresh start. I want you
home, of course. I didn’t understand this.” She waved her hand at the
window. “Not until last night, at least. Not until I met Fiona.” She smiled
sadly. “But leaving them behind is not going to stop it hurting. And starting
your new marriage with secrets will only hurt you in the long run.”
I clenched my jaw. Conversations like this were like fucking
razorblades on my insides. I’d dealt with years of this shit. Of my mom, my
whole family, speaking softly, trying to tell me how I should feel, what I
should do to make it okay.
It was fucking exhausting and infuriating.
The only way to survive it was to get the fuck away from them all.
“Mom, they’re dead and buried. I want them to stay that way.”
 My mother flinched.
“They were a part of you,” she said in a smaller, sadder voice. “A part
of you that deserves some light, honey. When you’re ready.” She held up
her hands in defeat and turned back to her pancakes.
Luckily, she didn’t push it.
And luckily the rest of her visit was actually uneventful.
Well, she and Fiona redecorated a fuckload of the cottage and were
giggling together like old friends.
Then there was a dinner with Nora and Rowan, which my mother could
not be talked out of because apparently Rowan’s mother had told him all
about Nora.
That meant Mom stayed for almost a week when everything was said
and done.
Almost a week of sleeping in the same bed with Fiona.
I’d kept myself and my cock away from her because I didn’t think the
woman did empty threats, and I was rather attached to my balls—blue as
they were after this week.
It was especially hard since Fiona had become accustomed to sleeping
with me and was usually loosened up enough by wine to sleep soundly. And
when she slept soundly… she cuddled.
Fucking Fiona, who spit fire and swore like a trucker, liked to cuddle in
her sleep. She curled up to me like a cat, even when I gently tried to push
her away. She rolled right back up to me. I stopped trying to fight it, even
though I was not a cuddler.
Never was.
I didn’t like anyone touching me in my sleep.
Not even my late wife.
That had bothered her.
I’d understood why, and I’d tried my best to grit my teeth through it.
 I didn’t have to grit my teeth through it with Fiona. Which had me
beating myself up all fucking night.
I’d come to the conclusion that it wasn’t because Fiona was different
than… her. It was because I was different now.
For worse, to be sure.
So, I slept with Fiona in my arms until I woke up before her—as I
always did—got in the shower and jerked off to the thought of fucking her
the second her eyes opened.
My cock was almost at constant attention these days. Whenever my
mom was around, it was husband-duty time. And she had the eyes of a
fucking hawk.
Fiona shot me glares and curses about the affection whenever and
wherever she could, but she played along too.
Mom did not mention my father, and I didn’t ask about him.
Fiona likely caught on to this and didn’t ask many questions either.
She and Mom were fast friends, and my mother was talking about
coming to Jupiter again in a few months.
The only awkward moment was the last night, when Mom tried to
mention me coming home.
“My home is here,” I said, looking down at my plate of food.
“Of course, your home is here now, but the home you’ll always have is
—”
“My home is here,” I repeated, louder this time, slamming my hand
down on the table hard enough to make the glasses teeter.
My mother jumped and paled some, but she sipped her wine delicately.
“Of course it is, honey,” she placated, as she was an expert at doing.
Fiona noticed that too. It was hard not to. And she didn’t ask questions.
Which was unheard of with a woman. In my experience, at least. If they
liked you, they had questions. About your likes and dislikes, about your
past and your plans for the future.
 But then again, Fiona didn’t like me, as she was so fond of telling me
when we were alone.
But she reached for me in her sleep.

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 six
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
Amending the Agreement

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fiona

I NEEDED TO GET LAID.

Badly.
Between Kip’s mother’s visit, the forced intimacy, the sharing of a bed
and a bathroom, and the glimpses of his impressive abs and Adonis belt, I
needed to get fucking laid.
My vibrator was not doing it for me.
Especially since now it was Kip I saw when I was coming. And worse,
it wasn’t the abs or the Adonis belt I visualized. It was him, dirty, fresh
from work, his hair mussed, his hands stained with whatever he’d been
working with that day.
I found myself staring at them. His hands. Throughout the day. Even in
the morning when I was a zombie and couldn’t comprehend much beyond
basic shapes and colors, I was transfixed by his fucking hands pouring
himself coffee.
It was bad. I felt like I was a thirteen-year-old boy, thinking about sex
every minute of the day.
Not healthy.
Hence me putting on a tight dress, heels and red lipstick, and driving
myself to the next town over to the local bar on a Saturday night.
I was going fishing.
It didn’t take long for me to catch one.
He was… okay, I supposed. Nice face, tight tee, white teeth, good hair,
and decent muscles. He called me ‘ma’am,’ trying to be cute, but it was
vaguely insulting and so damn… American.
Kip was American. Even more American than that. Fuck, wasn’t he GI
fucking Joe back in another life?
 So, it wasn’t the American thing that bothered me.
Maybe it was the jaw that was square but clean-shaven. Or those teeth.
Or the hair that wasn’t mussed and wild.
Yes, he was wrong in a way I couldn’t pinpoint. That I didn’t want to
pinpoint.
He wasn’t Kip.
Which, of course, had me flirting extra heavily with him to compensate
for my dangerous thoughts.
Another man’s dick inside me should cure me of this weird infatuation.
“Can I have another?” I asked the bartender.
Another man’s dick and another drink.
“Have I told you how much I love your accent?” Trent—Troy?—asked
with a grin, leaning forward to place his hand on my bare thigh.
“You have, in fact, told me that,” I informed him. “It’s a really original
compliment. And personal too.” I winked at him, and he chuckled, though
he looked confused as to whether he should be insulted or not.
“How about I tell you what a good kisser you are? That a little more
personal?” he asked, leaning closer now.
I grinned at him, wishing I’d slammed another tequila. “But you don’t
know if I’m a good kisser or not,” I purred.
“I will in about five seconds,” he said.
Yep, here it was.
I was going to kiss a guy in a bar.
Like I wasn’t in my thirties.
A new low?
Not quite.
I’d married Kip, after all.
Kissing a guy whose name I didn’t know was not going to be a new low.
Though I wasn’t much looking forward to it either.
 The man was pulled off me before his lips could touch mine, his hand
no longer at my thigh.
That was because Kip was holding him by the collar of his shirt. “Get
your fuckin’ hands off my wife,” he hissed, yanking him forward.
Now, the man in question wasn’t small by any means. If you wanted to
measure muscle mass against the two men, it might even lean in his favor.
Likely because he injected a little something to make those muscles puff up
a bit extra. You could always tell.
Kip, on the other hand, was all natural. His muscles were sculpted doing
real labor. And before that, they were used to do God knew what to God
knew who. But staring at them, it was very clear who the most dangerous
man was.
“I didn’t fucking know she was your wife,” the man whose name I
forgot stammered, trying to yank out of Kip’s grip.
As was mentioned, the man wasn’t small. But somehow his struggle
looked comical, like a small child wrestling against a full-grown adult.
There was another blur and the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting
flesh.
The man was no longer being held up by Kip. He was on the ground,
my husband standing over him.
“Well, now you fuckin’ know,” he spat at the man. “You lay your hands
on my wife again, you even think about her, I’ll tear you to pieces.”
On that note, Kip’s furious glare found its way to me. His hand went to
my upper arm, dragging me off the barstool.
“Hey!” I protested and tried to struggle, albeit weakly since I was still
processing what happened.
Kip ignored me, reaching into his wallet with his free hand and then
dumping a bunch of bills on the bar. “For the drinks and the trouble,” he
said to the bartender, who, to his credit, nodded once and didn’t seem
perturbed by the violence in his establishment.
 If this was a scene in a movie, I’d think it was pretty badass. But this
wasn’t a scene in a movie. This was my fucking life.
Then Kip dragged me out of the bar. Some people were staring, though
most had gone back to their drinks.
“What the fuck was that?” I yelled once we’d made it into the parking
lot, the fresh air doing wonders to jerk me out of my daze.
“We’ll talk when we get home,” Kip ground out, dragging me in the
direction of his truck.
I did not want to be dragged. Nor did I want the warm feeling from
Kip’s mention of ‘home.’ I didn’t want warm feelings. I wanted hot, fiery
rage at what just happened.
It took effort, but I planted my feet and used all of my strength to rip my
arm out of Kip’s grip.
Now, even all of my strength likely wasn’t enough to achieve this feat.
But in order to keep hold of me, Kip would’ve had to hurt me. He didn’t do
that, even though fury was rolling off him in waves.
He let me go. But he was pissed about it. He made it clear with his
hands on his hips, his tight posture, and the low sigh he let out through his
teeth.
“We are talking about this now,” I told him, folding my arms across my
chest and doing my best to shoot laser beams at him. “How did you know I
was here?”
Kip was not perturbed by my laser beams. He was annoyed. He took a
beat to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then he regarded me.
“You were gonna fuck that guy,” he said quietly. Much too quietly.
There was rage threading through every single word he spoke.
Despite my bravado and the booze still making me think I was
somewhat invincible, a shiver went down my spine at his tone.
I didn’t let that show. “So what if I was?” I demanded. “We had an
agreement. Outside of town limits.”
 Kip stared daggers at me.
And though I thought I was pretty fearless, it made my lip tremble just a
little.
“I’m amending the agreement,” he clipped.
The fear left pretty quickly then. “What the fuck, Kip?” I seethed. “We
both have needs. I’m not gonna be a nun for a year, and I sure as fuck know
you won’t be a monk.”
“I won’t be,” he agreed. “But I’m your husband, so I’m going to be
tending to your needs.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a fucking feather in that moment.
The silence that proceeded his words was long. He didn’t speak. I barely
breathed.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked on a whisper. “We
agreed we weren’t going to have sex.”
“Changed my mind,” Kip said.
“Well, good for you,” I snapped. “I haven’t.” A couple of dreams and
moments of weakness didn’t count.
“You want me,” he murmured as if he were reading my mind.
“About as much as I want a bikini wax,” I informed him sweetly.
“You want my cock.”
I blinked, my entire body shuddering with need. I forced my face to stay
in its scowl, though I feared Kip had already caught my reaction. “Don’t be
crass.”
“You want me crass.” He stepped forward.
I scuttled back, annoyed that it was my first instinct. Even more
annoyed that there was nowhere for me to go since I slammed into the door
of Kip’s truck.
“You want it dirty,” he continued, caging me in.
He pressed his body into mine, so I could feel his warmth—and his
rock-hard cock.
 My body awakened. Every single nerve ending.
“You want me to fuck you right here, right now, against this truck in the
fucking parking lot,” he murmured, grasping my neck. Hard.
I sucked in an unsteady breath. My heart thundered in my chest, and my
knees wobbled.
“Say it,” he breathed, lips brushing mine. “Say you want me to fuck you
right here.”
I did want him to fuck me right here.
More than anything.
But I jutted my chin upward and glared at him. “Cage me in all you
want, asshole. I’m not admitting shit.”
Kip’s eyes were stormy with desire, with the menace he’d shown to my
suitor earlier. But his lips stretched into a grin.
“You won’t say it with your words, but you’ll admit it with your
mouth.”
Then he kissed me.
Hard.
Not like he had on our wedding day or at the bakery.
No, then, it seemed, he was holding back. Although at the time, I
thought he wasn’t.
Kip’s kisses, the real ones—which this was—were violent. Full of
desperation. Hunger. A chaos that sometimes danced behind his eyes.
Chaos that spelled danger.
The kind of danger that, coupled with his good looks, got many women
into bed with him the first night they met him.
Or maybe it was this kiss.
Because this fucking kiss…
I wanted to bite his tongue. Push him back. Scream at him.
But instead, I clutched the sides of his shirt and kissed him back. With
all the chaos and hunger inside me.
 Before I knew it, my hands were underneath his tee, nails running along
the skin of his abs and down to his belt.
Music thumped from somewhere inside. I heard voices from faraway. A
car drove past every now and then.
We were in the corner of the parking lot farthest away from the
streetlights, but we were not by any means shielded from the general public.
And I did not give a shit.
I needed him to fuck me.
Right this second.
I communicated that by fumbling with his belt.
His hand caught my wrist, and he leaned back so we were no longer
kissing. I scowled at that, though I was breathing pretty heavily.
“Not fucking you against my truck in a bar parking lot,” he said, voice
rough and throaty. “Not tonight, at least.”
He leaned in to kiss me hungrily and hard once more, hand still on my
wrist, stopping me from unbuckling his belt.
“Now get in the fucking truck,” he growled against my mouth.
I didn’t think I was someone who responded to growls, or husbands
when they made such orders. But fuck if I didn’t jump right in the truck.

The drive was about thirty minutes.

We didn’t make it.
Not even halfway.
I thought maybe I’d find my senses somewhere along the way. That I’d
sober up. That the stiff confines of the truck would help me cool down.
It did none of those things.
Then again, when did the interior of a vehicle make someone more
sober?
 Therefore, I did things.
Like adjust myself in my seat so my skirt rode up. Way up. And I let a
strap fall off my shoulder so the top of my breast was exposed.
Neither of us spoke.
No music played on the radio.
There was just the sound of my rapid and shallow breaths, the pulsing
of blood through my veins, and finally, Kip’s strangled curse as he yanked
the truck down a dirt path that veered slightly into sparse woods that
bordered the road on the drive back to Jupiter.
I couldn’t be sure he actually knew that path existed or it was just a
lucky break. I didn’t have the time to worry about that because the second
the truck stopped, I was unbuckled from my seat belt and hauled across the
cab.
Then I was in Kip’s lap, his mouth on mine.
I recovered quickly, kissing him back, snatching his cap off so I could
shove my fingers into his hair.
I was infinitely glad I’d worn a dress and thin lace underwear. There
was barely any barrier between my pussy and the hard cock beneath his
jeans. My orgasm was already rushing forward from the friction.
“Need your cock inside me. Now,” I rasped against his mouth.
Kip’s eyes were aquamarine fire. He didn’t say anything. Instead, with
one hand, he lifted me so he could rip off my underwear. Emphasis on rip.
He didn’t hesitate to run his fingers along the soaking-wet flesh of my
pussy.
I let out a rough gasp as his callused fingers plunged inside me, our lips
brushing together.
“I said, I need your cock,” I repeated.
He grinned wickedly against my mouth. “My wife is bossy,” he
murmured.
I grasped his neck. Hard. “Stop talking and fuck me, husband.”
 His finger was gone, but not before his thumb found my clit, rubbing
right at the perfect fucking spot.
I almost came right there and then. Almost.
But Kip, the fucker, moved his thumb.
Luckily for him, he did so in order to unbuckle his belt and free his
cock.
There was no ceremony, no meaningful moment, no prolonged eye
contact. There was a clash of teeth and tongues, and then there was his cock
inside me. To the hilt.
I threw my head back in pleasure, coming the second he hit my walls.
I rode him hard, even through the dizzying heights of one of the most
intense orgasms of my life. I rode him through that and on to the next one,
this time coupled with his low grunt as I milked his release from him.
The world blurred at the edges, and there was nothing more than me and
him and our connected bodies. A release of tension that had been coiled
inside me for months.
For a fucking lifetime.

I wasn’t quite sure how long we sat there, connected, breathing heavily,
each recovering from our prospective worlds being rocked. It took me a
long time to get back to earth. But Kip helped yank me down pretty darn
quickly.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
My stomach dropped, and all post-orgasm glow dulled. He regretted it
already? That had to be some kind of record.
And that kind of thing fucked with a girl’s confidence. I mean, I thought
I was pretty damn great in bed and had been under the impression that that
was the hottest sex I’d ever had.
 It seemed the same could not be said for Kip.
I leaned back to regard him. He’d looked lazily satisfied and fucking
sexy as all hell a handful of seconds ago. But now his brow was pinched,
his face was tight, and his grip on my hips was just short of bruising.
“We didn’t use a condom,” he hissed.
I sagged in relief. Okay, it wasn’t because he thought the sex was bad. It
was because he thought he’d either impregnated me or gave me an STD.
It occurred to me just then that I’d never had sex without a condom. Not
since I arrived in the USA. You could never trust a man when he said he
was ‘clean.’ And I really didn’t want herpes.
“You better not have chlamydia,” I snapped at him, leaning back and
restraining a moan because he was still half hard inside me and I was still
sensitive as fuck.
I should’ve climbed off him so we could have this conversation when
we weren’t… connected. But it was a rather hard maneuver, and I didn’t
trust my limbs quite yet.
“Of course, I don’t have fucking chlamydia,” he growled.
“Well, I don’t,” I said, riled up at the mere impression that he thought I
could give him anything. “I have no venereal diseases.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he gritted out.
It took me a second to understand why he was so pissed if he wasn’t
worried about a sexually transmitted disease. “Oh, right, the pregnancy
thing.”
His face darkened. “Yeah, the fucking pregnancy thing.”
He sounded pissed. Like really pissed. Like I’d somehow tricked him
into fucking me without a condom, then finishing inside me.
Uncool.
“You think, even drunk and horny, I would let you fuck me without a
condom if there was a chance I’d be tied to you for life?” I asked him with a
bite in my tone.
 Kip blinked, his fury flickering with confusion. “Well, the
circumstances—”
“You think your dick is really magical enough for me to prioritize a few
minutes of pleasure for a lifetime of responsibility?” I interrupted.
His eyes danced then, and he yanked me forward so our angle changed.
He was no longer only half hard anymore.
My breathing shallowed and my body spasmed with pleasure.
“A few minutes, huh?” he asked, his voice velvet now, without any of
those rough edges.
I rolled my eyes. One way to jerk an alpha out of a fit was to insinuate
he might not perform like he thought he did.
“A few good minutes,” I conceded, enjoying this, not just because his
hard cock was inside me and I was ready for round two.
Kip rolled his hips upward lazily, taunting me.
“We don’t need a condom,” I breathed. “I’ve got it taken care of.”
He stopped moving. “You think I was born yesterday?” he asked. Some
of the edges were back, but his gaze was still teasing.
“You really think I’d try to trap you?” I countered, grinding against him
so he let out a low hiss.
“Maybe not,” he said, gripping my hips, trying to steady me.
I didn’t steady that easily, so I fought him. “Definitely not,” I said
firmly, holding his eyes as I rode his cock. “I can make you a promise that
no matter how much we do this—” I sat myself as hard as I could on his
cock so pleasure shot through my spine, “—we won’t be making anything
but multiple orgasms.” I grinned as I kept moving, working on those
multiple orgasms.
Kip didn’t stop me.
Eventually, we made it home.
Kip made me food.
Then he fucked me again. On the counter.
And then he carried me to my bedroom, since my legs had stopped
working on account of all the orgasms.
I wasn’t complaining.
“You’re sleeping here?” I asked when I emerged from the bathroom,
having brushed my teeth and scrubbed my ‘fuck me’ makeup off.
It had worked, hadn’t it?
I was well fucked.
Kip was in my bed.
And by the looks of it, he was naked.
I’d seen the man in my bed before. He’d slept in it for a week when his
mother was here. But he hadn’t done it shirtless. He’d worn a tight tank and
pajama pants. Fucking pajama pants. And somehow, he worked them. They
were always slung so low on his hips that I could see the outline of his
Adonis belt and the dark blond hair leading downward.
Not that I was looking then.
I was looking now.
Kip looked fucking great naked in my bed.
Though I probably shouldn’t be thinking that.
“I might,” he said. “When I’m done with you. Which I’m not.”
Though I didn’t think I was able to have another orgasm, my pussy
pulsed at his tone, and my feet carried me toward him.

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 seven
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Boundaries

KIP HAD FOUND out where I was last night thanks to me.
Rather thanks to me thinking I was being a smart—and mostly petty—
bitch by getting myself a credit card connected to his bank account.
The card I’d used to pay for my drink at the bar. And the Uber that got
me to the bar.
I hadn’t used much forethought. I also hadn’t considered that Kip would
come home, find me gone, and, after calling Nora, check his credit card
activity and track me down.
He hadn’t seemed all that interested in my whereabouts prior to his
mother’s visit. But even I couldn’t deny it changed things. Having to
masquerade as a couple for such an extended period of time, having to sleep
in the same fucking bed—it blurred lines that had been drawn in the
proverbial sand.
“What was your goal in tracking me down and going into that bar?” I
asked him over coffee the next morning.
Coffee in bed. Which Kip made and brought to me.
After he fucked me as soon as I woke up.
I was feeling somewhat agreeable and more alive than I did most
mornings.
“This,” Kip said, holding his own coffee cup and staring down at me.
 He was fully dressed. Faded jeans. Tee underneath a red flannel. He’d
put on his cap as he walked out the door. He usually took it off when he
removed his boots at the front door, placing it on the coatrack.
“This?” I repeated, propping myself up in bed but not quite ready to get
out of it just yet. I had time.
The sheets fell and exposed my naked breasts. I momentarily thought
about covering up my nakedness, but that was closing the barn after the
horse had bolted. Kip had seen a fuck of a lot more than just my tits, so I let
them enjoy the free air.
His eyes zeroed in on my areolas, his mouth turning to an expression I
had already learned was hunger.
Despite the orgasms I’d just had, my pussy tingled with need.
“This,” he repeated, voice hoarse as his gaze returned to mine. “You,
naked in bed, freshly fucked by me.”
“You knew you were going to fuck me when you walked into the bar?”
I deduced.
Kip nodded once. “The second I saw the charge, I knew exactly what
you were doing, and I knew there was no way in hell my wife was screwing
anyone other than me.”
I took a sip of my coffee and scowled. Not that the coffee was bad. Kip
knew exactly how I took it and had already learned the fickle machine and
had my milk frothed perfectly.
No, I was scowling because of everything he just said, especially ‘wife’
with a possessive lilt to it.
“And you just assumed I would jump to attention and fuck you?” I
asked sharply.
He took a sip of his own coffee, but I suspected it was to hide a smile.
“Well, you are naked and freshly fucked, aren’t you?” he asked, not hiding
the triumph in his tone.
I pursed my lips. Well, shit.
 “Shouldn’t you be getting to work?” I snapped.
Kip didn’t hide his smile then. “Right after I give my wife a kiss.”
“You move one more inch toward me and I’ll cut off one of your fingers
in your sleep,” I promised.
He raised his brow, then his hands in surrender. “Okay, no kiss. I’ll just
wait till later and eat out your cunt till you scream.”
Then he sauntered out.
Leaving me with that image.
Leaving me counting down the minutes until he was true to his word.
The absolute prick.

“You look different,” Nora said, screwing up her nose as she inspected me.
I scowled at her over the top of my mug.
“No, this is how I always look when I’m forced to be awake before a
time that’s decent,” I replied.
Nora didn’t respond to my complaints, which were white noise at this
point. I complained daily about the hour the bakery opened. Of course,
Nora didn’t actually make me come in at this time. She just wasn’t that kind
of boss. She would never make me do anything I didn’t want to do. Neither
Tina nor I was on any kind of schedule. We were free to come and go as we
pleased. Which we did, if we needed to. But both of us were always here,
ready to open the bakery with Nora. We rarely took the day off. Sure,
sometimes this job felt like work, but very rarely.
“No, it’s not that. You look different somehow,” she said, still staring at
me way too hard.
“You’re the pregnant one,” I pointed out. “You’ve got a glow.”
It wasn’t a lie. Nora wore pregnancy remarkably well. There was rarely
a point of the day when she wasn’t smiling, humming to herself, or looking
out the windows with a dreamy look on her face.
She’d come a long way. Especially considering it wasn’t too long ago
that she was engaged to an asshole who made her feel like shit. Even less
time had passed since her brother, her fucking twin, had left this earth.
Yeah, it was impressive.
“I don’t have a glow,” Nora argued.
“I’m not someone to say this willingly, but you have a fucking glow,”
Tina told Nora. Then she turned to me, pointing with the portafilter from
the coffee machine. “You have a glow too,” she said. “Please tell me you’re
not pregnant too. Tiffany would lose her shit, and I’d be on my way to the
fucking sperm bank.”
“Oh my god!” Nora screeched. “Are you pregnant?” She grabbed my
arms. “That would be amazing. We could be pregnant at the same time, and
our kids could be best friends, or they could fall in love and get married.”
“I’m not pregnant,” I half yelled at her, as I could see she was getting
far too carried away.
Her face fell. “You could be,” she said hopefully.
“I could not be,” I told her firmly.
She pouted at this. “Only a matter of time.”
My spine chilled. “It’s not only a matter of time. We are not having
children.”
These past twenty-four hours had been the most I’d talked—or thought
—about pregnancy in years.
“You say that now—”
“If she says she’s not having children, she’s not having children. Leave
it at that,” Tina interrupted.
I gave her a thankful look. The room had started to get much smaller,
and panic had unfurled from a spot inside me that I’d been ignoring for
quite some time.
 Nora flushed, looking at Tina, then me. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m
just wanting to spread the love and happiness.”
“Yeah, like the plague,” Tina muttered from the espresso machine.
I restrained a snort. Tiffany, Tina’s wife, had now decided that maybe
they were going to have children. Tiffany was younger than Tina, who was
in her mid-fifties, but not by a whole lot, and not young enough to likely get
pregnant—even with all the scientific breakthroughs in that area. No one
was brave enough to tell Tiffany that, especially not her rock-n-roll-loving,
badass biker wife Tina.
“But you do look different,” Nora said as she rubbed her rounded
stomach absently.
Shit. She wasn’t letting this go. I couldn’t exactly tell her it was because
I’d been fucked ten ways from Sunday last night and this morning, and had
more consecutive orgasms than in recorded history.
I’d been married for months. All that shit was supposed to have
happened on the wedding night.
“I tried that new serum you got me,” I told her.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh really?” She clapped her hands together. “I didn’t
think it was possible for a skincare product to do that.”
It wasn’t.
Kip’s dick was the reason for my youthful glow.
And it seemed I wasn’t going to stop using that any time soon.
Which I knew did not bode well in the long run.

“We have to set some boundaries,” I said.

My position didn’t really help my argument. I was naked on my kitchen
floor, sprawled on top of Kip.
Good thing the floor was clean.
 It wasn’t like I planned it. But when he came home from work all dirty
and sexy, I hadn’t quite been able to control myself.
Granted, he hadn’t technically been able to control himself either. Hence
us being on the floor.
He had made promises about eating my cunt. And he’d kept them by
lifting me onto the kitchen counter, spreading my legs, and getting to work.
“Boundaries?” he parroted, finger tracing my nipple.
I shivered at the contact.
“Boundaries,” I repeated, voice firm. “I think it’s important we have
them since it looks like this isn’t going to be a onetime thing.”
“No way in hell is this a onetime thing,” Kip grunted, tweaking my
nipple.
I let out a moan of pain and pleasure, writhing against his naked body
until I remembered what the fuck I was talking about again.
“We seem to be living under the same roof, married, and having sex for
the foreseeable future,” I said, trying to sound sensible. “But that is not the
same thing as married people who live together and fuck.”
Kip’s hand trailed from one breast to the other.
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed.
“Kip,” I snapped.
Blue eyes found mine.
“This could get really fucking messy if we let it. We’re best friends with
two people who are going to be together forever, and I’m not planning on
leaving this place once I do get my Green Card. We both know this
marriage is not forever.”
Kip’s face turned slightly more serious.
“But,” I continued, “we’re both sensible people who don’t seem to be
romantics. Therefore, we can be married—on paper—and live together and
fuck without it turning into some fucking Hallmark movie with an
unfortunate ending that they never actually show. So, we’re going to fuck
because it turns out you’re pretty good at it—”
“Pretty good?” he interrupted, his hand now going downward, spreading
my legs, and pushing his finger inside, to where I was already wet for him.
My eyes rolled to the back of my head. I was already sensitive there,
since his cock was fucking big and he knew how to use it.
“Passable,” I moaned.
He grinned at me when he removed his finger and put it in his mouth.
“You’re pretty passable too.”
I smirked right back at him. “I know I’m more than passable, honey,” I
drawled. “Therefore, I know my pussy might have some kind of magic to
make you think there could be something more here. That you could love
me or something like that. That’s when it gets messy.”
All teasing left Kip’s eyes, and his mouth was a thin line. “I’m not
gonna fall in love with you.”
I flinched at the chill in his voice, not expecting it.
Something inside me flinched, too, for some other reason. Some kind of
hurt I had no right to feel. I was the one bringing up this conversation, who
wanted to make sure this was only sex. But his words were so harsh, they
cut me, nonetheless.
“Okay, good,” I said, forcing my voice to be bright. “Then we’re not
going to have a problem. We’ll fuck without strings, we’ll play nice for the
audience, and once the time is right, we’ll have a clean divorce and go back
to our respective lives.”
Kip nodded once. “But we’re not divorced yet.”
Then he rolled me onto my back, deftly slipping his hard cock inside
me, showing me the benefits of having a husband who was more than
passable at sex.
Whistles sounded as I strutted through the building site.
I grinned, not as bothered as I would normally be with the catcalling.
Especially since I had a sense about what was coming next.
“Hey!” a familiar voice boomed. “Next person to whistle at my fucking
wife is out of a job and a tongue.”
“I can’t help that I look this good, but you can control those mouths.
Come on, boys,” I called out, turning my attention to where Kip’s voice
came from.
He was shaking his head at me when he emerged from the depths of the
house, wearing his cap, a dirty tee, and the faded jeans that did all the right
things for him.
“You here to cause trouble?” he asked when he made it to me, holding
on to the belt loop in my jeans and yanking me toward him. I was wearing a
white tank with a lace bra that did not mask my nipples hardening with his
nearness.
“Me? Cause trouble?” I said innocently. “Never. I just came to bring my
husband his lunch.” I held up the basket I’d been carrying.
He looked from me to the basket. “Did you make it?” he asked
dubiously.
I scowled at him. “No, Nora made it, so don’t worry. It’s all safe to
consume.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Why did you come, babe?”
I’d bristled at the endearment a bunch of times before, but now I didn’t
even question it—though I knew in the depths of my mind I should’ve,
boundaries and all that—because now we’d fucked, and his casual touches
and endearments meant something.
“Because I want the town to think I’m doing a great job at being a
wife,” I said sweetly.
He kept a firm hold of my belt loop. I liked it. It was intimate and
possessive.
 Wait, didn’t I hate possessive men?
“The town knows you plenty well, and they know you’re not the kind of
wife to bring her husband a packed lunch,” he said.
That was fair.
“Okay, I’m not here to bring you lunch,” I admitted. “I’m here to get
fucked in your truck.” I nodded to the truck, parked off to the side, closer to
the woods the house was bordering.
Kip’s expression turned hungry, and he yanked me closer to him so our
mouths were inches apart.
My body responded to his warmth against mine, his scent. “I cannot
fuck my wife in my fucking truck on my lunch break, with a bunch of men
a stone’s throw away,” he murmured against my lips. “As much as I want
to.”
I smiled at him. “Well, I’m not really your wife, remember?” I
whispered. “I’m just some woman you live with who you happen to be
fucking. And if you want to be a stickler about the wife thing, it’s your
husbandly duty to take care of me in all ways I need.” I leaned in to place
my lips against his. “And I need you to fuck me in that truck, with a bunch
of men a stone’s throw away.”
Kip let out a low growl. “Fuck, woman, you’re gonna drain the life
outta me.”
I grinned. “Not until I get a Green Card out of you.” I winked and then
sauntered in the direction of his truck, swinging my hips, already wet and
ready.

“If any fucking man sees you like this, I’m gonna have to kill them,” Kip
grunted as I rode his cock with abandon.
 The cords in his neck were sculpted from marble, his hands on my hips,
finger pads pressing into bone.
He’d yanked the straps on my dress off my shoulders to expose my
breasts. My dress was bunched at my hips, and the seat of Kip’s truck was
pushed back to make us a little less visible from the outside.
The way the site was structured meant we were mostly out of the way of
anyone who was working, but if someone decided to go for a stroll or get
something from their car, we’d be easily seen.
That only served to make me wetter and my oncoming orgasm more
intense.
I grinned at him. “You’re really gonna kill a man just ’cause he caught a
glimpse of my tits?” I teased.
Kip grabbed the back of my neck and exerted pressure on my hip to
stop me moving, his face turning stormy and dangerous.
My body prickled with unease and even more desire. Kip had switched
to dangerous badass mode, and I was all about it. In a big way.
“I’ll kill a man if he sees my wife’s face, flushed and fucking
magnificent, while she’s full of my cock and minutes away from climax,”
he growled, his grip at my neck bordering on painful. “I won’t let any
fucker walk around with that image. So you best make sure we’re not seen.”
As adverse as I was to taking orders, especially ones that were not at all
in my control, I liked that one. Liked the intensity with which he spoke.
And some fucked-up part of me fucking loved that just by fucking Kip in
his truck, I had some perverse power.
“Well, you gonna let me ride you so I can come before someone sees?”
I asked breathlessly.
He growled low in his throat and yanked our mouths together, nipping
my lip so I tasted blood.
“Christ, woman, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me,” he rasped.
 I grinned at him as he released me so I could ride him once more. “But
what a beautiful death it would be.”

Four Months Later

Nora gave birth to a healthy baby.

With all her anxiety over her health and complications related to it, she
labored like a fucking trooper. From the sound of it, Rowan was the one
who couldn’t keep his shit together.
It was pretty funny.
Kip teased him about it relentlessly.
Rowan barely noticed. He was too fucking enchanted with his new
child, with the wife who birthed her, with his family.
It seemed, in a way, like Nora had birthed a whole new version of
Rowan. For some reason, it made my chest burn a little. Only for a moment,
though. Then I got my shit together and let the joy wash over me.
There was plenty of that to be had.
And we were plenty busy.
I took over most of the day-to-day running of the bakery, and Tina did
the baking where she could—though Nora was there most mornings after
her first week home with Ana. Sometimes with Rowan and the baby in tow,
sometimes not.
I was at their place as often as I could be, enjoying my status as the
cool, eccentric aunt and spoiling my niece in every way I could.
Kip was there often, too, because he was the uncle by default, and he
tended to go where I went these days. I’d thought he was going to be a
natural with Ana, considering he was just one of the kind of people you
expected to be good with children. He was boyish. Playful. Seemed to be on
their level.
 But Kip kept his distance from the adorable baby girl, with a wary look
in his eye, which was kind of funny since I was sure he was a badass who
could handle a whole bunch of infidels or whatever, but apparently a
newborn child was where he got scared.
I stored that in my ‘Interesting Tidbits about Kip’ folder.
Technically the folder shouldn’t exist. We had agreed it was just a
marriage. Then we agreed it was just sex. I couldn’t be learning curious and
interesting things about the man I was married to and now sleeping with.
The lines were blurred enough.
I went from despising the man to being married to him and despising
him, then being married to him and wanting him, and now married to him
and sleeping with him.
This was the end of the road. It had to be.
I wasn’t sure what Kip’s thoughts were on the whole thing. I wasn’t sure
if he even had thoughts on it. He sure didn’t seem to be as conflicted as I
was. Oh, to be a man. Maybe it truly was as simple to him as having a
benefit to our arrangement. I was still curious as to what motivated him to
agree in the first place.
I tried my best to just make the most of it while I could. It was bound to
get complicated at some point.
We slept together every night now. Which wasn’t a good idea. But it
wasn’t a good idea to marry him in the first place. In for a penny, in for a
pound.
Life was happening fast these days.
But the immigration process moved slow.
My application was ‘processing,’ and our lawyer informed us we could
be getting a letter with our interview date tomorrow or it could be multiple
months more, depending on the volume of the applications.
So, my marriage could either last till tomorrow or for months.
There wasn’t much I could do but drink and enjoy the orgasms.
 I’d been contemplating drinking alone since Nora was unable to drink
with me and Tina and Tiffany were out on some kind of camping trip.
I didn’t have some huge circle of friends. I was a likable gal and had
made many friends on my travels, but at this stage in my life, I didn’t want
a huge circle of friends. I wanted a family I could count on. People who I
could trust with my life. I had that. Unfortunately, they had families of their
own and weren’t as available to drink away their sorrows.
Because these days, they didn’t have many sorrows.
Which was a good thing.
Kip would be home soon. He didn’t really hit the same spot a girlfriend
drinking buddy did, but he cooked for me and fucked me good. A girl
couldn’t complain.
When someone knocked at my front door, I half expected it to be
Deidre. Hoped it would be too. Now I wouldn’t feel quite so guilty about
having her under my roof and pretending to like her son. I wasn’t
pretending anymore. Or at least, the lie didn’t seem to be quite as big. Plus,
I liked her company.
But it wasn’t Deidre.
I opened the door to find Calliope standing there. She was Rowan’s
sister and had recently moved to town under… mysterious circumstances.
My favorite kind. And I figured we’d be fast friends, but we just hadn’t had
the chance to hang out a whole bunch one-on-one.
“Wanna go out and get fucked-up?” she said the second I opened the
door.
Yeah, we were gonna be fast friends.
“Come in,” I said, stepping aside. “Got a bottle of wine in the fridge and
tequila in the freezer. Take your pick while I get ready.”
“On it,” she said, strutting through the door, her heels clicking as she
did.

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 eight
. . .

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 Nuclear Women

KIP CAME HOME JUST as we’d finished our drinks and

were getting ready to leave.
He took one look at Calliope and muttered, “Oh shit.”
“Hello to you, too, Kippers,” Calliope greeted, getting out of her chair
to run over to him.
He opened his arms and hugged her easily. Like a brother might.
Yet something burned in my throat ever so slightly. My fingers curled
inward, and I had a fleeting vision of raking my nails through the skin of
my new friend’s face.
I was not a jealous woman. Never had been. I’d come to learn that if a
man gave you a reason to be jealous, then he wasn’t the right kind of man.
But I already knew Kip wasn’t the right kind of man for me.
Kip released Calliope, and his eyes went to me. Followed by his feet.
He didn’t hesitate to yank me into his arms and kiss the living fuck out of
me.
It wasn’t unlike any other greeting I got these days, but I didn’t
normally get it in front of an audience.
Calliope let out a low whistle when we were done, leaning against the
counter with her drink, watching us unabashedly with a smirk on her face.
 “I really couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own two eyes,” she
said.
Kip didn’t let me go, though I yanked against his arm gently.
He just turned me so he could regard my outfit.
I’d only dressed to match Calliope. Well, to attempt to measure up to
Calliope. Our styles didn’t exactly jive. I liked clothes, but I was pretty
casual. I felt most comfortable in jeans, easy dresses—uncomplicated shit.
Calliope was not uncomplicated. Even though she’d moved from New York
—although she wouldn’t say whether she’d actually moved or was on an
extended vacation—to Jupiter, a casual, sleepy, seaside town, she had not
abandoned her New York apparel.
She wore a black leather pencil skirt that clung to her like a second skin,
showing off her kick-ass curves, then a silk camisole tucked into it, which
her impressive tits were on display in. The heels she was wearing would
only serve to break my ankle if I attempted to walk two feet in them, and
they looked like they cost a thousand bucks. Her angular face was
accentuated by the slicked-back bun she’d pulled her dark hair into, her full
lips were painted bright red, and her eyeliner was black and sharp as fuck.
So yeah, she was pretty damn impressive.
I didn’t own a leather skirt or anything silk that required being dry-
cleaned.
I went with a cotton sundress that dipped way in the front with a long
hemline, paired with chunky boots. Then I’d smudged on some black
eyeliner and tousled my hair a bit.
I’d decided I was in my ‘Beth Dutton on the ranch’ era. Nora and I were
kind of obsessed with Yellowstone.
“Where are you two going?” Kip asked me after he’d checked me out
enough to make my upper lip sweat.
“Out,” I replied, jutting my chin up, daring him to tell me I couldn’t. I
hadn’t been to a bar since the first night we fucked. He had that same
possessive, wild glint in his eye now that he had then.
Kip looked from Calliope to me. “You two get in trouble, you call me,”
he said.
“We’re not gonna get in trouble,” I scoffed.
His gaze zeroed in on me, and he leaned in to kiss my forehead. “You
call me,” he murmured, swatting my ass before letting me go.

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kip
I was disappointed to come home and find Calliope there, especially with
Fiona looking too far sexy to be doing anything but going somewhere with
me.
Then I was pissed off that I was disappointed about those things.
First off, this wasn’t my home.
I didn’t have one of those. Even if I had my name on the title of this
place.
I had my old place, the one I still owned, that sat empty and I’d be
sleeping in when this shit was said and done.
And Fiona was not mine.
She was someone I was doing a favor, someone I was fucking, and
someone I was married to—for legal purposes only.
I should not give a fuck about her going out to a bar with a friend. I
should not care about men looking at her hair, her tits, her ass. Not
necessarily in that order.
But I did.
I wanted to follow her to the fucking bar and beat the shit out of any
man who looked at her too long.
“I just need to pee before we go,” Fiona announced to the room as she
and Calliope were readying to go.
“Breaking the seal,” Calliope said with an arched brow. “Rookie.”
Fiona waved her hand. “I am many things, but I am not a rookie.” She
winked at me, and I fucking felt it in my dick.
I watched her ass as she walked away and wondered how in the fuck I
was going to get through the night waiting for her to get home so I could
fuck her.
 Worse than that, I didn’t just want her to get home so I could fuck her. I
wanted her to get home so I could fall asleep with her. So I could wake up
in the middle of the night, smell her, listen to her fucking breathe.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” Calliope commented.
I snapped myself out of it, staring at my old friend. She looked great.
Calliope always did. She’d never hit that awkward stage in junior high, with
pimples or limbs that were slightly too long. Nope, she’d just… bloomed.
Sure, it had a lot to do with her physical attributes, the shiny black hair,
the porcelain skin… and yeah, she developed great tits pretty early.
I’d noticed all of this at a distance. And one time pretty fucking close up
when I was a horny thirteen-year-old who was jacking off constantly and
always looking for new material. It was summer. We had a pool. Calliope
had a bikini. It was bound to happen.
Then I’d seen her the next day and she’d looked at me with that sharp
gaze of hers that made even adults uncomfortable, and I was so fucking
sure she somehow knew I’d jerked off to her, and yeah, I never did it again.
“See what day?” I asked, heading to the fridge for a beer.
“You, domesticated,” she replied, nodding around the house. “With
someone who I never thought would be domesticated either.” She looked
toward where Fiona had gone. Her sharp gaze went to me, much like it had
that summer years ago. And just like it had that summer, I was sure she had
the ability to read my mind.
“It’s… interesting,” she said, putting her elbows on the counter to stare
at me.
I’d had a gun pointed at me, multiple times. Been shot at more times
than I could count. Yet it was this five-foot-nothing, hundred and fifty
pounds soaking wet woman who could scare the shit out of me with a
simple look.
I glanced toward the hall, where Fiona had not yet emerged. I leaned
forward. “Fiona doesn’t know about… you know.”
 All these years and I still couldn’t say it out loud. What a fucking
coward.
But I didn’t need to say it out loud. Calliope knew exactly what I was
talking about.
She and Rowan were the only people in Jupiter who knew me in the
past, knew me as someone other than the cocky guy who never fucked the
same woman twice. They knew me as a husband. As a father.
“Had the suspicion she didn’t,” she replied, still staring with that
probing fucking gaze. “A whirlwind romance and whirlwind wedding don’t
give you much time to disclose the skeletons, pardon the pun.”
I fucking smiled, despite the situation and the subject matter. When it
happened, everyone treated me like I was fragile. No man wanted to be
treated like they were fragile. Most especially not after losing their wife and
daughter. Not that it made anything worse—that was pretty much the worst
you could get. But it made it so there was never a moment, never a fucking
second where you got a respite from what you lost.
It made me hate everyone, especially those who loved me most.
But Calliope wasn’t like that. She showed up to the wake—the second
one they’d held since they buried them without me—with a bottle of vodka
when everyone else brought casseroles. And when everyone had those
pitying gazes and those fragile words, she’d bowled right through, poured
me a shot, and said, “Well, this fucking sucks. We should get drunk.”
That was Calliope.
Rowan was my best friend.
He and I had been almost fucking inseparable our whole fucking lives.
To the point that we deployed together, fought a war together, and changed
our very insides fighting that war.
But Calliope had always been someone important. Someone who I felt
like I could relate to. Someone who didn’t do pity or bullshit.
 I had a sister, one I didn’t talk to all that much and who’d always
resented what I had with Calliope because we were never that close.
But my sister was warm. She toed the line with the family. She thought
she had to ‘know her place.’ I couldn’t relate to that.
Calliope, on the other hand, did not ‘know her place.’ She carved roads
in areas no fucker would be brave enough to tread.
“I know you’re likely to get shit-faced drunk and talk about shit that
women talk about, but you do not talk about that,” I told her, willing to go
to battle with her if need be. But I wasn’t jazzed about it.
Calliope arched her brow. “You know me better than to think I’d spill
my own secrets, let alone someone else’s.”
She didn’t say anything else. I waited for her to because women always
had something else to say.
“You’re not going to say I should tell her?” I asked when she just kept
fucking looking at me.
She cackled. “Fuck no,” she said. “I’m not going to tell anyone how to
deal with their past. You don’t want to tell her, don’t fucking tell her.” She
glanced to the hall once more. “God knows she’s probably got some secrets
of her own that you’re blissfully ignorant about. Enjoy fucking each other’s
brains out while your respective skeletons pound at the closet doors. Fuck
knows it’ll be a mess when they finally come out.”
“Okay! I changed my outfit,” Fiona declared from down the hall. “I
think I look better in this.”
I looked at my wife. She was now wearing jeans with a tank that dipped
way low in the front, showing off too much of her luscious tits and her
smooth, freckled shoulders.
“Fuck yes, you do!” Calliope declared with a grin. “Now let’s go.
We’ve got a town to paint red.”
Fiona grinned at me, snatched her purse off the counter, and followed
Calliope.
 “Call me when you get into trouble,” I said to Fiona’s ass.
“We won’t get in trouble,” she called back.
I shook my head as the door slammed and I was left with the quiet and
my beer.
And fuck if I wasn’t counting down the damn seconds until she came
home.

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fiona
We did get in trouble.
But that was the end of the night.
The beginning and middle went quite well. I didn’t realize how much I
needed a girls’ night out. Didn’t realize how fucking awesome Calliope
was. She was a force of nature. There was something about the way she
carried herself, the way she walked into a room like she owned it, like she
was utterly and completely secure in her own body.
I’d thought I was pretty darn secure in my body and everything else, but
it was different being around her.
There was a power about her. There was also something else. A kind of
chaos. Like the air before a destructive storm.
We spent the first drinks and cheese fries talking about a lot but nothing
important. It wasn’t until the cheese fries were done and I was on my
second drink that I got curious.
“You want to tell me what got you running all the way here?” I asked,
tilting my head to regard her.
Calliope, from what I had gathered, was some kind of hotshot in New
York and earned a shitload of money.
Or at least she had been, until she arrived in Jupiter, moved into
Rowan’s old house, and wouldn’t tell anyone what exactly she was doing
here.
No one, not even big brave Rowan, was game enough to press her on it.
“What tells you I’m running?” she replied over the top of her drink,
regarding me with a penetrating gaze.
I looked at her, with the clothes, the jewelry, the purse, all worn
casually, as if she were in sweats, but all expensive as fuck. I wasn’t really
someone who paid attention to labels or whatever the fuck, but even I could
tell it was fancy shit. Jupiter was nice. It was quaint. Quiet. Idyllic, even.
But it was not full of trendy boutiques, swanky bars, or exclusive
restaurants.
We were currently drinking at the only bar that was open past ten. The
very same bar I had technically proposed to Kip in.
“You’re a long way from New York,” I pointed out.
Calliope swirled her olive. The bitch was drinking a martini. I didn’t
think anyone actually drank those outside the movies. I’d ordered one when
I first got to this country, excited to see what all the hype was about, but it
tasted like rocket fuel. Pure vodka with an olive dipped in it did not a drink
make.
“I’ll tell you what I’m running from if you tell me,” she countered.
My own drink froze inches from my mouth. “How do you know I’m
running?”
She tilted her head to regard me. “You’re a fuck of a long way from
Australia.”
I laughed. “Touché.”
People had asked me why I was in America and not in Australia, and I’d
always had some cheeky reply, some half-baked story, but never the truth. I
hadn’t shared that with my best friend. I’d buried it so deep I’d convinced
myself it wasn’t even real.
Though I felt safe with Calliope, felt like I could tell her anything in the
world without judgment or fear of her repeating it, I was not about to tell
her about my past. Not just because I didn’t trust myself to dredge it up in a
bar with sticky floors and dirty bathrooms. Also, because if there was one
person I’d tell the truth to, it would be the woman who had been my best
friend, my sister, for years.
Maybe I wouldn’t even tell her.
 Maybe I’d keep it all tight inside, rotting, but only I could smell the
decay.
“It’s a man,” Calliope said when I didn’t speak. “It’s always a man.
Either they make a woman stay or run.” She looked at me with a knowing
gaze. “And we’re both the kind of woman who runs if that man is a little
too bad, or worse, just a little too good.”
“Which one are you running from?” I asked to hide my shock at how
perceptive this bitch was. “The bad man or the good one?”
She sipped her martini.
“Both.”
It was around then that the trouble started.

Kip came to bail us out.

I really wanted to use my one phone call on Nora. But she’d just had a
baby, and she did not need to be bailing her best friend and sister-in-law out
at midnight.
Tina would come.
Tiffany would come.
Fuck, Frank would come.
But all of those people would ask why I wasn’t calling my husband to
come get me.
I had to call him. And I’d have to brave the ‘I told you so’ the fucker
was nowhere near noble enough to let go unsaid.
“Told you you’d need to call me,” Kip said happily as we walked out of
the police station.
No charges had been filed.
We’d been arrested by a cop I didn’t recognize. And that likely meant
he was new in town. The bakery might not have served donuts on a regular
basis, but we had the best pastries and coffee for miles. Every cop in town
was a regular.
I’d told him as much.
He didn’t like that.
And he didn’t find my accent charming. He didn’t find Calliope to be a
powerful knockout. Therefore, he arrested us.
He got a little too much satisfaction out of it, if you asked me. And he
didn’t even arrest the men who started the brawl in the first place. Which
showed he was a huge fucking misogynist and part of a dying breed of men
who would eventually go extinct because no woman would want to fuck
him.
I might’ve told him that too.
Which certainly didn’t help.
Luckily the sheriff did know who we were and got us out tout de suite—
well, not suite enough, since I’d already called Kip—and our arresting
officer looked like he’d gotten a swift talking-to.
That was something I enjoyed.
Until the sheriff apologized to Kip when he came to pick us up.
“Um, hello?” I waved my hand. “He’s not the one who got locked up.
We are. And you apologizing to him for locking his wife up is all well and
good if we’re residing in the 1950s, before women got the vote, but we’re
here, and we’re complete people with rights and mouths to call you the fuck
out with.”
The sheriff looked from Kip to me, his eyes wide, and fuck if he didn’t
look like he was fighting back a smile.
Because I was still a little drunk, my blood was hot, and I was aptly
offended, I wanted to slap him or something.
I wasn’t usually so quick to violence.
And I actually liked the sheriff.
Or I used to.
 “Jesus Christ, Fiona,” Kip said, grabbing the back of my neck to pull
me into his body. As if he knew I was about to do something stupid. “The
man is well aware you have a mouth. In fact, this whole town is aware you
have a mouth.”
I directed my glare upward at him. “And you expect me to shut it
because now I have a husband to speak for me?”
Kip grinned. “Fuck no,” he said. “Life wouldn’t be nearly as exciting if
you kept your mouth shut.”
I scowled at him, ready to shoot another retort, but Kip was still
speaking.
“Thanks for this,” he said to the sheriff.
“Don’t thank him,” I snapped.
“He’s the one making sure you’re not getting held or having charges
laid against you,” Kip reminded me.
“Yes, but neither are the men who need to be.” I turned to the sheriff. “I
expect you’ll get on that?”
He nodded sternly, but yet again, I got the impression that the fucker
was trying really hard not to smile. “I’ll be making sure of it,” he promised.
I gauged his sincerity. “Well, just remember, I’m responsible for you
getting caffeine and sugar. It would be a shame if someone put salt instead
of syrup in your coffee and you suddenly stopped getting pastries without
scorch marks,” I threatened.
Such a threat was empty. Nora never burned anything, and I wouldn’t
actually put salt in his coffee when I was sober. But I sounded sincere
enough.
“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” the sheriff said, nodding once and
walking back into the station.
Calliope had been silent during this entire exchange, which surprised
me. Calliope Derrick could be described as a lot of things, but quiet was not
one of them.
 Glancing over in her direction—it was kind of hard because Kip’s hand
was still on my neck, and he didn’t seem to be letting me go—I saw she
was focused on her phone, brows drawn together in a serious frown.
Interesting.
“You ready to go, Cal?” I asked her.
Her head snapped up. The frown was gone. Her expression was smooth
and placid, composed. “I’ve got my own ride.” She held up her phone. “You
two go and have wild sex somewhere on the side of the road or on the
beach.”
Though I had been mad at Kip, the prospect of wild sex was enticing.
“We’re not leavin’ you alone,” Kip grumbled from above me, obviously
not as excited at the prospect of wild sex as I was.
Calliope rolled her eyes. “I’m standing outside a police station in a town
that hasn’t seen a serious crime in years.”
She was mostly right. Jupiter was one of the safest places I’d ever lived.
It was small, and most people knew each other, looked out for each other.
But it was also a tourist town, so every summer, the population surged, and
with the extra people came increases for drunken fights, thefts, vandalism,
and things of that nature.
Even outside of tourist season, it wasn’t immune to drug problems or
domestic violence problems. The realities of the world seeped in every now
and then.
But that was life on planet Earth, unfortunately.
“We’re not leavin’,” Kip repeated in his ‘I’m not taking arguments’
tone.
Much like me, Calliope had an immediate reaction to the
aforementioned tone. She was not a fan.
Her hand went to her hip, one brow arched, and she tilted her head to
regard him. A pose that should be universally recognized as the Female
Battle Stance.
 “You really think you can protect me any more than I can protect
myself, Kippers?” she asked. “Let’s not forget who routinely beat you up
throughout your childhood.”
Kip’s grip tightened around me. When I looked up, I swore his cheeks
were getting a bit red.
“You were twice the size you should’ve been for your age,” he retorted.
“You were a fucking monster.”
I smacked him on the arm.
Calliope grinned. “He’s not wrong,” she said. “I may have lost the baby
fat, but I’m still a fucking monster, Kippers. And as much as I understand
the alpha male sentiment since I’m related to one, I really must insist you
put your dick away. We all know it’s big. You don’t need to swing it.”
I choked back a giggle.
Kip was not even close to giggling. Although he didn’t look pissed off
either. He looked amused and somewhat weathered to such talk from
Calliope. From what I’d heard, they had grown up as close as siblings, and I
would hazard a guess that this wasn’t the first time she’d given him the
dressing-down he was routinely in need of.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair and then
kissing me on the head. “The man who ends up with you is in for a fucking
ride.”
She winked at me. “If he meets all the requirements, which most men
don’t. Thanks for a great night, babe. Let’s do this again soon.” This was
directed at me.
“Definitely,” I said, blowing her a kiss.
Kip walked us off toward his truck, not letting go of me until he opened
the passenger door and lifted me into the cab with a firm hand on my ass. I
didn’t hate it.
When he got into the driver’s side, I noted a black sedan pull up and
Calliope walk over to it, her brows furrowed, expression somewhat grave
yet determined.
“That’s interesting,” I said more to myself than Kip.
He was also looking at Calliope getting into the sedan, his lips a thin
line.
“Yeah, that’s trouble,” he muttered. “But that’s Calliope. And best for us
not to get involved, lest the fallout damage us.”
I glared at him. “How do you know there’s going to be fallout?”
He started the truck and looked back at me. “Babe, with Calliope,
there’s always fucking fallout. I love her like she was my own blood, but
she’s a weapon of mass destruction.”
I smiled at that description. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s what men need.
More nuclear women like her to make them fall into line.”
His gaze was… penetrating. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “Or maybe they
destroy everything in their path, making it so nothing can survive the
fallout.”

There was something I liked to call the ‘romantic comedy montage,’ which
happened in almost every big Hollywood romance. It happened right after
the ‘meet cute’ or maybe after the first date, the first time they fucked.
Then, almost like clockwork, there was the montage of them sitting in
cafés laughing, kissing in the kitchen, rolling around in bed together—
flashing images of a couple falling in love.
Because it was too fucking complicated to write the way people fell in
love. It was not a Hollywood moment. It was a compilation of moments,
each completely unique to each couple. What made one person fall in love
with another might send another person running for the hills.
One person’s red flags were another’s green lights.
 Humans were fickle, strange creatures. Love was even more fickle and
strange.
Therefore, the romantic comedy montage.
And I felt like I’d been living through a version of that these past few
months.
Flashes of Kip and me. Bickering over what movie to watch, what show
to binge. Fucking on the sofa. Me sitting at my balcony with wine and a
book while he cooked dinner—as he did every night. Fucking outside. Him
coming in while I was taking a bath, refilling my wine, kissing my head,
and leaving without a word.
Not that I was falling in love.
If anything, I was falling in like.
I was not only getting used to a life with Kip—I didn’t hate it. In fact, it
was becoming something quite pleasurable. And not just on the sexual
front.
Which, of course, meant the fallout was coming.
Because although Kip had never said it aloud, I was a nuclear woman
too.

OceanofPDF.com
 nine
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Two Pink Lines

I WAS sure I’d prepared for everything that might happen over the
course of this marriage. Well, I wasn’t exactly prepared for the sexual part
of it. But I hadn’t been completely clueless about it either. Despite the lies I
told myself, a small part of me had expected something like this might
happen.
From the moment I’d met Kip, I’d been irritated by him, to be sure. His
cockiness and general disposition had turned me off. But even when I’d
violently despised him, I also wanted to fuck him.
Yeah, I was fucked-up. But everyone was.
So, the sex wasn’t exactly out of left field.
Him cooking for me was. Him bringing me coffee in bed every morning
was. Him realizing what brand of chips I liked and stocking the pantry was.
He was almost… likable. But I didn’t think too long on that. Too messy.
Too dangerous.
There was one thing I didn’t factor in. Not even in my wildest dreams.
Two pink lines.
I didn’t let myself believe it for the first month.
In fact, I pretended it wasn’t even real for the first month.
I didn’t think I was capable of compartmentalizing like that. But it
turned out fear, denial, and a sprinkle of PTSD really created the perfect
environment in which to delude yourself.
Plus, it wasn’t going to stick.
It never stuck.
The data was on my side.
Better to just wait for nature to take its course. I wouldn’t be surprised
when it did. More importantly, I wouldn’t be devastated when it did.
Every time I went to the bathroom, I prepared for blood. Every morning
I woke up, I braced for telltale cramps.
Fuck, every time Kip and I had sex—which was a lot—I half expected
to soak the mattress through. Ideally, I wouldn’t be having sex. It was
irresponsible, and if I did soak the mattress with blood, it would likely quell
any and all attraction between us.
“You fucked me into a miscarriage.”
Yeah, that’d do it.
I shouldn’t even want sex with everything I was expecting. The other
times, I hadn’t let him touch me—something he was furious about. I had
absolutely no desire for sex and did not want to be touched.
With Kip, it was different. I wasn’t in control of my desire. The second
our eyes met, our lips touched, everything else melted away. It was the one
time I got to escape my body.
Suffice it to say, we had a lot of sex.
But I was… distant. In my own head. On edge. Skittish Kip noticed it,
but he didn’t say anything. Why would he? We might’ve been married on
paper, but in reality, we were fuck buddies.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
My bestie, on the other hand, noticed.
Luckily for me, she’d just had a baby, so she was kind of busy. It wasn’t
weird that I wasn’t getting wine drunk at her house every night because she
had a newborn. And because I had a husband who I apparently needed to
spend time with in order to make our marriage believable. Hence the
month-long grace period.
But now she was out of the newborn fog.
“Something’s going on,” she said the second we finished the morning
rush.
Fuck.
I busied myself with arranging a cupcake display.
Tina was banging away at the coffee machine, but I saw the knowing
smirk on her face. She was not in a newborn fog. In her mid-fifties, she was
past her childbearing years and sharp as a tack.
Tina noticed everything, so I knew she’d noticed I was off. But Tina
was not one to pry. She would listen as you spilled your guts to her, offer
sage, no-bullshit wisdom without judgment. But she would wait for you to
come to her.
“Nothing is going on,” I told Nora, focusing on the cupcakes, even
though the sickly sweet smell of frosting and chocolate was making my
stomach turn.
Normally I loved the scents of the bakery, Nora being a fucking
magician with a wooden spoon and a mixer. It took enormous willpower not
to stuff my face daily. Not that I minded wearing a few extra pounds here
and there—women were meant to have some meat on their bones.
“Bullshit,” Nora shot back, putting her hand on her hip.
Double fuck.
I couldn’t keep toying with the cupcakes unless I wanted to vomit all
over them.
Reluctantly, I turned to face my best friend.
Unfortunately, I had her full attention.
Rowan was on baby duty today, having taken paternity leave as soon as
Ana was born. It had made even my ovaries pulse to see the gruff, muscled
man absolutely melt with a baby in his arms.
 Apparently, it kick-started the fucking things.
Nora was a natural mother, despite her fears that her anxieties might get
the best of her. She glowed with motherhood, not showing any dark circles
or general signs of exhaustion. I guessed life with a newborn was different
when you had a man who really stepped up and took care of their kid.
Not to mention Rowan’s entire family, who were back and forth from
the birth.
Nora had lucked out in the mother-in-law department.
I was glad for her.
I knew better than anyone what a fucking nightmare it could be. The
mere thought of it made me shiver. Technically, the second time around, I
had lucked out in the mother-in-law department, too, but it wasn’t
permanent, so it didn’t count.
“Is it something with Kip?” Nora demanded. “Has he done something?”
Her normally placid and sweet voice had a bite to it now. Rowan had lifted
up various parts of my normally shy and timid best friend, including some
impressive new claws.
I had to snort at that.
“Yeah, he did something,” I said. “Or his sperm did something,” I
corrected.
Nora’s eyes bugged out, getting my meaning immediately. Whatever
she had been imagining, this was not it.
“What?” she shrieked. “You’re pregnant?”
I gaped around the bakery. Nora had yelled loud enough for the whole
place to hear. And we lived in a small town full of people who fucking
loved to gossip. Luckily there were only a handful of customers, most of
whom were tourists. Our one local had headphones on and was tapping
away at a keyboard.
Tina didn’t say anything at the coffee machine, merely raised an
eyebrow. The bitch had probably already guessed it. I normally went to her
and Tiffany’s place and got shit-faced with them at least once a month, and
I’d made excuses this month.
“Say it louder, why don’t you?” I snapped, grabbing Nora’s arm and
dragging her out the back to the kitchen.
“You’re really pregnant?” she asked once we had somewhat of a sound
buffer.
Unfortunately, Nora had just baked cookies.
My stomach turned again.
Working in a bakery apparently wasn’t so great if you were discovering
you had morning sickness.
“Apparently,” I said with a shrug, incredibly uncomfortable with this
conversation.
Sure, the missed period, the positive tests, and the raging hormones
were all tangible signs that I was, in fact, knocked up. But it was something
else entirely having the conversation with my best friend.
It made it really real.
I had to stop myself from vomiting again.
This time it wasn’t from morning sickness.
It was from bone-deep fear.
“Does Kip know?” Nora asked.
“Fuck no,” I replied, paling at the mere thought of having this
conversation with him.
Her face turned pensive. “This wasn’t planned?”
“No,” I scoffed, pacing the kitchen. “This was not planned.”
“You didn’t talk about children?” Nora asked gently.
“No,” I half laughed, thinking about the horror on his face the first time
we had sex and he thought he had a chance of impregnating me.
“We did not talk about children. But we both agreed we weren’t having
them. It was an unsaid kind of thing,” I said lamely. I couldn’t exactly tell
her this entire marriage was a sham and we were only having sex because it
was… convenient.
Nora nodded with understanding. “Of course.”
I frowned at that. There was knowledge there. Sure, I’d mentioned to
her that I never planned on having children. I hadn’t shared that I was
physically unable to do so. No need to open that can of worms.
But how could she know that Kip wouldn’t want them? Maybe because
he’d been a perpetual playboy. I mean, that made sense. But Nora’s
expression was almost… somber?
Did she know more about Kip than me?
Of course, she knew more about Kip than me. She was married to his
best friend.
I was nothing but his fake wife.
My knowledge of the man consisted of whether his dick curved to the
right—it didn’t—and if he cared about the female orgasm—he did.
Though I didn’t have the bandwidth to feel weird about her knowledge,
I did feel weird. And jealous.
But there was the case of the human growing inside me. That took
precedent.
“Th-This doesn’t happen,” I stuttered. “Accidental pregnancies don’t
happen.”
Nora looked at me with a disbelieving gaze. “Um, have you seen any
rom-com?” she asked. “They totally happen.”
I scowled at her. “Outside of Hollywood,” I snapped. “A woman in her
thirties has a twenty percent chance of getting pregnant every month. And
that percentage only declines the older she gets. And that’s a healthy
woman, not one who’s previously been declared barren by doctors.”
Nora gaped at me. “Wait, what?” she half shrieked.
I winced at her tone, realizing I’d let slip one of the—many—things I’d
kept from my bestie.
 Shit.
“Doctors declared you barren?” she repeated, shocked.
There was no getting out of this one.
Man, I would kill for a glass of wine right now.
“Well, I’m sure they didn’t say the word barren,” I hedged. “I mean,
there was some medical mumbo jumbo spoken in soft but detached tones
that was, yes, pretty much delivering the news that she”—I pointed to my
vagina—“would not have the privilege of a baby hurtling out of her.”
Nora blinked rapidly, digesting this information.
It was a lot.
First, I was telling her I was unexpectedly pregnant, and then I was
adding on that I was previously medically barren.
Girlfriend needed a second.
She wasn’t the only one.
I took a deep breath.
“I didn’t think I was ever going to have to tell you this. Any of this,” I
said, snatching a cupcake that was ready to go out to the bakery. Suddenly, I
wasn’t violently ill, and I needed copious amounts of sugar—stat.
I split the cupcake in half, inverting the frosting side to make a sort of
cupcake sandwich.
“I was married,” I told her, focusing on my cupcake and not the best
friend I’d been lying to for years. Technically I was omitting, but who was I
kidding? Omission was one hundred percent a form of lying.
“Before I left Australia,” I explained. “I was young. Really fucking
young. And really fucking stupid.” I took a bite out of the cupcake. “I
thought I loved him. He made me feel special or whatever the fuck.”
I chewed, doing it slowly as if I could prolong the process.
Unfortunately, the cupcake was fudgy and smooth and went down just
fine.
 “You see, I did not come from a wealthy family,” I continued, taking a
breath and not looking Nora in the face. “Like, at all. My mum liked the
ponies and wine, and my dad liked anything that wasn’t working or
spending time with his family. Suffice it to say, we barely scraped by on
benefits from the government, income from whenever my father deigned to
work, and whatever my mother didn’t gamble away.”
I winced at the pain of saying the words out loud, going back to that
dingy flat we’d lived in my entire life. The damp crept into my bones again,
the feeling of never being warm in the winter and the heat of the summer
oppressive and thick.
“I met Emmet Landon at some house party,” I said, abandoning the
cupcake as I once again felt sick to my stomach. This time it had nothing to
do with pregnancy hormones but the rancid memories, soaked in Smirnoff
Ices and cheap perfume that I thought made me smell older and more
experienced.
“I knew who he was, of course,” I explained. “Everyone in my area
knew who Emmet Landon was, even if you didn’t go to the fancy private
school he went to… which I didn’t. But he came from a rich family, threw
legendary parties, crashed expensive cars, and was generally a rich
asshole,” I scoffed. “He was also really fucking hot.”
At the time, I’d thought he was really fucking hot, at least. I thought
with his dark hair, olive skin, and lean muscles that he somehow looked
older than his eighteen years. That he was a man.
Yet in all the years I knew him, he didn’t age a day. He still stayed that
spoiled, rich teenager who thought he owned the world and everyone in it.
“And he only had eyes for me,” I told Nora, still not looking at her. I
tidied bowls on the counter. “Now, I wasn’t the mousy wallflower. I had
great tits early and figured out how to use my looks for my benefit. I knew
men and boys noticed me. Still, I felt flattered.”
 It was embarrassing to think of now. That I was flattered he liked me.
That he smiled at me. Made me feel I was worthy. As if I hadn’t been a
valuable person until someone with means and status recognized me.
I was young, stupid, and fucking damaged.
“Anyway,” I said, waving my hand, “you can guess the rest. It’s cliché.
Girl from the wrong side of the tracks with the rich boy. Parents don’t
approve. That only makes the boy more determined to date, then marry
aforementioned girl.”
I rolled my eyes. It was all so clear now. Sure, he might’ve been
infatuated with me, might’ve liked to fuck me, and he definitely liked the
stir I created. But he never liked me. Because he never fucking saw me.
“I was distracted enough by the money, the nice things, the house, the
illusion that I was a grown-up, that I’d left all my pain behind.” I picked at
the cupcake.
“I quickly learned that wasn’t the case,” I said after a long pause. Ugh. I
didn’t like that I was getting stuck in the past like I was wading through a
fucking swamp. No need for nostalgia. I needed to get the facts out so I
didn’t feel like such a liar.
“You don’t need to know the details,” I told Nora. “Long story short, he
got me pregnant a few times. Didn’t stick. I thought it hurt at the time, but
someone, somewhere was looking out for me, I reckon, because he got
violent after that.”
I snuck a glance at my best friend then.
Nora’s face was a mask of shock. Yeah, I’d laid a whole bunch on her in
one sitting.
And maybe, I guessed, the person she knew now didn’t seem like a
woman who might’ve been abused by her husband. I didn’t take shit from
anybody, didn’t scream ‘victim’ with some haunted stare.
The reality was there was no woman in the world who couldn’t be made
a victim by a man who she thought she loved. That was the horrific truth of
it all.
People were afraid of monsters. Of life’s terrors. I was of the belief that
there was no greater monster, no greater terror, than a man who made a
victim out of a woman.
“I went to all the doctors… for the pregnancy shit, not for the bruises or
broken bones.” I cleared my throat.
The bruises disappeared as if they were never there, and the bones
healed eventually, even if they didn’t set quite right.
“The doctors couldn’t give me the answers as to why it was happening,
then told me that after the last loss, there was too much scar tissue, that it’d
never happen for me,” I said. “By that point I was jaded, bitter, broken, and
thankful. He’d never force me to bring a child into this world with his
blood.” I shrugged. “As pathetic as it was, that gave me the strength to
divorce him. And it took a lot of strength.”
Fuck, I wish I could have a shot of tequila right now.
I figured Nora didn’t need to know about the grief he gave me with the
divorce, the lies he spread about me, the friends I thought I had turning on
me, the death threats, having to move back in with my fucking mother on
account of not having a cent to my name.
Yeah, that was all too fucking pathetic.
“When I finally got that piece of paper, I sold the jewelry I’d managed
to smuggle out, got myself into a student visa program and a one-way
ticket… and here I am,” I chuckled. “Pregnant and married, the two things
that almost ruined my life nearly a decade ago.”
Nora’s mouth was open in shock at that point, and her eyes were wet
with tears.
“Sorry it’s not a happy story,” I joked. “But at least it has a happy
ending… ish.”
I couldn’t be sure that being knocked up and in an illegitimate marriage
could be considered a happily ever after, but compared to what I was used
to, I guessed it was.
I felt naked having spilled my guts to Nora. I hadn’t realized how
exhausting it had been, holding it all in, until I said it.
“You’ve lived a whole life I didn’t know about,” she whispered, rushing
around the counter so she could reach forward to squeeze my hand.
My chest burned with guilt. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t tell you. I
was running from that life, from who I used to be. I figured if I didn’t tell it
to you, the most important person in my life, then it didn’t make it real. I
could forget it somehow.”
Nora’s eyes were glistening when she looked at me. “Oh, honey, it’s
keeping it locked inside that makes it so you’ll never forget it, never outrun
it, and never heal from it.”
My bones suddenly felt brittle, apt to shatter in a million pieces any
second now. “Can we stop the deep and meaningful now?” I asked, my
voice smaller and more delicate than it had been while telling my whole
fucking story. “There’s only so much a gal can handle, especially one with
pregnancy hormones coursing through her body and no fucking idea how to
handle them.”
Nora regarded me as if she were deciding whether she needed to push
me to talk more, then nodded once.
“What are you going to do?” she asked gently.
I drummed my fingers against the counter, wishing for wine, tequila, or
ketamine. Anything to numb this feeling of panic and fear.
“I’m going to have it,” I replied immediately. I hadn’t even thought I’d
decided that. Not until right now. I was a thirty-five-year-old woman who
had no actual career to speak of, no savings, a precarious immigration
situation, and was currently involved in a sham marriage with benefits.
Not at all the ideal mother.
I did not want to be a mother.
 That’s what I’d told myself for almost the past decade. But now I
realized I had been telling myself that in order to take back my agency. It
was one thing to be barren and not want kids. It was quite another to be
barren and want them.
It made you feel desperate, useless, broken, and helpless.
I did not like feeling any of those things. Therefore, I’d changed my
perception. I’d changed who I was at my very core. Or at least I got really
good at lying to myself.
But I did want to be a mother. I might not be the kind like Nora, who
would bake the kid cookies, make their Halloween costumes, and provide a
stable home full of routine. But I’d be a good one. Albeit chaotic.
She was The Chaotic Baker, and that worked well for her. I’d be The
Chaotic Mother. But not in the way my mother was. Not with wine-soaked
yelling matches or empty cabinets. No, more like dance parties in the
middle of the night and a general abhorrence for rules and homework.
“I’m going to have it,” I repeated.
Nora nodded. “Okay. That’s great.” She regarded me soberly. “You have
to tell Kip.”
I scowled at her. “Yes, I know I have to tell Kip, my husband and the
father,” I said sarcastically.
But if I was honest, I had really tried to think about any way I could go
through with this without telling Kip. Which was absolutely unhinged. He
had to know. He’d eventually find out, given we were living together,
sleeping together, and married for the foreseeable future.
Fuck.
Our sham marriage was becoming more and more real.
First, he was in it for… whatever reasons he had that I still didn’t quite
understand. Then he was in it because he got laid on a regular basis and had
spectacular sex.
 That was his ceiling, though. That I knew. Kip wasn’t blurring the lines.
We weren’t acting like a couple. There was no talking about the future. No
soft tenderness. It was all passion and fucking and cohabiting.
He’d be gone once he found this out. Something instinctual told me
he’d be gone. Which would’ve been fine. I could be a single mother. It’d be
hard as fuck, but I had friends here. A community to support me. I’d figure
it out because that’s what women did. That’s what millions of fucking
women did when cowardly assholes left them.
But it wasn’t a guarantee that I’d be here forever. When Kip left, that
was my chance of a Green Card gone. I didn’t know the process if this baby
had an American father who was a deadbeat, but I’d have to bet that I’d be
shipped back to Australia in no time.
And there, I did not have a village.
I had a shantytown, abandoned, full of ghosts and benevolent spirits.
Sure, Australia was a whole fucking continent. I didn’t need to go back
to the place I grew up. There were plenty of quaint seaside towns similar to
this that I could make a home in. But home wasn’t a place. It was the people
I’d chosen.
“Can we not talk about it for the rest of the day?” I requested,
overwhelmed with the complicated future ahead of me if this child did
somehow survive my scarred womb.
Nora nodded, her expression still soft, understanding. Ever so slightly
pitying. She didn’t have to do this when she got pregnant. She had a man
who was utterly besotted with her and treated her like she was the most
precious and amazing thing in the world for the duration of her pregnancy.
“It’ll be okay. He’ll be shocked but happy. He’s a good man.”
I nodded back because I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t think Kip
was a bad person, exactly. But I didn’t think he was an entirely good one
either.
That’s what made him so sexy.
As a fake husband.
Not so much as a father.

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 ten
. . .

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 Fallout

“HEY, BABE,” Kip greeted, throwing his keys into the bowl by the
door. The gesture and the greeting were so routine. So natural.
A point in the column of ‘acting like a real husband.’
He grinned at me with warmth and wickedness in his eyes, slipping off
his boots before walking over to kiss me and grab handfuls of my ass.
Another point for the ‘real husband’ column.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about fuckin’ you all day,” he murmured against my
mouth.
Despite the kiss, the ass grab, and the way he threaded sex into every
letter he spoke, my body did not have its regular reaction.
I mean, I was vaguely turned on because I wasn’t dead.
But I was churning with bone-chilling dread that even the hottest of
desires couldn’t burn off.
Kip stepped back, frowning at me, noting my lack of reaction. He was
in tune with my body in a freaky way.
But that could be a fuck buddy thing. Spectacular sex resigned someone
to be in tune with the other person’s body, the nonverbal signs of consent.
“What happened?” he asked, his demeanor changing immediately. “Did
you hear from the lawyers? Is something fucked-up?” He sounded angry,
worried even. Like he cared if something was fucked-up.
 Then again, he was most likely worried about the ramifications of the
US government finding out we’d committed fraud rather than me being
deported.
“Um, no, it has nothing to do with the lawyers,” I told him, avoiding his
eyes.
I felt like I was a fucking teenager telling my dad I was knocked up or
something.
Like I was going to get in trouble.
Kip’s fingers grasped my chin to tilt it upward, so I had to look at him
or squeeze my eyes shut like a child.
I found his ocean-blue gaze. It was hard. Worried. It almost seemed like
he… cared.
“It’s something bad if you won’t even look at me,” he said gently.
Shit.
There was nothing for it. I couldn’t drag this out.
Rip off the Band-Aid, bitch.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted. “I have been pregnant. For, like, about a
month now. I haven’t told you because I didn’t quite believe it myself and
because I have, um, kind of a… history, so I figured it might not even be an
issue.” My stomach churned, wondering if I was telling him too early and
my body would expel this baby tomorrow.
“But it, uh, I guess is an issue, maybe,” I muttered. “If you want to look
at it that way. Of course, something could still happen because something
could always happen, but I figure it’s stuck somewhat now, and there’s no
avoiding it or lying about it because I’ve had my head shoved down a toilet
for the past two days, and you were bound to notice. That and my tits.”
Up until this point, my tits had only been sore and sensitive. Kip noticed
because he paid particular attention to them. He just thought I was extra
turned on. Which I had been. But now their appearance was beginning to
change. Darker nipples. A lot of veins.
 And that was just the beginning.
Kip hadn’t spoken since I’d blurted everything out. Shit, I wasn’t sure if
he’d even blinked. He was still grasping my chin, standing there, staring at
me, face frozen in something resembling shock.
That made sense.
The news was pretty shocking.
“Did you plan this?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t like the quiet tone. In fact, it made the hairs on the back of my
neck stand up and my blood feel cold.
It was terrifying.
But the question itself was infuriating, so luckily it balanced out and I
wasn’t cowering like a simpering bitch or anything.
“What?” I asked, bite to my tone, stepping away from him.
Kip’s face stayed cold, expressionless. “Did you plan this?” He gestured
to my flat stomach violently.
So much so, I almost flinched.
Almost.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked him.
“No, I’m not fuckin’ kidding you,” he snarled. “You need to get married
for a Green Card, fine. We need to live together for appearances, I don’t
give a fuck. Then I get inside that cunt because I need to fuck, and that’s
good.” He stepped forward.
On reflex, I retreated, and I fucking hated myself for doing so.
“You tell me I don’t need to wrap it,” he continued in that quiet tone.
“Goes against everything I’ve practiced, but I don’t think you have a reason
to lie, and I’m too caught up by that fuckin’ pussy, so I believe you. So
stupid. So fucking stupid.” He hit his forehead with the back of his hand.
Violently.
My body wanted to shake from fear, my senses hurtling back years to
when a man did scare me, when a man hurt me—but I tilted my chin up to
let him know I wasn't scared. Or let him think I wasn’t scared.
“And what, pray tell, do you think my reason would be for getting
pregnant on purpose?” I asked him, letting my irritation gain a foothold. It
helped quell the fear.
“You think I want to trap you?” I continued. “You? The construction
worker who drinks too much, who lived in pretty much squalor, who luckily
doesn’t have venereal diseases, and whose only redeeming quality is that he
can eat pussy like a champ?” I pressed the back of my hand to my own
forehead. “Yes, that’s exactly it. I’m ruining my body, changing my future,
and ensuring my mid-to-late thirties will be filled with dirty diapers and a
screaming infant and not one second to go to the bathroom by myself. Yes, I
did this on fucking purpose!”
I was yelling now.
It felt good.
It felt even better to see that I’d caused a slight chink in Kip’s scary
badass armor. A good thing too.
But even chinked, it was still formidable.
He was quiet for a long time. As if he was weighing my words, testing
them for truth.
“I’m not going to be a father,” he murmured.
“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you blew, like, hundreds of
loads into me,” I returned. Not exactly classy, but fuck it, I wasn’t some
debutante.
“You said you couldn’t get pregnant! You fucking lied!” he roared in
my face. Yes, roared. Like a dragon or something.
I’d been yelled at plenty of times by an angry man. But never roared at
like this. Not with this force of anger.
Kip seemed… unhinged. His eyes were wide, his cheeks were ruddy
red, and his body was trembling with rage. His fists were clenched at his
sides, and he barely looked like he was stopping himself from… hitting me?
 No.
I’d thought a lot of things about Kip since I met him and then married
him, most of which were negative. But I’d never thought he would ever
physically lay hands on a woman. I’d figured that was a watertight theory.
But it seemed like it was leaking right now.
I was frozen in place. I was the girl married to a monster once more,
silently submitting, waiting for his judgment without fighting.
Kip stared at me a long time with that wild, terrifying gaze, not moving
a muscle, breathing heavily.
“Fuck this,” he muttered before turning around and walking away.
The door slammed behind him.
Then I flinched.

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kip
I wasn’t surprised when my best friend sat next to me on the barstool.
Fiona had likely told Nora before she even told me. Chicks did shit like
that. Therefore, Nora probably told Rowan at some point. And likely, after
the episode at the beach house, Fiona probably got on the phone with Nora,
recounted the whole thing, and made me look like the piece of shit I was.
Either Fiona was at Nora’s place or Nora was at our place.
Fuck, our place. It wasn’t that.
If anything, it was my place. I fucking owned it.
I’d been drinking here since I left. Pretty fucking cliché. Man loses it
after he finds out his fake wife is pregnant and goes to get wasted.
Well, the fake wife part wasn’t cliché, but the rest was.
Me screaming at her. Me feeling so out of control I was afraid of what I
might do. Not to her. Never to fucking her. But I wanted to tear that house
apart with my goddamn hands.
Fiona had stared at me like I was going to tear her apart. Like she
expected it. Like she’d experienced it before. I’d never forget the fear in her
eyes for as long as I fucking lived.
“Another,” I said, pushing my glass forward.
I was on Jameson.
Not my usual drink.
Not in a while, anyway. Jameson and I had been the best of friends for a
while, when I was drinking myself into a hole, trying to find the courage to
eat a bullet.
“Figured you’d turn up here,” I said to Rowan without looking at him.
“Your wife probably sent you to beat me up or some shit.”
I didn’t like the way I sounded. Ugly. Bitter.
 But unfortunately, that’s what I fucking was. Underneath the jokes, the
smiles, the mask I’d perfected over the years.
“Looks like you’re beating yourself up plenty,” Rowan replied, voice
calm and collected like it always fucking was.
Well, like it was now that he was married and had a kid. I remembered
when we’d walked into the bakery the day Nora had a black eye. Yeah,
there had been nothing calm and collected about my best friend then.
Nor when he’d pulled up to a parking lot and seen some asshole getting
in Nora’s face about to hit her.
Yeah, motherfucker was never calm and collected when it came to his
wife being in danger. Which was interesting, considering he was the most
stable person I’d met in combat. Something about his wife unraveled him.
Almost like how something about Fiona unraveled me.
But no.
Fuck no.
I was already unraveled, already un-fucking-hinged long before I met
her.
I slammed the fresh glass of Jameson the bartender handed me.
“You can save your pep talk,” I told Rowan, still not looking at him.
“About how your life is fucking aces or whatever now that you’re married
and in love and have a kid. I get it. It’s great for you, and I’m happy as fuck
for you, but that is not the same as this, and I won’t do well if you even try
to say it is.”
I wouldn’t wish the shit I’d gone through on anyone. I was glad as all
fuck that my best friend was sitting beside me completely unable to
empathize with my past. But I fucking hated that he was here to try and
guide me on my future or some shit.
“Unfortunately, it is the same,” Rowan said.
I looked at him then. At my friend with the even gaze, the one who got
me through the darkest of nights, saved my life more times than I could
count, and had seen me at my absolute worst. Right now, I wanted to kill
the motherfucker.
“It is not the goddamn same,” I gritted out. “And fuck you for even
saying that.”
I was still gripping my empty glass, dangerously close to smashing it on
my best buddy’s head. He knew it, too, but he didn’t move.
He didn’t walk the fuck away.
“You need to tell her,” Rowan said. “About Gabbie and Evelyn.”
Their names tore through me like missiles, shattering bones, flesh,
organs.
“I do not need to tell her shit,” I seethed. “She’s my wife, not fucking
yours. You don’t get to dictate what I say to her.”
“Yeah, she’s your wife,” Rowan agreed. “And she’s pregnant. I cannot
begin to understand what you went through before. But I’ll tell you right
now that if you don’t step up for your wife and child, you’re not the man I
thought you were. More importantly, you’re not the man they thought you
were.”
There it was.
I had to fight him now.
Because he’d brought them up. He’d struck that low blow, and I
couldn’t let that shit go.
Rowan didn’t give me a chance, though. He’d had about half a bottle of
Jameson less than me—meaning none at all—therefore he could get off his
stool, give me some fucking meaningful look, and walk away before I even
decided to plow my fist through his face.
And the motherfucker took my keys.

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 eleven
. . .

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The New Arrangement

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fiona

KIP DIDN’T COME HOME until the next day.

I hadn’t expected him to.
In fact, I hadn’t expected him to come home at all. He’d been pretty
adamant about his stance on our unborn baby. Someone feeling that
passionately about children did not just change their mind overnight.
I was sipping a sweet cup of tea at the breakfast bar when the front door
opened and closed. I wished it was coffee since I hadn’t slept a wink last
night, but the cup I’d made smelled like Satan’s asshole and made me throw
up in the sink. Tea it was.
I’d attempted dry toast, but it sat on the plate in front of me with a bite
taken out of it, taunting me.
Well, it had been taunting me up until the front door opened and closed.
I had the weirdest urge to jump off the barstool, gun it out the open
doors, and run along the beach, away from Kip. Despite the fact that such
an idea was unsustainable—where in the fuck would I run to?—I was in no
state to jump off this barstool and run anyway. Even changing position
made my stomach lurch.
Plus, this was my fucking house—even though he technically owned it,
but I didn’t think about that. Kip was not running me out of it. He was the
one who’d acted like a complete unhinged asshole, not me.
So I sat at the bar, cradling my tea, trying to look unbothered and
unafraid.
Each one of his footsteps vibrated in my head.
I knew he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen when they
stopped. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, but I wasn’t going to
look at him. Maybe I’d just pretend he didn’t exist. Childish and unrealistic
but appealing, nonetheless.
He’d been out drinking. That I could smell. I almost gagged at the
stench of liquor that was radiating from him.
He’d gone to a bar and drunk himself into a stupor. Not surprising. I
wondered if he’d also fucked a twentysomething.
The mere thought made me gag again.
I choked down my tea. A strong cup of English Breakfast with four
sugars cured a lot of ailments, but unfortunately not an unplanned
pregnancy with your fake husband.
Silence ticked on in the air, thick and loaded.
Fuck if I was going to be the first person to say something. There was
nothing for me to say. He was the one who should be doling out the
apologies.
“Here’s the new arrangement,” he said finally from his spot across the
room. “I’ll be here for you, taking care of doctors’ appointments and shit. I
won’t go to them. I’ll pay child support. Make sure the kid has good
insurance. But that’s it. I’m not going to be a father.”
I looked at him then. And he looked like shit. He was wearing the same
clothes he’d been wearing yesterday, his dirty work clothes. His hair was
likely messy underneath the cap he was wearing. His eyes were bloodshot,
and his skin looked pale and sallow.
I blinked at him in shock. Had I expected this? He wasn’t interested in
being a husband on anything but paper and in the bedroom. Why would he
decide to play family now just because the pee stick was positive?
Men didn’t have biological clocks. They didn’t get baby fever. Nothing
changed for them when a woman got pregnant. They got their orgasm, and
then it was out of their mind.
It wasn’t in their body, growing, vulnerable… inescapable.
 Yes, I knew this was the most likely outcome, especially considering his
initial response to the news, but I was surprised how much it hurt. What I
was expecting, I didn’t know.
It turned out I was much more of a romantic than I first realized. It
turned out I was expecting him to show up for me.
The truth was a hard fucking pill to swallow. I was mad at myself.
Embarrassed.
“So how exactly does that work, Kip?” I asked, surprised and impressed
at how even and calm I sounded.
“We’ll continue this marriage for as long as it takes for the Green Card
to come through,” he said. “On paper only. Nothing else.”
I wanted to laugh. Yeah, we weren’t going to fuck anymore, after the
damage had already been done. To be fair, I couldn’t be less interested in
fucking him at this current juncture. The overall uncontrollable anger and
assholery really turned a girl off. He was hot as the cocky guy who married
me on a whim but not as the soon-to-be deadbeat dad.
“Once the paperwork is sorted, we’ll divorce,” Kip continued. “I’ll sign
the house over to you. I’ll move out of town and send you a check every
month.”
I stared at him. He’d obviously thought this through at some point
during his night of revelry. He sounded resolute.
“You’re going to sign over the paperwork, move, and send me a check
every month?” I said, my voice small and hurt. I didn’t like that, not at all,
but I simply wasn’t strong enough to put on false bravado.
Kip heard the hurt in my voice. I knew he did. But it didn’t make him
soften, didn’t make his eyes lighten up or resemble the man I thought I
knew. If anything, his expression hardened, his lips curling into something
that could only be called a grimace.
“Don’t act all wounded now,” he spat with venom. “You knew exactly
what this was from the start. This is not a fucking romance. I haven’t hidden
who I am. What I’m capable of. You’re not a victim here, baby.”
The words found their mark. Every fucking one. He’d spoken cruelly
and with the intention to wound.
I had experience in that.
Tears prickled the backs of my eyes, but fuck if I’d let them fall.
“You’re right,” I agreed, jutting my chin up. I looked at him, but just
above his head so I didn’t have to make eye contact. I could glare at his
general shape and have the same effect. “I’m not a victim here.” I spoke out
loud more for myself than him. As a reminder.
“I’m a grown-ass woman capable of taking care of herself and the
consequences of her actions,” I said, again more for him than me. “I was
crazy enough to agree to marry you, then get into bed with you without
protection. I was culpable every step of the way. And I’m strong enough to
take the load from here on out. You want to go back to how it was,
pretending with everyone else? That’s fine. In fact, I appreciate you still
doing it, given the circumstances. It would’ve made things more difficult if
you hadn’t wanted to move forward.”
‘More difficult’ was a massive fucking understatement.
“I will do my best to keep this”—I pointed to my flat stomach—“under
wraps for as long as possible so we don’t have to deal with the small-town
bullshit of it all.”
I wanted to gag thinking about how happy all of the well-meaning
residents would be for us. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the happiness, but I
hated that it had to be connected to Kip, to a fucking lie.
“I’ll work my way up to pretending that I don’t think the father of my
baby is an asshole man-child incapable of growing up or stepping up,” I
informed him sweetly. “And I will take the checks every month to ensure I
give my child the life it deserves.”
I really would’ve loved to be noble as shit and refuse a red cent from
him, but that wasn’t smart. Kids were expensive as fuck, and I wanted to
raise a good one, give them a good life. Now, money didn’t always equal a
good life, but it did equal good healthcare, a roof over our heads, food, cars,
travel, good Christmas gifts—that kind of thing.
And Kip obviously wasn’t hurting for cash since he was a partner in a
successful construction business and didn’t have a child to care for in his
future.
He almost maybe looked like my words affected him. For a second, at
least, until his cold mask settled in. He nodded once.
Then he walked away, in the direction of his room.
I heard the shower going not long afterward.
He was going to live here and sleep back in his room. Despite his
presence in the house, I’d never felt more alone in my entire life.
I placed my hand on my stomach.
“I really hope you make it, kid,” I said quietly.
Because the life I had before seemed like it was up in flames, and I
found myself already willing to burn everything down for this little thing
inside me.

Nora came to my first doctor’s appointment.

She had been given a somewhat censored lowdown on Kip’s reaction to
the pregnancy. I’d tried to play it off the best I could, not because I was
trying to save his face but because it got way too complicated otherwise.
Unfortunately, even the censored version of his response got my sweet
bestie’s hackles up.
It didn’t help that she had a husband of her own who worshipped her.
Who was at her beck and call when she was pregnant, watching her like a
hawk, reveling in every second of her pregnancy and not missing a single
doctor’s appointment, not even letting her tie her fucking shoes.
 Kip’s absence was that much more powerful when measured up against
Rowan. Then again, they were different men.
Rowan was a better man.
It was a rather cruel and unfair thought to have, but I was feeling rather
cruel and unfair these days.
I knew Nora had a lot to say about Kip, but I also knew she was holding
back. I didn’t take her back on a detailed walk down my memory lane, but
she’d learned enough to understand the trauma I’d gone through in the past.
And Nora was the most empathetic person I knew. Therefore, she could
sense my utter panic sitting in my OBGYN’s office, waiting to be seen.
It didn’t help that the fucking place was full of pregnant women,
looking happy and healthy, and all of them seemed to have a fucking
husband there. Granted, the men didn’t look all that overjoyed to be there,
and most of them were scrolling on their phones, but they were there.
Ugh.
I needed to snap out of it. This might not even happen. I wasn’t out of
the woods yet. There was no point spiraling. I could go in there and the
doctors not find a heartbeat.
Maybe that would be for the best.
I tried to convince myself of that. That it would be easier for everyone if
this pregnancy ended the same as all my previous ones had. I’d survived it
before, and I’d survive it again. That was the benefit of trauma—you knew
you’d survive it. You knew you didn’t have much of a choice.
But although I was trying to convince myself I would be okay—in fact,
I’d be better off—if this all went away, I wasn’t that good at lying to
myself. And the truth was I wanted this baby.
Already.
Even though I’d made my peace with a child-free life. Even though it
made things a thousand times more complicated. Even though it ended
things with me and Kip.
 I wanted it.
Therefore, I was fucking terrified.
Nora grasped my hand that had been lying on top of my jiggling thigh.
She squeezed it tightly.
“It’s going to be okay,” she promised.
I nodded because I didn’t quite trust myself to speak. I didn’t believe
her. She couldn’t know it was going to be okay. But holding her hand, I did
feel a little better. Because I wasn’t completely alone.

I’d almost thrown up on the walk to the ultrasound room. Then I’d almost
passed out putting the gown on.
I had been sure that I’d dealt with the past as much as that kind of shit
could be dealt with. I was proud of how I’d recovered, what a tough bitch I
was. Turned out I’d excelled at creating a life that didn’t put me in contact
with things that would send me hurtling back into the past, all the trauma
fresh and visceral.
The dark ultrasound room with the TV perched on the wall, the table
with the stirrups, the crinkle of the paper underneath my bare ass—all
familiar and terrible.
The sonographer was nice enough. I think. For the life of me, I couldn’t
remember a reaction with her beyond trying to resemble a human who
wasn’t on the verge of bolting from the room, sans underwear.
“Okay, here we are, and here’s the heartbeat,” the sonographer said, the
ultrasound wand moving inside me.
I was no stranger to having a condom-covered probe shoved inside me,
but it wasn’t something you got used to.
Except while staring at that screen, at the little shape that looked like a
gummy bear and had a flickering heartbeat, I totally forgot about the wand.
 A heartbeat.
“You’re measuring at eight weeks two days,” the sonographer
continued. “And from what I can see, everything looks great.”
Nora’s hand squeezed mine.
I stared at the screen.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
This was getting real.

After the giant probe was removed from my vag and I got my underwear
back on, I moved to an exam room, clutching black-and-white ultrasound
pictures and still feeling somewhat shell-shocked.
My OBGYN was an older woman with a kind smile and a sunny
disposition. She went through all the basics of being pregnant, the dos and
don’ts, while I had a low roar in my ears.
“I was told that I’d never… get pregnant or carry a baby to term,” I
explained when she’d finished, my voice sounding hollow and faraway.
She clicked on her computer, staring at my records, I guessed. I didn’t
have many beyond the pap smears I came here for.
“Well, we haven’t been able to get your records from your previous
doctor,” she said, clicking her tongue. “But from what you’ve told me, your
history might be a sign of some preexisting problem, or it could always be
really, really bad luck.” She tapped some keys on the computer.
“I don’t like to rest on my heels and say that, though. So I’ll run some
tests, put you on oral progesterone if that level is low, and a low-dose
aspirin. I can’t make promises this early on, but everything looks wonderful
to me.” She gave me a kind smile. “Sometimes, these kinds of things
happen to women. Sometimes they get explanations. Sometimes not.
Unfortunately, science is not kind to women, and like in most other things
in life, we’re expected to shoulder some of life’s greatest pains, ones men
can never know and would likely never survive.”
I thought of Kip, of that empty look in his eyes, how seemingly easy it
was for him to check out and leave me to deal with this alone. How that was
an option for him. Then I thought further back, to the man who’d been mad
at me for being unable to attend some charity function or another while I
was actively miscarrying.
“Amen to that,” I muttered.

“See?” Nora said in the parking lot. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You
can breathe.”
I was still clutching my little ultrasound pictures, still only halfway
present. “It’s not over till the fat lady sings,” I replied. “And by that, I mean
me, nine months pregnant, screaming in a delivery room. Then, maybe, I’ll
breathe.”
She stopped walking, her face fallen, structured with pity. “Oh, honey,”
she said in a tone that punctured my heart, the one I was discovering was
much softer than I first thought.
I plastered on a fake smile. “I’m kidding,” I lied. “I can totally breathe
now. It’s all going to be okay.”
Nora frowned at me, likely noting the fact that I was lying through my
teeth but thankfully not calling me on it.
It might all be okay.
Or it might not.
I had no control over that.
But I’d survive it.

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 twelve
. . .

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 The System

“YOU’VE LOST WEIGHT.”

I jumped.
I didn’t know Kip was home. He did his best to avoid the place
whenever I could possibly be here, only coming home to sleep and eat, as
far as I knew. I’d been trying not to torture myself by thinking about where
he was when he wasn’t here or working. Because he had to be somewhere.
With someone.
Not that that was any of my business anymore. He could fuck
whomever he wanted. I had no claim to him. Beyond being his wife. And
baby momma. But those titles were just that. Titles only. They had no
weight to them.
I stared at him. He looked good. Like he always did. Tanned. Flannel
over top of his muscled arms, long-sleeved shirt underneath, fitting tight to
his torso. There was a thick shadow at his jaw because he hadn’t shaved in a
while. It could almost be called a beard. It made him look older and more
brutal. The lines of his face seemed deeper, too, or maybe it was because of
the way he was looking at me.
His expression was hard, void of emotion, and he was looking at me.
No, he was… inspecting me.
 There was absolutely no heat or appreciation in his gaze. In fact, it
seemed that in his appraisal, I was coming up lacking.
I fucking hated how self-conscious that made me.
My roots were showing at the top of my head because I’d abstained
from my hair appointments out of an abundance of caution. I didn’t have
any makeup on, which served to accentuate the pallor of my skin, the
sunken cheekbones, and overall gaunt appearance to my normally full face.
I was wearing leggings and a tank, having made a half-assed attempt at
doing some kind of workout and then vomiting in the middle of it.
Then I’d doomscrolled on social media, scowling at all the pregnant
women running marathons and skipping around in heels and full makeup,
further making me feel like a weak little bitch who wasn’t supposed to be a
mother.
I mean, if I was supposed to be a mother, wouldn’t my body accept the
little parasite inside me? Instead, I was ejecting any and all nutrients I tried
to shove into my body.
Maybe nature had been trying to tell me I wasn’t supposed to be a
mother with all those other losses, and I was only still pregnant now
because Kip had some stubborn alpha sperm that wouldn’t admit defeat.
To sum up, I looked like shit and felt like shit.
It was not my best day.
“What?” I asked him, having to stop myself from wrapping my arms
protectively around my middle. In fact, I had no idea what to do in his
presence. It was awkward. Like he was some one-night stand who regretted
fucking me and was hanging around because he had nowhere else to go.
I was in the kitchen, so I walked to the fridge, opening it and wincing at
the idea of any of the food in there. Everything made me want to gag.
Instead of food, I grabbed a can of Sprite—the only thing I could reliably
keep down.
 “You’ve lost weight,” he repeated when I closed the fridge. He was
leaning against the other end of the counter, careful to keep distance
between us.
As if pregnancy was catching or some shit.
“Well, I’ve been spewing up almost everything I’ve tried to force into
my body, so that makes sense,” I told him, cracking open the Sprite.
“You’re not supposed to be losing fuckin’ weight. You’re meant to be
gaining it,” Kip clipped, sounding pissed.
I glared at him. His posture was tense, and his eyes were narrowed on
the can in my hands. “And you’re not my fucking doctor,” I informed him.
“You’re my fake husband and very reluctant and soon-to-be estranged baby
daddy. None of those titles really give you any rights to comment about my
weight.” I slammed the can down on the counter. I’d been such a miserable
bitch lately. Anger felt really fucking good.
“Well, you’re meant to be growing a fuckin’ child, and it can’t survive
on fuckin’ Sprite,” Kip shot back.
I raised my brow at him. “Are you serious?” I asked quietly. “You’re
really here, commenting on the one thing I can put in my body without
disastrous consequences, acting like you give a shit after a month of the
cold shoulder? No. Fuck that and fuck off. You have no idea what I’m
going through, and it’s none of your business!”
I was yelling at the end now. Yelling felt good. I really wanted to get in
his face to scream at him, but I didn’t have the energy, and I couldn’t
guarantee that I wouldn’t vomit in his face. Not that he didn’t deserve some
vomit in his face.
Kip stared at me expressionless, seemingly digesting what I just said.
“You’re right,” he said finally. “It is none of my business.” Then he turned
and walked out of the room.

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kip
I was a piece of shit.
My reflection glared at me with the hatred and judgment I deserved.
And then some.
I’d promised myself I’d never be my father’s son. I’d never make my
wife feel small, wounded, and weak. I’d never take out my own shit on a
woman who did nothing wrong except find herself married to me.
Yet here I was, doing it. Repeating the fucking pattern.
“You’re fucking disgusting,” I told my reflection.
Except now I wasn’t seeing myself. I was seeing Fiona, the bones of her
hips jutting out in those leggings, her full face now gaunt, her lips pale.
I was seeing her expression when I spoke to her, watching the way she
shrank in on herself in my presence. She was nothing like the vibrant, fiery
woman I married, ready to go toe-to-toe with me and win.
Well, I’d seen a glimpse of her at the end. Her fury lit up her face and
reminded me that she was okay. That I wasn’t ruining her beyond repair.
She didn’t look good, though.
Of course, she looked fucking beautiful. She always would, no matter
what.
But she looked sick.
Weren’t you meant to put on weight when you were pregnant?
I should know this shit. I’d been married before. My wife had been
pregnant before. Except I wasn’t there for it. I was across the world,
fighting a war that wasn’t mine to fight, fighting it for all the wrong fucking
reasons, thinking I was being noble or brave or some fucking shit.
I was in the battlefield trying to find my manhood while my wife had
been at home growing our baby and doing it alone.
 And now I was here, in the same house as her, and the second time
around, my wife was growing our baby and doing it alone.
It was fucking torture.
I should leave.
I had a duffel packed in my truck. Had driven out of town countless
times over these past few weeks with the intention of leaving. Disappearing.
It was the one noble thing left I had to do.
No, dipshit, the one noble thing you have to do is step the fuck up and
be there for the woman carrying your child.
I ignored that voice. It sounded too much like my father even though it
was fucking right.
I couldn’t step up for Fiona. Couldn’t let myself get attached to her and
the baby. No way in hell I’d survive that. Losing them.
It was selfish and cowardly.
But even if I did manage to get out of my own fucking way and try to
step up, I’d fuck up. Cause more damage. That, I knew. She was better off
without me.

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fiona
Weeks passed, and I didn’t lose the baby.
The horrendous morning sickness seemed to be waning some. I thought
I’d be thankful for that, except then I convinced myself the lack of morning
sickness meant something had gone wrong.
Then I’d vomit up a quesadilla and be momentarily reassured.
Then I’d find myself eating a whole packet of gummy bears, holding
them down, and worrying all over again.
It was a really fun cycle.
Punctuated by Kip’s cold shoulder.
I’d gotten used to the proverbial temperature in the house as winter
crept in, the cold seeping into my bones despite my really great heating
system.
I’d gotten used to him having that emotionless, empty look in his eyes
on the rare occasion we crossed paths. The way he would try to get out of
my presence as quick as possible, not look at me, and just generally act like
my existence was torture to him.
No, not my existence, the existence of the baby growing inside me.
I could live with him hating me for whatever reason. That was
something I’d signed up for. Sure, it would’ve been hard to adjust to after
we’d spent a decent amount of time in harmony, fucking, and almost acting
like a couple. It’d hurt. But it wouldn’t settle deep down inside me and
gnaw at my insides like this was.
It made me hate him.
This child was something precious to me. It was becoming more and
more real. It was a miracle, for fuck’s sake. And here he was hating on it
because he was a big fucking coward.
 So, it was probably good he all but ran in the opposite direction when I
saw him, because I couldn’t completely trust myself not to stab him in the
eye with a fork.
Well, I didn’t trust my stomach’s ability to deal with the gore.
Otherwise, I would’ve totally stabbed him with the fork.
I still wasn’t showing, so the town as a whole didn’t know I was
pregnant. It was only a matter of time. It was not lost on my regulars that
my pallor had been somewhat green for the past few weeks, and there were
more than a few of our retirees who had regarded me with a knowing gaze.
Thankfully, no one voiced their suspicions out loud. To my face, at
least. I was sure there were various gossip pools speculating on my fertility
status. This town was slightly wacky, especially when it came to any kind
of romances between well-known residents. Kip’s and my nuptials had
almost caused as much of a stir as Rowan and Nora. Fuck, there had been
an article in the local paper about them.
Luckily no one had penned anything about us. That would’ve been a
total fucking disaster. Though it would’ve served as great ‘evidence’ of our
relationship for the government.
My closest circle knew, though. Both about my pregnancy and Kip’s
reaction to it. And my closest circle had varying degrees of fury toward my
husband. Nora muttered about it under her breath at various points in the
day. Tina didn’t say a word, but when his name was mentioned, her nostrils
started flaring and her face got all red. Tiffany had been filing her nails the
last time I’d been at their house, speculating on how well that nail file
would slice into his balls.
And, as far as I knew, Rowan wasn’t speaking to Kip. They were no
longer attached at the hip as they had been for as long as I could remember.
They didn’t come into the café together. Kip rarely came in period. When
he did, I knew it was strictly for appearances. He’d sometimes lean in to
kiss my cheek, and I’d have to stop myself from flinching away from his
touch.
He didn’t look me in the eye, didn’t joke with anyone like he used to,
and pretended Tina and Nora weren’t staring daggers at him before he all
but ran out clutching a coffee that was likely bitter and burnt.
When I went to Nora and Rowan’s for dinner… which was often—
when I wasn’t there, I was at Tiffany and Tina’s—I went alone, and Rowan
was all broody and spoke in clipped tones whenever the subject of Kip was
even broached. But he was kind and gentle with me. It hurt, seeing his
ability to be like that with me, his wife, and his daughter. He’d been
deployed with Kip, had seen some gnarly shit, I bet, yet his humanity hadn’t
been filed away, ground down to nothing.
When I wasn’t at either of my friends’ houses, Calliope was at my
place. She was quickly becoming another one of my best friends. Because
of my history, my doctor had me coming in for a bunch of visits, each as
stress inducing as the last. Each ending in good news and a respite from the
worry… for a few days, at least. If Nora couldn’t come to those
appointments, Calliope was there.
I wanted to be able to go on my own. Fuck, I’d broken things off with
an abusive and powerful man, moved across the world with no support, had
survived all these years on my own—I should be able to go to a fucking
doctor’s appointment by myself.
But I couldn’t.
And I didn’t have to.
Calliope hadn’t had a lot of things to say about Kip’s reaction to the
pregnancy, which surprised me. She wasn’t known as someone to mince her
words. At first, I’d thought it was because her loyalty lay with him. She’d
known him since they were kids, after all. Told me she considered him a
brother.
 Everyone else had turned their backs on him, so I thought she might be
showing him some grace, some mercy.
But no.
She was gearing up to be the most ruthless of them all.
I saw that the first day she was at my place after she’d found out about
everything. We were sitting in the kitchen talking. Well, she was cooking. I
was sitting, because even if I hadn’t been an absolute disaster in the kitchen,
I couldn’t stand the smell of vegetables or meat. Though I was on the other
side of the counter with the crisp sea breeze coming in from the open
window, I struggled.
Kip had come into the room.
I’d frozen, as I did whenever he came into my general vicinity, unable
to control my reaction.
Calliope, on the other hand, didn’t miss a beat. She continued speaking
and moving around the kitchen, not even glancing in Kip’s direction. It was
as if he didn’t exist.
That behavior continued whenever he was around.
There was the cold shoulder, but this was something else. Calliope had
severely and cleanly cut Kip out of her world.
Two friendships had seemingly been severed.
Both of which had existed since before I came on the scene. Fuck, since
birth, it seemed.
Part of me felt guilty about that. About being the catalyst. But most of
me was angry for feeling that guilt. Kip was the reason for his friends
cutting him off. Rowan and Calliope were good people, with strong values
and morals.
Kip had shown he did not have strong morals, that he might not have
been the person they thought he was. He’d made his bed.
And he wasn’t sleeping in mine.
Which was a good thing, I told myself.
 Except I couldn’t quite tell myself that in the middle of the night when I
was staring up at the ceiling, the TV droning in the background to drown
out the silence. That’s when I was the weakest. When midnight gave way to
early morning. That’s when my fears and my past intermingled and my
heartbeat would race, and all I wanted to do was escape my own mind. My
own body.
Sex with Kip was the only thing I had discovered to do such a thing.
Not other men, mind you. Otherwise, I would’ve dragged my ass out of bed
and to the bar two towns over to get fucked, to get some relief—that’s how
fucking desperate I was.
Even though I didn’t have these particular problems my entire life, I had
plenty of demons that got a little too loud for my liking, and I quieted them
like most slightly unhinged people did—with booze, shopping, food, binge-
watching trash TV, and sex. Not necessarily in that order. And not
necessarily all at once.
And even if I did those things all at once, they didn’t quite block out all
that noise. I’d tried it. I’d tried pretty much everything.
Kip Goodman was the only man who could take me completely outside
myself, if only for the length of time his dick was inside me—and he was
pretty fucking great at keeping it hard and inside for a glorious amount of
time.
So yes, sometimes in the dark of the night, I almost wavered. I almost
got out of bed and crept to his room.
But for what?
I was getting absolutely no signs that he was still attracted to me. No, he
was making it pretty clear that he wasn’t, that he didn’t even like me.
And I didn’t like him.
Therefore, even the pregnancy hormones and the pain of the past could
not urge me to go beg for his cock. Nothing would make me do that.
 I wasn’t even halfway through this pregnancy, and the next twenty-two
weeks yawned in front of me like a fucking chasm.
I was idly thinking about all of this while staring out the window at the
ocean and picking at salt and vinegar chips that would never be as good as
Smiths from back in Australia.
Weird I didn’t call it ‘home.’
I wondered if it ever was.
The door opened and closed, and I jumped.
Usually, I’d hear the telltale crunch of gravel underneath the wheels of
his truck to announce his arrival. And usually, I’d either hide in my
bedroom, put headphones on, or go sit outside until the man in question was
out of my sight.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
I continued eating my chips at the counter, suddenly furious that I had to
walk around on eggshells in my own fucking house.
Even worse, it wasn’t even my own fucking house because fucking Kip
owned it.
The asshole.
What I wanted to do was buy it off him. Except, unlike him, I was not in
the position to buy a damn house with cash, and my precarious immigration
status meant securing a loan would likely be impossible. That and I didn’t
even have the money for a down payment. What savings I did have for a
rainy day was staying where it was because I’d heard kids were expensive.
If I had expected to be having a kid at this point in my life, I wouldn’t
have been so blasé about my lifestyle and my finances. I would’ve saved,
invested, not bought a five-thousand-dollar couch—that was absolutely
dreamy and hugged me better than any man could—that had at least gotten
a good amount of use in my first trimester. Since I thought I was barren, I
hadn’t done any of that. Therefore, I was in a situation where I had to rely
on my fucking fake husband to keep a roof over my head and my pregnant
ass in the country.
It was safe to say I scowled at him when he walked in the door.
He jerked when his eyes met mine. Literally jerked. Like he was so
shocked to see me in my kitchen. Or maybe he was shocked at the hostility.
He shouldn’t have been.
Though I had plenty of choice words and diatribes I had practiced
hurling at him, I kept my lips pursed and eyes on him. No way was I
speaking first. No way was I backing down. This was my fucking house, no
matter what it said on the deed.
Kip recovered quickly, having been blank-faced and taken aback at my
presence. It only took him a handful of seconds to regain that cold
composure that hurt me a lot more than I admitted to even myself.
“Good, you’re home,” he muttered.
Home.
Yes.
This was it.
And he was fucking it all up.
“Where else would I be?” I asked, snatching a chip from the bag and
crunching angrily.
Kip’s gaze found the bag of chips, lingering there for longer than was
normal to look at a bag of chips before it returned to me. Or, more aptly, the
space slightly above my head, since he didn’t make eye contact with me
anymore.
Because he was a huge stinking coward.
Though, unfortunately, he did smell good. Even now, coming straight
from work, covered in construction dust and paint. He smelled like dirt and
musk and him. My nose was like a bloodhound’s these days, and I found
almost all scents abhorrent. Which caused somewhat of a crisis considering
I worked at a bakery that was a glorious combination of smells, usually
pleasing, now downright assaulting.
But Kip. Kip. Of course, he was one of the small handful of things that
actually smelled good to me—somehow weirdly, Rowan’s dog was also on
that list.
Kip didn’t respond to my sarcastic and hostile question, though his jaw
tightened. Instead, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and placed a
notepad, of all things, on the kitchen counter.
“We’re going to have a system,” he said.
“A system?” I frowned.
He nodded once. “Whatever you’re craving, you write it down, put it on
this notepad.” He tapped the pad on the counter. “I’ll make the fucking
thing, and you’ll eat it.”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He glowered. “You heard what I said.”
“I heard what you said,” I agreed. “I just have no fucking clue what it
means.”
“It means you are finally fucking eating again,” Kip bit out, clearly
hating every second of this conversation. Hating every second of being in
my presence. “You don’t cook,” he continued. “And although you’re at
Nora’s a fuck of a lot and she does cook, there are still plenty of meals
you’ll miss or make from a packet.” He tapped the pad again. “So, you have
a craving, wild as fuck, I don’t care, you put it on that pad. I’ll go buy it,
cook it, and you will fucking eat it. Steak, chicken, vegetarian lasagna,
whatever the fuck.”
Understanding dawned. I stared at him—his rigid posture, the way he
didn’t quite look me in the eye, the tension radiating off him, the new lines
in his forehead.
He looked fucking miserable.
“Why don’t you leave?” I asked him.
 Kip’s jaw twitched. “What do you mean?”
I placed my hands on the island, leaning forward, glaring at him. No
way I was avoiding eye contact like this spineless prick.
“I mean, this is obviously torture for you,” I said. “You’re not hiding
your hatred for the situation very well—or at all. Same with your dislike of
me. This isn’t the arrangement you agreed to.” I pointed down to my
stomach, and Kip tensed. “Yeah,” I said. “This wasn’t part of the deal. You
are not a prisoner in this house or in this marriage. You can leave. Divorce
me.”
I’d already considered doing the same to him countless times. Even
gone so far as setting a meeting with the lawyer. But I wussed out at the last
minute. If I divorced him, I was likely setting fire to the Green Card
application and my chances of staying here. Therefore, I’d be going back to
a country where I had no friends and possibly an ex-husband holding a
grudge—the last time he’d spoken to me, he’d promised to kill me—
pregnant and without many prospects.
As much as I did not want to live with this grumpy bastard and continue
the now-painful ruse, I didn’t have a whole bunch of options.
I had a kid to think about now, one who actually looked like they were
going to survive the ‘inhospitable environment’ of my womb.
Kip had likely thought of it too. I wasn’t a mind reader, but I was sure
that’s what I saw on his face the moment I told him. Running. Leaving me.
But he hadn’t.
He’d come back to do the honorable thing.
Well, the semi-honorable thing.
And that had confused me. I knew he was a man of his word, which
held him to a lot of things, like this marriage. But again, the pregnancy and
the lifelong responsibility of a child were not in the initial agreement.
“I’m not discussing divorce,” he said, voice tight. “I’m not going
anywhere. Not right now, at least.”
 “Right,” I said. “Not until I give birth.”
His hand fisted on top of the pad. He was a fucking ball of fury. I swear
if I held him too close to a flame, he’d fucking explode.
“Just write it on the fucking notepad,” he grunted, then stormed off.
“Twenty-two more weeks,” I told myself, snatching the bag of chips,
leaning back in my chair, and fucking hating that now I was craving veggie
lasagna.

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thirteen
. . .

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 Dorito Casserole

THOUGH IT WENT against all my better judgment and all the

rules about holding a grudge against asshole baby daddies, I wrote on the
fucking notepad.
It wasn’t my fault.
I’d spent three straight months vomiting my fucking guts out and
surviving on Sprite, toast, and Ritz crackers. I had a lot to make up for.
Plus, the hunger I was feeling was an entity in and of itself. The baby didn’t
care about the grudge I held against its father. All it cared about was that its
father actually knew how to cook.
He made it. Everything I wrote on the list. Even the obscure, really hard
shit I wrote just to fuck with him.
Nora and I were eating the Dorito casserole he’d left in the fridge earlier
today. I rarely saw him actually cooking—he timed it like some sort of
magician—but there was always food in the fridge. The fucker was
overflowing. And not just with the junk I requested. Healthy shit too.
Berries—all washed and in the flowery berry keepers I’d bought with
good intentions of washing them because I’d read about all the pesticides
this country sprayed on shit but then forgetting or being too lazy. Carrot
sticks. Little egg bites that looked—and tasted—exactly like the Starbucks
ones.
 I was eating better than I ever had. And because of that, and the magic
of the second trimester, I was feeling somewhat like a human again.
“I may talk shit about a lot of American cuisine, but the humble
casserole is truly one of your country’s greatest accomplishments,” I said,
pushing my plate away and staring enviously at the glass of wine I’d urged
Nora to drink.
“You don’t have to stay with him,” she said, frowning at her own plate,
which she’d cleaned. It said a lot about Kip’s skills that two women who
were holding a nasty grudge against him could not abstain from his cooking
on principle.
“With Kip?” I feigned ignorance. Of course, I knew who she was
talking about. She had a particular expression and tone when speaking
about Kip these days. Her mouth went tight, her brows furrowed, nostrils
flared. Although she didn’t speak about him, or to him, if she could help it.
Though she was Nora, who was physically incapable of fully ignoring
someone. So, she said hello to him and tried her best to scowl when she said
it.
He made himself pretty scarce when she was here.
And when she wasn’t.
“Yes, Kip.” She screwed up her nose as she said his name as if it was
offensive to her. “You can kick him out. Divorce him.”
I’d been waiting for this. If the situation were reversed and my best
friend was married, knocked up, and her husband was being an absolute
asshole about it, I’d set fire to his car.
Then I’d suggest she divorce him.
As if it were that simple.
Not that even regular divorce was simple.
If such a thing as a regular divorce existed.
“I can’t kick him out or divorce him,” I told her honestly, contemplating
a second plate of casserole.
 “Yes, you can,” she argued. “If you’re worried about being a single
mother, then you don’t have to worry because I’ll be there for you.”
“You have a daughter,” I pointed out, nodding to the child sleeping in
her car seat that was on the kitchen counter. “You’ve kind of got to focus on
her. And a business.”
“I can multitask,” she said. “It takes a village to raise a child. You were
there for me through my entire pregnancy and the birth. Which was gross.”
“It wasn’t gross,” I argued, thinking back on the day Ana Derrick came
into the world. It was beautiful and hard all at once.
Nora’s cheeks flushed. “I pooped,” she stage-whispered.
I chuckled. “Everyone poops.”
“You won’t,” she accused. “I bet you won’t.”
“I’ll poop just for you,” I told her, patting her hand.
“Thank you,” she replied, picking up her wineglass to take a hearty sip.
“Now, back to Kip. I understand that he has his own issues, but that doesn’t
mean he gets to abandon his wife.”
I frowned at her. There it was again, the hint that she knew something I
didn’t. “What do you mean, ‘his own issues’?”
Nora leaned over to check on Ana. “I mean he was over-deployed with
Rowan,” she said. “He saw fucked-up shit, and then he self-medicated with
being a manwhore for years.” She stroked Ana’s sleeping face. “Then in a
short period of time, he got with you, fell in love, and got married. I’m sure
it was kind of a rocky transition for him, because men are weak creatures
who don’t seem to handle change and responsibility.” She turned back to
me. “But he’s had more than enough time to get used to it, get his shit
together, and be there for you. He hasn’t.”
I pursed my lips, trying to ignore the burning hurt in my stomach that
had existed since I told Kip I was pregnant.
“He hasn’t,” I agreed.
“So, divorce him.”
 “It’s not that simple,” I tried again.
Nora inspected me with a fraught look on her face. “You’re not telling
me something.”
My cheeks felt hot, and I got up to get myself more casserole, mostly
because I really wanted it and also because I couldn’t sit in front of my
friend and lie to her face.
“I’m not not telling you anything,” I said as I scooped a healthy helping
onto my plate. “We might’ve jumped into this marriage quickly, but I’m not
going to jump into a divorce quickly.” I put my hand on my stomach. “For
better or for worse, I’m growing his baby, and if it makes it—”
“When your baby makes it,” Nora interrupted in a firm tone.
I smiled, wishing my fierce and loving friend had powers over such
things. “When it makes it,” I conceded, even though I wasn’t entirely
convinced just yet. “He’s going to be connected to me—to us,” I corrected,
thinking about the small human inside me. “Forever. Whether or not I
divorce him right now will not change that.” I turned to look at my best
friend. “I’m reserving the right to kick him out and divorce him at a later
date if he doesn’t get his shit together,” I said, comfortable with facing her
now that I was speaking something closer to the truth.
Although this whole situation was a shit show, Kip’s behavior at least
gave me a believable reason for divorcing him when my Green Card came
through.
Nora was still frowning at me, though. Her beautiful face scrunched up,
her pale skin blooming with redness at her cheeks, likely from fury. “I don’t
like this for you. When you finally get your miracle baby, it should be with
a man who adores you, who makes this whole process magical.”
I shoved a forkful of food in my mouth as I shrugged. “Babe, you
might’ve gotten the magical romance that’s almost too perfect to be real,
but we mere mortals have to deal with the fact that miracles don’t happen
often, and they sure as shit don’t happen in the same place. I’ve got this.” I
pointed to my belly with my fork. “That’s miracle enough for me. That’s
magic enough for me. Even though my proximity to the toilet bowl during
my first trimester didn’t exactly feel magical,” I joked.
Nora’s eyes shimmered. “But you deserve the magic. All of it.”
My throat burned with the emotion in her voice. Now that I had gotten
over the morning sickness, my body had rerouted its power that was
previously used for vomiting to getting me to react dramatically and
hormonally to any and everything. “Don’t you get it?” I whispered. “I’ve
got it.” I gestured to the windows showing the ocean. “This house. The
baby. The best friend a gal could have.” My eyes went to the car seat. “The
best niece a gal could have. I’ve got Tina, Tiffany, Calliope. I couldn’t have
imagined a life like this. This is my magic. I sure as shit don’t need Kip.”
It was true.
Mostly.
Except after midnight.
Then I really needed Kip.

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kip
She put the picture on the fucking fridge.
I didn’t know if she did it to taunt me. It sure as shit felt like she did.
But unfortunately, I knew Fiona well enough to understand that wasn’t her
gig. If she wanted to be a bitch, she did it to your face, not wanting you to
misunderstand with manipulative bullshit. She put the photo on the fridge
because she wanted to.
And it likely had nothing to do with me.
Well, it probably had something to do with me, because I also knew her
well enough to know she would’ve considered the fact that I would see the
photo. She could only deduce that I wouldn’t be interested in it because that
was what I gave her.
Disinterest.
No rage. Not since that horrible fucking day.
I went through my day having the fewest possible interactions with her.
I left early for work, stayed on as long as possible—luckily, we had a
fuckload of jobs going on, so there was always work to be done across three
towns—and then came home long after I knew she’d either eaten or gone to
bed.
She was at Nora and Rowan’s a lot.
When she wasn’t there, she was at Tina and Tiffany’s.
Nora came here too. She pointedly ignored me or tried her best to. I
guessed I was on her shit list because Fiona had filled her in on my reaction
to the pregnancy. I didn’t think Fiona had filled her in on the entire
marriage being a load of shit because she didn’t want to involve her friend
in that bullshit, and she still kept up the charade that we were living
together.
 Rowan didn’t have much to say to me these days either. He spoke to me
because he had to, because we were business partners, but never about
anything else.
He’d lost respect for me. I saw it. Felt it. And fuck if it didn’t hurt.
Same with everyone around town. They didn’t know the details. Fiona
didn’t broadcast shit like that. But they knew that she was pregnant, I was
working a whole bunch, and I never went into the bakery anymore. No way
in hell could I play pretend with a bunch of spectators. Not now that she
had that small swell to her stomach.
So, they didn’t know details, but they could deduce. I got the stink eye
from the older ladies who used to wink at me. Clients were clipped with me
and jovial with Rowan. Every fucking local store I went in, no one held eye
contact with me, and they sure as shit didn’t double bag my groceries.
Calliope. Fuck, that one stung. Where Nora tried and failed to
completely ignore me—she was just far too much of a nice person to
completely commit—Calliope acted as if I wasn’t even in the room. Like I
never existed in the first place.
That hit me more than I expected it to. She’d always been my ally. Had
never judged me, even when I was at my most fucked-up, my cruelest to
everyone around me. I didn’t think she’d ever cut me off.
But she did.
I got a lot of cold shoulders these days.
Couldn’t be helped.
And I wouldn’t have to deal with it much longer. The lawyer said we’d
likely be getting an interview notice soon. Then we’d have to fake it for one
meeting, and we’d be home free. With the combination of all of our
‘evidence,’ the fact that Fiona was going to be visibly pregnant at the
interview, and with my service to Uncle Sam, our lawyer doubted we’d get
much trouble.
 I could get the fuck out of here and go… I didn’t quite know yet. I’d
figure that out on the way.
I didn’t let myself think about or question that decision. Not until I saw
Fiona, when I couldn’t look away from her. How fucking beautiful she was.
How there was a small swell in her belly now. How she seemed… changed,
somehow. Not physically, but something inside her. The way she carried
herself. It might’ve been a cliché, but she was fucking glowing. Every day
she was more and more beautiful.
Thank fuck she wasn’t sick anymore.
I couldn’t live with that. Seeing her like that. It tore me to goddamn
shreds.
Despite her, my resolve had held.
Now there was a fucking picture.
Multiple pictures. Black-and-white. Ultrasound. Of a baby. Not a
fucking blob or a gummy-bear-looking thing. No, an actual baby.
My fucking baby.
My hand was shaking as I brushed the edges of the paper.
I’d held one of those pictures before. In the middle of a warzone, my
fingers stained with dirt and grime. I’d carried that picture around with me.
Added to it when my daughter was born. There had been a bunch as she
grew. I carried them like lucky charms. Reminders of what I had at home.
What I was going back to.
And then I’d burned them when I visited her grave.
As much as I wanted to tear the photo from the fridge and set fucking
fire to that too—I even lifted my hand to take it down—I stared at it for one
more second, committed it to memory, then walked the fuck away.

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fiona
“What the fuck?”
I didn’t look in the direction of the voice. No, I kept staring at the TV,
eating my chips, and crying.
Sobbing might be a more accurate description.
Footsteps sounded, and then Kip rounded the sofa and sat on the coffee
table in front of me.
“What the fuck?” he repeated, brows knitted, that serious expression
he’d worn since I’d broken the news firmly in place.
He hadn’t smiled since. Not once.
In months.
Kip, the man who I’d thought had a permanent smirk attached to that
fucking mouth of his, was constantly grimacing like he was in physical
pain.
That only made me sob harder, although the asshole really did not
deserve my tears.
“Why the fuck are you crying?” he demanded, harsher now.
Nor did he deserve an explanation as to why I was crying. He certainly
didn’t need to know that I didn’t even know why I was crying, not really.
Sure, there were a whole lot of reasons why I could be sobbing right
now: the estranged fake husband, the dire financial straits, the precarious
immigration situation, my veiny tits, my heartburn, my night terrors, or my
leg cramps.
Those were all cry worthy, but none of them were the reason why I was
bawling at this specific moment.
“Go away,” I snapped. Or tried to snap. The hiccup in my voice really
dulled the sharpness of my tone.
 Kip did not go away. Which, of course, only served to make me cry
harder. I did not have the energy to fight him further. And his presence only
served to complicate all of my overwhelming feelings.
“Fiona,” he said urgently but softer now. In a voice I almost recognized
from before. From the real Kip. Or was this the real Kip? Cold, cruel, and
unfeeling.
“Can’t you just be mean and cold and heartless like you have been for
the past like four months?” I whined.
Kip grasped my chin, moving it from where it was curled up to my
chest.
He forced me to meet his eyes. Or he would’ve if I hadn’t childishly
squeezed mine shut. As if me closing my eyes would mean he didn’t see my
red-rimmed gaze, my splotchy face, and my overall pathetic and vulnerable
appearance.
Kip stroked my jaw. “Open your eyes,” he requested. Again with that
familiar yet strange softness to his voice.
It was the softness that had me obeying his command, despite
everything.
Gone was the hard, unyielding gaze. His irises swirled like the ocean
once more.
“Why are you crying?”
I took a deep breath. Then another. “I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
“You don’t know?” he repeated evenly.
I shook my head. “One moment I’m happy. The next I’m furious…
mostly at you.”
Kip’s mouth turned up at that. Almost a smile.
“Then I’m horny,” I continued. Something moved in Kip’s eyes, but I
didn’t have the energy to dissect it. “Then I’m this!” I gestured to myself, a
new sob racking my body. “And I’m feeling all of this while also being
vaguely nauseous but at the same time craving fucking brownies. And I
don’t have brownies in the house. I have the things to make brownies
because Nora is often here, but I don’t make fucking brownies,” I ranted.
“And I can’t call Nora to tell her to come over here and make brownies
because she has a family of her own to take care of, and I’m supposed to be
a grown woman. And I’ve been considering driving to the bakery because I
know we have a stash of brownies that Nora baked yesterday, but I’m too
tired to drive over there. I’m too tired to go pee.” I was damn near
hysterical now. Almost shrieking.
Some distant part of me knew it was just the hormones, but that part of
me was a whisper in a fucking hurricane. The rest of me thought it was
completely logical to be sobbing uncontrollably about brownies.
Kip stared at me for a few beats, maybe to see if I was done, maybe
gauging how sane I was. I waited for him to lapse back into that cold person
who was utterly disgusted by the responsibility of a pregnant wife and then
a child after that.
“Okay,” he said, face staying open and somewhat warm. He leaned
forward to the coffee table and grabbed the remote for the TV. “First, we’re
going to put on Harry Potter,” he said. “Because that’s what you need when
you feel sad.”
My hysterical sobs paused. “How do you know I like to watch Harry
Potter when I’m sad?”
Kip switched the movie on. “Because you told me, and I remembered?”
I racked my brain to think about when I might’ve told Kip about how
the safety of my childhood movie made me feel protected and far away
from all of my problems.
Hadn’t we been all about sex? No learning about each other. No liking
each other.
There had been a lot of sex. A whole lot. But there were also long
dinners. With wine. And talking. Not about our pasts. Well, harmless tidbits
here and there… about the fields where I’d passed out drunk in high school
and the experiences I had before I ended up here. But I went pretty shallow
on the details before Jupiter. Mostly teenage binge drinking, and the minor
car crashes I’d survived as a result of teenage binge drinking.
Kip was the same. He’d speak a little about Deidre, the shit she’d pull,
when she bought him condoms and erotic novels instead of porn because
she wanted him to read things written by women instead of consume trash
made by men exploiting women.
The mere memory made me smile.
I missed Deidre. She kept in touch—a lot of texts, pictures, and missed
calls. I’d always text her back, but I had yet to tell her I was pregnant.
Though I didn’t know the woman well, I got the sense that as soon as
Deidre found out she was going to be a grandmother, she’d drop everything
to come visit. She’d be excited. We’d go shopping.
Nora, Calliope, and Tiffany had all tried to get me to go shopping for
baby things, especially now that I was in the relative ‘safety’ of the second
trimester. I’d fought them off. Yes, the risks of something happening now
were greatly reduced, but they weren’t zero. And I only had experience with
loss. It was ingrained in my muscles. I was still waiting for it, still bracing.
Buying baby things was tempting fate.
My friends here had understood this, had respected my boundaries.
Deidre, bless her, would not respect my boundaries. She’d blow in and
have a nursery built and decorated within the week. And she’d expect her
son to be a loving, doting, real husband. We’d done well at pretending
before things got complicated, but I feared we’d fail miserably this time
around. And fuck if I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face
when she found out her son and I were in a sham marriage.
“I’m going to make brownies,” Kip said, jerking me out of my fast-
spiraling thoughts. “You’re gonna watch this.” He nodded to the screen
showing title credits and playing a soundtrack that made my tense muscles
relax.
 “You’re going to make brownies?” I asked him.
He nodded.
I sucked my teeth. “Have you made brownies before?”
“I have not found the occasion to make brownies, but the internet is
surely full of great recipes where the author tells their life story before
getting to the actual fucking recipe,” he joked.
“You’re going to make me brownies?” I clarified, feeling wary and
waiting for impact.
“Yes, Fiona.” Kip pulled the throw from the back of the sofa and draped
it over me, leaning in to wipe a tear from my cheek before he stood up.
“Now watch your movie,” he ordered before walking out of the room.
I was so stunned, I did as he said, quickly losing myself in the magic of
Hogwarts. Although I didn’t completely sink in, listening to Kip in the
kitchen, clanging bowls around. I found I liked this. Being curled up on the
sofa, warm and safe, the sun setting against the ocean, the sounds of life in
my house. The sounds of another person. Soon, there was a deep and rich
smell of chocolate emanating from the kitchen.
Then Kip was walking into the living room with a plate piled high of
brownies, smelling like they came from heaven—or Nora’s bakery, which
was the same place—and perking me up even more than HP had.
“Gimme,” I said desperately, propping myself up.
He handed me the plate, which I rested on my stomach. I grabbed a
brownie, shoving it into my mouth.
“Oh my god,” I moaned, mouth still full of brownie. “These are good.
Fucking great.”
I wasn’t lying.
Kip was no slouch in the kitchen. Everything he made me was
wonderful. But I didn’t think he was the baking type.
I was wrong.
 And I’d been so distracted with all the chocolatey goodness that I didn’t
realize Kip wasn’t retreating now that he’d quieted the hysterical pregnant
woman with brownies and preteen wizards.
No, he sat on the end of the sofa, grasping my legs and pulling them so
they rested in his lap.
“What are you doing?” I asked, halfway through the second brownie. I
tried to pull my feet back, but his grip was too tight.
“Shh,” he said. “I’m watching this guy do something with that stick.”
He gestured to the screen with one hand, the other rubbing my foot.
Then, the second joined in. Then, my eyes rolled to the back of my head
as his strong fingers found the right spot.
Even though I should’ve had a lot of questions, I didn’t ask them. I let
Kip rub my feet while I ate brownies and watched Harry Potter.

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fourteen
. . .

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 The Crash

WHEN I WOKE, I did it with hope.

Everyone had said Kip would come around once the reality of the baby
set in, once he got out of his own way. Well, everyone had said that at the
start, all certain and sure. But as the weeks wore on, I saw my—and his—
friends slowly doubt themselves and those declarations. But they didn’t
abandon them completely. Even Nora, amongst all her fury at him, had
remained hopeful for that miracle.
Me?
Nah.
I tended to believe people when they showed the worst of themselves.
Now, that didn’t mean I wrote them off because of that. The worst parts of
me could be pretty fucking bad. But when people showed only the worst
parts of themselves without anything to redeem that—like my first husband,
for example—you would be best served to believe it.
I’d learned that the hard way.
So, I did not have hope that Kip would come around.
Except for last night.
He’d looked at me and woken up something I thought was long dead.
He made me brownies. He put on Harry Potter. He sat on the sofa with me
and rubbed my feet. And he had obviously carried me to bed, because the
last thing I remembered was contemplating a fourth brownie, Harry fighting
Professor Quirrell/Voldemort, and Kip’s fingers working my instep.
Now I was in my bed.
Not only had Kip been kind to me when I was overwhelmed and a mess,
but he’d known the cure was Harry Potter and had made brownies. From
scratch. Not just that, he’d touched me, worked at my feet almost like…
almost like a husband might with his pregnant wife.
Now, that did not mean he was forgiven. Not by a long shot. And I
wasn’t overcome with unrealistic fantasies about us being a big happy
family. But I was glimpsing something other than ships passing in the night,
each leeching resentment onto the other. Maybe a different kind of life than
that of a single mother and an absent father.
I grappled for my phone, finding it was only six in the morning. For
once, I didn’t want to curl under my duvet and sleep for a thousand years. I
felt awake. Aware. Ready for the day.
That wasn’t entirely because of Kip.
It was because I’d purged a lot last night. A whole bunch of shit I’d
been holding in. Tears that had gone unshed for fucking years.
Sometimes a long and messy cry was enough to feel refreshed anew.
That and chocolate brownies.
And perhaps a guy rubbing your feet.
The sounds of Kip moving through the kitchen filtered through the
house. He wasn’t being noisy, but the house was small, and he likely wasn’t
going out of his way to be quiet either. I slept like the dead. Something he’d
teased me about relentlessly—after he’d woken me up with his mouth
between my legs.
My toes curled at the mere memory, and my libido fired up with need.
Maybe, just maybe, if he decided to stop being an asshole, I could get
his mouth between my legs again. I wouldn’t have to forgive him to get an
orgasm out of him. It was the least he could do, really.
 With renewed vigor, I got out of bed, changed out of the ratty
sweatpants I’d been wearing, and opted for a light, semi-see-through slip
dress that I usually wore over bikinis. I slung a kimono over it but left it
untied. Then I quickly washed my face and brushed my teeth.
My eyes were still slightly red, and my face was a little swollen, but I
looked okay. I hadn’t had my highlights done since I peed on the stick, so
my dirty-blonde roots were showing amongst the artificial streaks of golden
and white-blonde. I’d let it grow a little longer, past my shoulders.
My tits were excellent. Except for the veins and the fact that they were
one-third nipple now. My cheeks were fuller now that I was on solids again,
and my eyes seemed brighter, more awake. Even my lips seemed fuller.
When I walked into the kitchen, it was clear Kip was not expecting me
to be up. He almost jumped when I walked in.
I held up my hands. “Down, soldier,” I teased. “I’m not armed.”
I hadn’t intended on teasing him. I’d intended on keeping my guard
somewhat up. Scowling at him and such. Scowling, even before this whole
fiasco, was not out of the question at this hour of the morning.
But for whatever reason, I went with the tease. I even grinned at him.
Not a full smile but an olive branch.
Kip blinked once at me, then did a quick once-over before his face
shuttered. Completely and utterly. Gone was the warmth and softness from
last night. Gone was the man from last night. This was a completely
different person.
No, this was a familiar person. This was Kip from the past few months.
My heart sank in my stomach.
He didn’t say anything to me. He literally just nodded once and went
back to the toast he was making.
I could’ve vomited right then and there. I also could’ve hurled a coffee
mug at his head. My first instinct was to turn tail, run back into my room,
hide under my covers, and cry for a thousand years.
 Instead, I strolled forward to snatch a mug from the cabinet, not moving
out of his way, in so much as I almost shoulder-checked him if he hadn’t
squeezed himself against the counter at the last minute.
I felt a small victory in that. Making him uncomfortable, forcing him to
move for me. I’d enjoyed doing that on the street in my younger days. If I
saw a man coming in my direction, on a collision course with me, I’d
resolve myself not to move. Why was it that women always had to move
out of the way of men? Why did men think they could just stroll down the
fucking street like they owned it, never changing course to accommodate
someone else?
Of course, it wasn’t all men. There were plenty of polite, decent guys
out there. I just never happened to encounter them on the street.
And multiple times, those fuckers had engaged in a game of chicken
with me and ended up slamming into my shoulder, hard.
Kip was not engaging in a game of chicken. He didn’t want to collide.
Problem was the fucking crash had already happened.

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kip
I was in a bad mood.
That was not unusual these days.
Everyone avoided me. Guys who’d worked for us for years, guys who
I’d shared beers and jokes with, guys I considered friends all inclined their
heads, gave me respectable nods, and no longer met my eyes. There were
no more jokes, no easy atmosphere on the worksite. At least not when I was
there. And I was the one person to blame for that shit.
Because I couldn’t hold it together. Because I was frayed to the last
single thread of my control, my sanity. It was Fiona, the situation. I felt
fucking trapped. Suffocated. Again, I could leave. But I wasn’t sure if I’d
be able to live with myself if I did. Furthermore, I couldn’t trust myself to
be alone on the road where no one knew me, where no one gave a shit about
me. Though the list of people who gave a shit about me now was
considerably shorter than it had been five months ago.
It wasn’t just Fiona. It was the fact that being married to her, going
along with this entire fucking facade, meant I couldn’t escape my shit like I
had been for the past five years. Couldn’t drown myself in cheap booze, in
pussy, couldn’t cloak myself with a persona that hid what a fucking wreck I
was.
So yeah, I was a grumpy bastard. I snapped at people who didn’t
deserve to be snapped at, I alienated my friends, and I hurt my wife.
My pregnant fucking wife.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her fucking face this morning. She’d been
up early. Much earlier than usual. I’d noted that she was even slower getting
up now that she was pregnant. Made sense. She was sick as fuck, on her
feet all day, and growing a human. She shouldn’t have to get up at the crack
of dawn.
I’d actually sought Nora out one morning to communicate just that.
The woman had greeted me with an arched brow and guarded
expression when I knocked on the door of the bakery before anyone got
there. More often than not, Rowan was there with her, because my friend
didn’t like to be away from his wife, and he didn’t like her alone in the
bakery before most of the town woke up. I also knew he now alternated
since they had a kid to think about and he’d be at home with her.
The wary look on her face made sense, yet it stung. Gone were the
warm, shy smiles from my best friend’s wife.
“Fiona needs to get on a later shift,” I’d told her, deciding there was no
point in pleasantries right now.
Nora’s face transformed from hostility to surprise. I didn’t know what
she was expecting, but that wasn’t it.
“She’s too fuckin’ tired and still fucking sick, and she doesn’t need to be
starting that early,” I ground out. “She needs sleep.”
Nora tilted her head, regarding me with interest now. She was never
really good at maintaining hostility. Too much of a nice person. Fiona
ranted about it all the time, how she needed to call some customers bitches
because they really were.
Fiona considered herself the ‘bitch guardian’ of Nora. Though I thought
the woman could hold her own when she needed to.
“She does,” she’d agreed.
I hadn’t been expecting a fight on this, exactly, but I wasn’t thinking I’d
get such immediate agreement. I’d come here pretty fired up.
“Well, then get her on a later shift,” I grunted.
Nora put her hand on her hip, and her brow arched again. “I can’t be
certain, but I’m sure I’d remember if you were here when I opened this
bakery—you know, the blood, sweat, tears, sleepless nights, fights with
French distributors.” She listed those things off on her fingers. “Because if
you had been there for all of that, you might have a right to dictate my
schedule. Since you weren’t, you don’t.” Her voice was sharp, sarcastic,
and I felt appropriately chastised.
Despite that, I ground my molars. “You care about her. You should
know she’s not doing well.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I care about her,” she said. “I’ve been there
for every doctor’s appointment, have held her hair back when she vomited,
have reassured her that she wasn’t going to go through this alone.”
Nora’s words hit home, as she intended them to.
“Then get her a later shift,” I snapped, intending on turning around and
leaving.
“She won’t take a later shift,” Nora snapped back. “In case you hadn’t
noticed, Fiona is stubborn. She’s strong. And she’s not going to let anyone
treat her different because she happens to be pregnant.” She looked me up
and down in a way that suggested she found me lacking. “Well, she’s let her
husband treat her differently, but that’s only because she has absolutely no
control over him being an asshole.”
I was taken aback. Nora was obviously mad at me if she was ready to
straight-up call me an asshole.
Which I was.
“Is there anything else?” she asked, tilting her chin up at me.
She was dismissing me.
I’d come here with the intention of doing something, fucking anything,
to ease Fiona’s discomfort that didn’t involve me getting too close to her
and fucking up both our shit like I had last night.
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. I wanted to punch something.
“No,” I said. “There’s nothing else.”
I’d failed.
Again.
I hadn’t expected the day to get much better after hurting Fiona before the
fucking sun rose.
But I also hadn’t expected it to implode my fucking life.
We were on-site. A rare day when both Rowan and I were working
together. He made it so that didn’t happen often. We still hadn’t spoken
except on shit regarding work. He’d been leaning by his truck on the phone
when I came out of the house to grab some more tools. My eyes just
happened to go in his direction as I was carrying them back in.
Rowan got off the phone and walked toward me, his face grave.
The tools in my hand tumbled to the ground.
I knew something was wrong the second I saw his expression. Fucker
had one hell of a poker face—I’d lost many a Benjamin to it in the past. But
his expression struck fear into the core of me.
And the fact that he was walking toward me. Willingly. My best friend
had kept his distance from me over the past few months.
It hurt more than I’d expected it to.
I hadn’t realized how much I relied on him. To keep me even. Stable.
Keep me tethered to sanity, to stop me from spiraling into a destructive
cycle that ended in me eating a bullet.
And the rare times I wasn’t being a miserable bastard, I just missed
sharing a beer with the fucker.
Those times were gone.
“What?” I asked, my heart already in my fucking boots. I’d been here
before, hadn’t I? I’d seen the face of a man who had to deliver world-
ending news to someone. He’d been the one to deliver it to me five years
ago.
“It’s Fiona,” he said, gripping my upper arm. “She’s been in an
accident.”
 And that’s when the bottom fell out of my motherfucking life.

Rowan was driving to the hospital.

I fought him on that.
“State you’re in, you’ll be arriving in an ambulance of your own,” he
said in response to my protests. “Get in the fucking truck.”
I wasn’t quite in the state to admit to him that he was right, but I was
also present enough to understand that standing here arguing with him
wasn’t going to do shit but prolong the whole process.
So I got in the truck.
To his credit, he drove like a fucking maniac.
And it was a drive.
Jupiter had a small hospital that could handle most minor to moderate
shit.
They ‘stabilized’ Fiona there and then airlifted her to a hospital two
hours away.
Two. Hours.
Then again, it had nothing on the journey home from Iraq.
I’d spent twelve hours, thirty-eight minutes, and about forty seconds on
that flight. All I knew was my wife and daughter had been in a serious car
accident, and that they hadn’t made it.

That’s all I got.

And I spent every second of that plane ride telling myself it was going
to be okay. That there was some mistake, some fucking mix-up that had
terrible fucking news being delivered to the wrong person.
 Yeah, I spent twelve hours wishing the death of a wife and child on
another man.
And I came home to understand that there was no such thing as okay,
and there was no such thing as hope.
Therefore, on the drive to the hospital, I told myself she was already
gone.
They were already gone.
My wife. My baby.
That little shape on the fridge.
That second chance I had been handed on a silver platter and had
scorned because I was a miserable son of a bitch who also happened to be a
goddamn coward.
“If she dies, if they die…,” I muttered, staring ahead.
“If they die, you’ll have plenty of time to sink into a self-destructive
depression and punish yourself for everything you did and didn’t do,”
Rowan replied, also staring ahead. “Right now, as far as we know, they’re
alive.”
No bullshit. No hope. Not to be cruel. Rowan was just being my friend
at this point. Giving me what I needed so I didn’t completely fall apart.
Hope might help some people hold on, but not me. Hope was the killer.
“You’re gonna get your shit together now,” he continued. “Lock it down
and be there for them.”
The amount of déjà vu I was feeling at that moment was comical. Like
we were really part of some sick simulation, and there was some nerd
pulling the strings of my life, torturing me. It seemed so fucking ridiculous
that I’d be going through this situation for the second time in my life.
I knew scientists or whoever had predicted that we had a fifty percent
likelihood of being in a simulation, but I thought the randomness of life or
God or whatever the fuck to be much more likely. This seemed like the
actions of some vengeful deity, punishing me for my sins. For the lives I’d
taken in the desert, for the family I’d abandoned… twice.
Rowan pulled into the hospital after I had my existential crisis.
I stared at the building and wondered whether I’d be told for the second
time in my life that my wife and child were dead.

“Your wife was struck by a driver who crossed the center line,” the doctor
told me.
I had vague recollections of tearing through the hospital until I found
the person treating Fiona. She was young. Looked too fucking young to be
practicing medicine, let alone being in charge of saving my wife.
“Is she alive?” I choked out.
“Yes, your wife is alive,” she replied. “She sustained minor injuries,
contrary to what was initially thought at the scene and hospital. She was
transported here on account of the pregnancy and the local hospital’s
resources.”
There was a dull roar in my ears. I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like
she was telling me that Fiona wasn’t dead. “The baby?”
“The baby is also fine,” she said, glancing at the chart. “She’s… twenty
weeks?”
“Twenty-one weeks and two days,” I corrected.
She gave me a tight smile. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be
reassuring or condescending. I didn’t give a fuck.
“Your wife did suffer a broken wrist, some superficial cuts, one that
needed stitches and she has some bruised ribs,” she explained. “But nothing
life-threatening.”
“You’re sure the baby is okay?” I asked, my mouth dry. I’d been
preparing for her to be dead or in some kind of induced coma, so in theory,
those injuries should’ve reassured me since none of them sounded life-
threatening, but hearing it out loud only served to make my heart race. A
car crash that caused those injuries—a broken fucking arm—could not have
protected a helpless fucking baby.
Another smile. This time I was sure it was supposed to be reassuring.
“Though sometimes it doesn’t seem this way, babies are very resilient and
protected inside the womb,” she explained. “You have a strong and healthy
baby and a mother who will recover just fine.” Her eyes flicked to the chart,
and I felt her attention wane from me to whatever she had next on her
agenda.
This was just part of her day. Delivering news that saved or ruined
people’s lives was something she did before her lunch, something she had
to distance herself from in order to stay fucking sane.
“I’ll be back to check on her, and we’ll keep her overnight for
observation, but after that, it’s likely we’ll be discharging her.”
“Can I see her?” I half yelled. My voice was hoarse and sounded feral.
That’s how I felt. Like a barely restrained animal who had once been
domesticated but never fully tamed.
She nodded.
Rowan clapped my shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for Nora. She’s on her
way. So is Calliope. You go to your wife.”
You didn’t have to tell me twice.

OceanofPDF.com
 fifteen
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
Gabbie and Evelyn

OceanofPDF.com
fiona

I REMEMBERED the crash pretty vividly. I thought people’s

brains were meant to protect them from the memory of trauma. Or maybe
that shit only happened in the movies. Hollywood didn’t want to depict the
reality because it would scare the shit out of people. And not in a good way,
like with a guy in a hockey mask or a weird clown on a tricycle. No, reality
scared them in a real way. That didn’t sell tickets. Better to leave it a nice
surprise when a person was in a horrific car crash and it wasn’t a blur.
There was the shock and surprise at seeing a car veer into the lane, a
second of disbelief that this was actually happening to you, and then there
were the instinctual moves you made—the slamming of the brakes, the
wrenching of the steering wheel, the stark realization that impact was
coming.
My hands had left the steering wheel then, knowing there was nothing I
could do but try to protect my child. This miracle baby who I finally let
myself believe was going to exist.
Metal crushed against metal, the sounds grating in my ears as I shook in
the car like I was on a roller coaster. My mouth tasted of copper as my teeth
gnashed into my tongue and my body struggled against the seat belt. Then
came the realization that not only was I going to die, but my baby was
going to as well, because my reaction time was bullshit these days, and I’d
been too busy thinking about what flavor ice cream I was going to eat when
I got home instead of paying attention to the road.
My life didn’t flash before my eyes—there were no flashes of all the
good, all the bad, all the people I was going to miss. No, I didn’t get a break
from the terror and the wrenching of the car and the fucking fury that this
was happening. Then my head slammed forward and I didn’t feel much of
anything.
For a handful of minutes, at least.
I did not wake up in the hospital—again, another bullshit Hollywood
depiction that was so wrong. I woke up in my smashed car, with the airbag
half suffocating me. My body might’ve been screaming in pain, but I didn’t
feel anything other than cold, numb panic. First, because I couldn’t fucking
breathe, and second, because I’d just been in what seemed to be a pretty bad
fucking car accident while five months pregnant.
People had arrived quickly. We were inside Jupiter proper, outside Main
Street, where the speed limit was barely thirty, and out toward the entrance
to the highway, where you could go slightly faster. Even though it was a
crisp Spring day, people were still out for walks, tending to their gardens.
It was bystanders first, then paramedics. Some people I recognized, all
of whom were in varying states of panic. Which only made everything
worse.
Until Frank turned up. My old landlord and favorite customer.
“Get outta the fuckin’ way,” he grumbled at one of the moms who had
book club meetings at the bakery once a week. She’d been crying and
babbling into the phone.
He literally pushed her out of the fucking way, and she stumbled a
couple of feet before righting herself. I wanted to smile. If I hadn’t been
half trapped in my ruined car with who knew how many injuries, with a
baby inside me who was most certainly dead.
His wrinkled gaze flickered over me, and it didn’t pinch in worry or
horror as the mom’s had. I could only imagine how I looked. My blood had
been warm and running down my face, but now that the flow had stopped,
it was cold and crusty. But it was safe to assume there was a lot of it.
“You’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you?” Frank said, sighing like I had a
flat tire and no jack.
 “You could say that,” I wheezed. My hands were still on my stomach.
“I’m pregnant,” I rasped. Tears stung my eyes, and panic crawled at my
throat.
Again, his expression didn’t change. It was strong, resolute. He nodded
once. “Figured it. You were a delightful shade of green for about three
months, and then you were eating everything in sight containing sugar
whenever I saw you.” He reached in to gently tuck a strand of hair behind
my ear. “Which, in that bakery, was a fuckload of stuff,” he added. “My
money is on a girl. My wife had three of them, and every damn time, she
was sick as a dog for the first trimester and survived on gummy bears, ice
cream, and chocolate for the rest.”
I blinked at him, unable to fathom how we were talking about gummy
bears while I was still strapped in my ruined car.
“Girls tend to give their mothers a hard time, starting from the womb,
then the teenage years,” he joked. “They’re tough cookies.” His gaze went
to my stomach again. “I think you know better than anyone, honey, that
girls are always tougher than we’ll ever be, even when we think they’re at
their most fragile.”
I let out a hysterical sob. “Let’s hope so.”
“I know so, darlin’. How about you tell me about all the times you gave
your mother hell so we’ve got an idea of what you’re in for with this one.”
He nodded to my stomach.
It seemed too ridiculous to recount it now, but what else was I going to
do?
“Well, once, I was at this concert, and to get backstage, I…”
Frank kept me calm—enough, anyway—while we waited for the
paramedics to arrive. Then he gave me another wink and said, “See you for
coffee and a Danish in no time,” before he walked off.
Then there was a bunch of scary stuff. There was a neck brace, a
stretcher, various questions spoken in calm and friendly tones, likely to
dissuade me from panicking.
But I did start panicking. Right about the time the ambulance doors
closed and it sank in what was happening. Paramedics were talking about
my heart rate, about my pupil dilation.
Then I started asking about the baby. Quiet at first, but then I started
yelling. Screaming, more accurately. I was somewhat hysterical.
It was not pretty. Well, until I passed out again. Whether it was from a
panic attack or my injuries or a little of both, I couldn’t be sure.
Then I could’ve sworn I was on a plane. Or a hot air balloon. I was
traveling in the air somehow.
After that, I didn’t remember a lot until they finally got me an
ultrasound and I saw our baby, with a heartbeat, wriggling around with no
apparent damage done.
Then I relaxed.
As much as someone could relax in a hospital bed.
I didn’t have my phone. My purse wasn’t with me when I was taken out
of the car, and then I’d been transported to another hospital out of an
abundance of caution because I was pregnant, and the doctor wanted me
somewhere with a level three neonatal care unit.
Nora was my emergency contact, and the doctors assured me that they’d
reached her, and she was already on her way. I’d wanted to be tough and
call her and tell her she didn’t need to be here, that I could handle this
alone, but I couldn’t do that. Because no way in hell could I handle this
alone. My heart wouldn’t stop thundering, my fingers were numb, and there
was a bone-deep sense of dread inside me that I couldn’t shake.
Yeah, I could not be in this sterile hospital room that smelled of bleach
and death with all the monitors and the lack of any kind of distraction in the
form of my phone or some kind of Netflix show.
I needed my best friend.
But that was not who came through the door of the hospital room.
 No, it was my fucking husband.
I hadn’t thought much about him. I’d been too busy spiraling about
what could’ve happened, what might still happen. Yeah, I’d heard the
baby’s heartbeat an hour or so ago, but that could’ve been her last minutes
of life. Maybe I’d shaken her up too much and there was some kind of
delayed trauma.
Those were the kinds of thoughts banging around in my throbbing head.
Not exactly logical, but a pregnant woman on her best day might not be
described as logical.
Kip had obviously come from the building site, and he’d obviously
gone through some kind of turmoil on the drive here.
He did not look good. His hair was in disarray, like he’d been close to
tearing it out, and his eyes were wild, feral even. The energy radiating off
him could only be described as pure panic. When his eyes settled on me in
the bed, horror draped over his features.
He was on me in a handful of long strides.
“Baby,” he rasped, leaning over as if he was going to kiss me or
something but catching himself halfway.
He smelled of wood and salt and… Kip. Part of me relaxed. Slightly.
He hovered over me for a few moments, neither of us saying anything.
I didn’t want him to move. Actually, I did want him to move. I wanted
him to come closer. I wanted him in this bed with me, and I wanted to curl
up against his chest, burrow in there with his arms around me, and feel…
safe.
Maybe if he’d stayed just a second longer, I might’ve opened my mouth
and asked for just that, but he stepped back, yanking the chair by the bed as
close as possible. He settled into it like he didn’t quite trust himself to stand
anymore.
I stared at him, unable to speak, too afraid of bursting into tears. And
despite how fucking nuts it was, I remembered that I was supposed to be
icing him out. He wasn’t interested in me or the baby. He’d said that
himself.
But then why was he here?
Why did he look so fucking… tortured?
“Fuck.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth in anguish.
That was the only thing that could describe his expression.
Anguish.
Though I thought I’d hardened myself to this man, built myself a shield
he couldn’t penetrate to do me harm, it hurt me seeing Kip in this kind of
turmoil.
“I need to explain,” he said, grasping my hands, lowering his lips to my
fingers.
The gesture was impossibly tender. Sweet. Loving.
“Explain?” I repeated. “Unless you paid that guy to veer into my lane
and crash into me, I’m pretty sure you have nothing to explain to me.”
Kip’s mouth thinned, and his eyes glowered at the mere mention of the
person who caused the incident.
Eek. I did not envy that guy—or gal—right now. I had no idea if they’d
even survived the crash.
If they had, Kip looked like he was going to change that. Which was
equal parts scary and kind of hot.
I shouldn’t be thinking anything this man was doing was hot, most
especially while I was in a hospital bed. It seemed my libido wasn’t at all
damaged in the accident.
“I’ll be dealing with that… later,” he vowed, echoing what the scary
look on his face communicated. He was still gripping my hand. “I just spent
a fucking hour thinking you were dead.” He rested his other hand on my
belly.
My body tightened at the contact, weirded out by it. Kip had touched
me plenty before he got me pregnant, and every single time, I relaxed into
him—melted into him, in fact. But he’d never laid a hand on the place I was
growing our baby, not with that soft and reverent look on his face.
I liked it. His hand on my stomach. What that gesture communicated.
But I also fucking hated that I liked it.
I was still meant to be pissed at the guy.
“I’m not dead,” I said stiffly. “Neither of us is.” I looked down at my
stomach, his hand on it, with a forced frown. “We’re fine.”
Kip looked from my stomach to my eyes. “You’re lyin’ in a hospital bed
with a huge gash on your head, a broken fucking wrist, and a bunch of other
injuries that could’ve been a fuck of a lot worse.”
Despite my anger at the man, his panic couldn’t help but penetrate. “It
wasn’t worse,” I told him softly.
“Yeah,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a second as if he had to
remind himself of that. He opened them again, intent on me. “I need to
explain why I’ve been such a fucking asshole for the past five months.”
I arched my brow. “This is the time for that conversation? I’m not really
in the mood for your commitment issues, your daddy issues—which
weren’t hard to miss, by the way,” I said. “As serious as I’m sure you think
they are, you’re not going to get me to feel any sympathy for you at this
current juncture.” My voice had a bite to it now. I felt weirdly pissed about
him trying to make this about him when I was the one in the hospital bed.
“Yeah, I understand that this is not the moment for it,” he agreed. “I
should’ve had the fucking balls to tell you the second you told me you were
pregnant. Maybe it might’ve changed something. Maybe you wouldn’t be
lying here.”
“‘Maybe’ isn’t a fun game to play,” I informed him. “Whether or not
you told me whatever you were going to tell me would not have changed
the course of my life so drastically that I would be mystically protected
from all accidents.”
 Kip didn’t look convinced. Of course, he thought he was powerful
enough to have changed everything if he’d just stepped into his role as the
‘man.’
“My wife and daughter died in a car accident over five years ago,” he
said, voice even, flat, eyes locked on mine.
I was less shocked at the car that hurtled into me a few hours ago than I
was at this piece of news.
Of all the things I’d expected from Kip’s backstory, it wasn’t that.
I opened my mouth, struggling to find something to say before closing it
again. What did you say to that?
“I was deployed at the time,” he continued. “I was deployed for most of
our marriage, actually. Gabbie and I married young, got pregnant on one of
the rare occasions I was home. I missed her birth. My daughter. Evelyn.”
Her name slammed into my chest, caving it in. He said it so delicately,
like it was so fucking precious he feared it might crumble apart in the air.
“I loved being her dad,” he said with a smile, with eyes that
communicated he wasn’t seeing this hospital room.
“Even though I didn’t get to actually be there for her.” He sighed,
rubbing his jaw. “Not really. Because I thought I was making her proud,
thought I was providing for my family, being a fucking hero.” He shook his
head, disgust with himself clear. I could feel it. The self-hatred, the regret. It
was thick in the air.
“They didn’t tell me straight away,” he said, quieter now. “I was on a
mission.” He let go of my hands so he could clench his fists so tightly his
knuckles went white. “Gabbie died on impact. But Evelyn held on.” He
smiled again. The saddest smile I’d ever seen in my fucking life. It tore me
apart.
“She was strong. A fighter. She held on for three days. Like she was
waiting for her daddy—” His voice broke. Splintered into fucking pieces.
 My entire body trembled with the pain in that sentence, the man inside
the man I’d lived with for months. How it hadn’t leaked out of him, how I’d
missed it, was anyone’s guess.
Kip cleared his throat. Blinked away tears.
“But I wasn’t there for her,” he grunted. “I let her down. And she died.
Without her father. And they buried the both of them before I even got on
US soil. I missed their funeral. Didn’t even get to see them. One day we
were saying goodbye, I was smelling her hair, and the next I was staring at
their headstones.”
If there was a more horrible story I’d been told in my life, I couldn’t
fucking remember it. I couldn’t fathom that this man sitting in front of me,
this man who had smiled and joked with me, made me mince pies, and
rubbed my feet while watching Harry Potter, had gone through something
like that. I didn’t know how someone existed after that.
But Kip had.
He’d had an entire life, an entire family. Then he just… didn’t.
“I made a promise to myself then and there that I’d never fucking love
something that much to feel that pain again,” he continued.
His gaze bored into me, melting my fucking flesh off.
“Fuck, I didn’t think I’d have to practice that promise since everything
inside me was so goddamn dead that I thought I was incapable of caring
about someone again. Survival instinct.” He shrugged. “Then you came
along. With your fucking filthy mouth, your tits, the fire in your eyes, and
the fact that you went toe to toe with me without hesitation. First, I wanted
to fuck you. I mean, who wouldn’t?” He tried for a smile, but it didn’t land.
I tried to smile back, and I feared that didn’t land either.
“Told myself I didn’t like you,” he continued. “I told myself I just liked
giving you shit, liked staring at your ass, liked seeing your face scrunch up
when you were really pissed, and it didn’t get deeper than that. I’m really
good at lying to myself.”
 He gripped the sides of his chair.
“Then you were in the bar with those sad fucking eyes and that fear
about you, and I couldn’t help myself. Again, I said I was doing it to help
you out, and it would in turn help me out because my family—my mother,
mostly—have not been leaving me the fuck alone, and they’ve been
choking me with their sympathy and worry. I couldn’t stand it. I figured that
marrying you would get them off my back.” Another shrug. “And yeah,
teasing you makes my dick hard.”
Again with the libido. The car crash didn’t kill it, and it turned out that
Kip’s horrific story didn’t kill it either. Did that make me a terrible person?
“I probably knew deep down that I wouldn’t be able to resist you. That
we’d fuck.” He sighed. “Again, I thought I’d be able to fuck you without
feelings. I’d been doing that plenty.” He ran his hand through his hair. “But,
Jesus, Fiona, I fell in love with you. I probably fell in love with you the
second you flipped me the bird after I hit on you.”
My body tensed, and a low roar entered my ears.
Kip was telling me he loved me.
While I was in a hospital bed.
Right after he told me about the perfect wife and perfect daughter he’d
been mourning for years.
I couldn’t know they’d been perfect when they were alive, but dead
wives and children tended to live on in memory with eternal perfection.
“I thought I could handle that,” Kip muttered, looking down at his
boots, then back up to me. “Caring about you. You’re the strongest person
I’ve ever met. I’m not across the world fighting a war. Nothing was going
to happen to you.” He looked to my stomach. “And then you got pregnant.
And I could not survive losing another kid. So… I did what I did. And I’m
fucking ashamed. And you’re lying in a goddamn hospital bed.”
More anguish. And guilt. Yeah, he was punishing himself. Clear as day.
 Oh, how badly I wanted to get out of bed and crawl into his lap. I
wanted to tell him I forgave him.
“There are no words,” I said, my voice scratchy and weak. “Absolutely
no words for me to explain how sorry I am that that happened to you. How
fucking horrific that is.”
My skin crawled with the knowledge of what he’d had. What he’d lost.
It was impossible for me to fully comprehend in this moment, with so much
heavy shit happening in a concentrated amount of time.
“But I am sorry,” I told him quietly. “So fucking sorry that happened to
you. And now that I know, I can understand a lot of you. I can understand
why you chose to live the life you lived. Why you wanted distance between
us. Fuck, I can even understand your initial reaction to the pregnancy.”
I stared at the broken man in the chair beside my bed, hanging on my
every word, no longer intent on driving me away.
I sighed, frowning at the cast on my arm. “I can get all of that,” I
continued. “For a week. Two, maybe. But it’s not going to work as a blanket
excuse for you treating me the way you have for five fucking months.”
Kip winced, and the soft part of my heart hurt with the motion,
immediately wanting to take the words back. But I also had a harder,
calcified heart, one broken and ruined by men, that urged me on.
“I know our marriage vows were bullshit, that we didn’t mean them the
same way most people mean them, so you were under no obligation to me.”
I twirled the simple gold ring on my left hand. I’d really wanted to forgo
wedding rings, but it didn’t look good. And this thing was all about
appearances.
“But I also thought we had… something,” I said weakly. “Something
neither of us was willing to admit, but something that was there
nonetheless.” I took a deep breath, not wanting to say what I had to say
next. Wanting to let Kip off the hook.
It was oh so tempting.
 “But you got to use your trauma as your own reasoning to check the
fuck out,” I said finally. “To leave me to go through this alone. And I didn’t
have that choice.”
I bit my lip, bracing myself for what I was about to reveal. “I used to
have a husband who would push me down the stairs or punch me in the face
when I lost our babies.”
Kip sucked in a harsh breath as if he were sucking all of the oxygen out
of the room. His posture went stiff, and fury encapsuled his entire body.
I expected such a reaction.
He might not have lived up to the whole alpha male protective thing
over the past several months, but the alpha male in him was awake with a
vengeance.
I was surprised he didn’t stomp around the room breaking things.
“Yeah, you’re not the only one with a tragic past,” I told him with a sad
smile. “I may have left mine behind on a whole other continent, but it
followed me easily. And I didn’t get to escape it. Didn’t get to ignore it like
you ignored me.”
I placed my good hand on my stomach. My chest was tight with worry
even now. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before opening them and
focusing on Kip once more.
His gaze was glued to me. More torture. More anguish. More fury.
“Now, I’m sure you have had a lot of turmoil,” I said. “I’m not
discounting that. But I don’t get to ignore it. I have to live in my body every
damn day. I don’t get a fucking moment, not a second, to escape my worry
that I’d go through another miscarriage and have to survive it. I’ve had to
live with my abject terror. I didn’t get the luxury of checking out.”
Kip’s face was ashen. Guilt overcame me. But he deserved this.
Because despite my sorrow for the man, I had been through my own kind of
hell. In fact, I was still there, the flames hot and unyielding.
 “So, I am infinitely sorry for what you went through, but that doesn’t
give you a ‘get out of jail free card’ here,” I said gently. “You don’t get back
in my life like that. Our arrangement, which you so deftly crafted, still
stands.”
He stared at me, blinking rapidly, his expression tight, full of pain. Full
of regret.
“I’m going to win you back,” he vowed after a few long moments
where I guessed he was digesting everything I’d just said.
My stomach bottomed out with his words and the resolute tone in which
he spoke them. It unnerved me.
“You can’t win me back,” I said, my voice even despite the swirling of
my insides. “You never had me in the first place.”
“You’re my wife,” he countered.
“For immigration reasons. Nothing else,” I shot back.
“Maybe at the beginning,” he agreed. His eyes ran down my body
possessively. “But even if you won’t admit it out loud right now, you know
we were more than that. Most especially when we created her.” He reached
out as if he were going to caress my stomach but caught himself at the last
moment.
My body tensed. I wasn’t sure if it was in relief or disappointment.
There was too much going on right now. I’d just been in a serious car
accident, certain I was going to lose my baby. Then I didn’t lose my baby—
yet—and my husband arrived and laid his whole heartbreaking past bare to
me. Then I’d done the same. Well, I hadn’t exactly laid it bare. I’d shoved it
into one compact sentence, but it got the message across.
This was enough physical and emotional turmoil to last a lifetime. And
it had been crammed into a handful of hours.
Too much.
“You need to go,” I told him.
 His determined look went nowhere. Neither did that edge of tender…
longing.
I hated it. And I fucking hated that it made me feel things other than
resentment and hatred. Damn baby hormones making me fond of my
husband.
“Leave,” I gritted out.
He regarded me for another long handful of seconds before nodding and
standing.
“Just to be clear, I’m leaving this room,” he said. “I’m not leaving the
hospital. Not without you.” His eyes grazed over my stomach. “Both of
you.”

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sixteen
. . .

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Those Fucking Men

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kip

MY EARS WERE RINGING when I walked down the halls

of the hospital.
Fiona was okay. The baby was okay. Although I would only entirely
believe that when I got to see it with my own eyes and hear the heartbeat. I
made a mental note to figure out a way to arrange an ultrasound.
Then I was momentarily paralyzed with fear at the thought of seeing my
child on the screen. My child. It would make it real. As if it hadn’t been real
for Fiona since the moment she got the positive test.
She told me she hadn’t had a second to escape her body. Her trauma.
Not only the trauma of losing children in the past but having a husband beat
her after that. I couldn’t comprehend that. Couldn’t connect such a horrific
detail with the woman I knew. But it was true. I could feel it, the pain in her
words, in her eyes. It was all lodged in my throat, and I was unable to
swallow it.
Fuck, I couldn’t imagine what she’d been going through. What she had
no choice to go through while I checked the fuck out.
She did the right thing not letting me off the hook. I didn’t deserve to
be.
Nor did her ex. The soon-to-be dead one.
I kept walking, despite how much I wanted to punch a wall or tear
something apart.
That wasn’t productive, and I had shit to do.
Nora and Rowan were in the waiting room, as I’d expected. Nora’s face
was cloaked in worry, also as I’d expected.
Rowan had his game face on, his arm around his wife.
 Nora stood the second she saw me. “Is she okay?” she demanded, tone
frantic.
I hadn’t intended on rushing her as I did. But all I could think about was
what Fiona told me.
“My husband pushed me down the stairs after I lost our baby.”
I couldn’t believe I didn’t tear the room apart after I heard that. But that
would only serve to turn me into a violent man, serve to prove that I was
just like the guy who’d brutalized her. Who she was running from. Who,
after all these years, was the reason she was terrified to go back home.
Yeah, my wife tumbling down the stairs after suffering a miscarriage
was front and center in my mind when I walked up to Nora.
I wasn’t going to touch her, but I was aware that I was not myself. That
I looked dangerous. Nora scuttled back a couple of steps before holding her
ground. It was impressive. She wasn’t a coward.
“Did you know?” I bit out.
Rowan moved in front of his wife, his face fucking murderous.
“Step back,” he clipped. I could hear his frayed control, could sense he
was seconds away from putting hands on me.
Nora rested her hand on his shoulder. “Rowan,” she said softly. “It’s
okay.”
Rowan glared at me in warning a moment longer, a muscle in his jaw
twitching. He wanted to hurt me for getting in his wife’s face. That’s how
much this woman meant to him. He wouldn’t hesitate to beat the shit out of
his best friend for her.
Granted, I knew there were also some other reasons for him wanting to
beat me up that weren’t entirely because of me getting in Nora’s face.
He stepped back but lingered close to his wife, watching me as if I were
unpredictable. Dangerous.
Maybe I was. Although I didn’t feel like it right now. I just felt… tired.
And yeah, angry, I guess. Mostly at myself, though.
 But guys who were angry at themselves were usually the most
dangerous, weren’t they?
“Did you know?” I repeated to Nora. “About what she went through?”
I felt a little guilty for my harsh tone. Nora was fucking gentle as all
hell, one of the kindest people I knew, and didn’t deserve me speaking to
her like this. But I couldn’t help myself.
“Does it matter?” she said, voice sharper than I was used to. I fucking
hated the way she looked at me now. With disdain. “Does it matter what she
went through in the past? Did you have to know in order to treat her
decently here in the present? She didn’t know about your past, and yet she
didn’t kick you out, divorce you, scream at you like you deserved.”
I swallowed her venom, the kind I didn’t know sweet Nora was capable
of. Then again, she was someone who loved fiercely. Fiona meant a lot to
her.
And I’d hurt her. It was well deserved.
And every single word was true.
I shouldn’t have had to know what she’d gone through in the past in
order to treat her with honor in the present. But fuck, maybe if I did, maybe
then I wouldn’t have been such a selfish, self-destructive piece of shit.
Or maybe I would’ve been.
“You’re right,” I told her. “About all of it. I fucked up. On a royal scale.
There isn’t shit I can do about it now. But I’ll be better.”
Nora glared at me. “I don’t give a shit what you are and aren’t planning
on doing,” she told me. “I’m going to go sit with my best friend. Be there
for her, like I have been the whole fucking time.”
She shoulder-checked me as she walked past.
I didn’t blame her. Not one fucking bit.
Rowan hadn’t been talking to me. It made sense. I’d come at his wife in a
way that was completely inappropriate.
He might’ve taken me outside if Tina and Tiffany hadn’t arrived, both
of them wild with worry and not even acknowledging me before rushing to
Fiona’s room. Calliope wasn’t far behind them. She was a little more
composed, but I knew her well enough to note the crease between her eyes,
the purse of her lips. She was shaken. For the first time in months, her eyes
found me. It was hard dealing with all the shit from everyone—shit I
deserved to fucking take—but it was the absolute worst having Calliope cut
me off so effectively.
Her attention might’ve felt like some kind of relief in other
circumstances. As it was, priorities had changed.
Through my haze, I was surprised to see Calliope not only look at me
but walk toward me, stopping in front of me to reach out and squeeze my
hand once. Her grip was firm and dry.
“She’s okay,” she said, obviously having been updated before she
arrived. “They’re okay,” she added. “You haven’t lost it all… yet.” Her gaze
sharpened, and the grip on my hand was tight with warning, not
reassurance. “Consider this the wake-up call you needed. You already lost
everything once. You had no control over that. It wasn’t your fault, not a
lick of it.”
I wanted to open my mouth and argue with her, but Calliope didn’t give
me space for that.
“This, though? You don’t step up for her and something else happens,
that’ll be your fault,” she said. “And you’ll carry it with you for life. And,
sweetheart, as strong as those shoulders are, they can’t even bear the weight
of what you already think is on them. Get it together.”
She gave me a squeeze hard enough to hurt before she let me go and
walked in the direction of Fiona’s hospital room.
 I might’ve ruminated on her words a little more had Finn, the sheriff,
not turned up right afterward. The fact that he was even here told me
something. That this wasn’t a fucking accident, and I had someone to
punish.
A short conversation with him told me I was right.
Fiona’s room was likely closed to me now. Her ladies had were all there
and still all hated me in varying degrees. Beyond that, Fiona didn’t want to
see me.
I’d told her everything, spewed out my sob story. And it hit her. I saw it.
Gutted her. Because even with everything I’d done to her these past months,
she still had some soft spot for me. My pain hurt her.
But while she might’ve been soft in some places, she was hard as
fucking rock in others. Therefore, my story did not serve as a catalyst for
her to forgive everything. As it shouldn’t. I was going to have to work a lot
harder to win her back. That was fine with me.
There was plenty that needed to be done to win her back, though
nothing I could do at this very moment.
But there was something else I could do.
Rowan appeared from wherever the fuck he’d been once I’d decided
what needed to be done.
“Talked to Finn,” he said, standing in front of me and assessing me.
“So did I,” I replied. “He was drunk,” I said flatly. “The driver. He was
fucking drunk. And he’s in this hospital.”
Rowan’s gaze was guarded, his posture tight, and I could see him
preparing to go into combat mode should the situation call for it.
Which was exactly what I wanted. Combat mode. I was already fucking
there. I was the person who had taken orders, ended lives without
hesitation, without losing a wink of sleep. Of course, I lost a lot of sleep
once I was home, but I got the job done. And once you turned into that, that
person was inside you for life. They never died. You just got better at
containing them. Like Rowan.
Mine had been crippled with grief and then booze and womanizing, but
that man was not dead. Not by a long shot.
“Yeah, he’s in this hospital, likely with a cop guarding the door,” Rowan
told me what I already knew.
“Even cops have gotta piss,” I said through my teeth.
“Then what?” he asked, folding his arms.
“Then what? I go in there and finish the job,” I replied, knowing he was
only asking to make me say it out loud.
Rowan’s face stayed composed. “Yeah? You’re gonna kill him in a
hospital where there are security cameras, where they can determine the
cause of death, where a pretty straight fucking line will be drawn back to
you, and you’ll land yourself in prison before Fiona even gets discharged
and miss the birth of another baby?”
If he’d punched me, I would’ve felt less impact. And that fucker had
one hell of a left hook. I had an overwhelming urge to smash his face in. To
get him on the ground and not stop hitting him.
But he said everything for a reason. Because he was trying to shake me
out of it. And he knew those words would work better than anything
physical.
“Tell me you’d be different,” I said quietly. “If it was Nora lying in that
hospital bed, with broken bones, covered in bruises, her skin torn, fucking
pregnant, tell me you wouldn’t tear apart the fucker who did that to her.
Fuck, you damn near did it to the man who caused her to walk into a
fucking cabinet before she was even yours.”
I’d talked my friend down from anything too rash when he and Nora
first started up. We’d come into the bakery, and she’d had a black eye and
an asshole ex. Rowan put two and two together and went on a rampage.
 His nostrils flared. “She was mine then, and before then,” he said
quietly. “And you’re right, if that was my wife in there, I’d be out for blood.
But I’d also have you standing here stopping me from ruining my life,
telling me to go back to my wife, my living fucking wife, and be the man
who chases life instead of death. We’re not those men anymore.”
I regarded my friend. “We’ll always be those fucking men.”
Then I walked away.
Away from Fiona’s room and with the intention of finding the fuck who
did this to her.

I was right.
Cops guarding a drunk driver did have to take a piss. And they weren’t
exactly thrilled about the shitty job either, so the middle-aged badge with a
fancy haircut and a smarmy look to him did not seem to be in any kind of
rush.
Fate was on my side.
I slipped into the room once he was out of sight.
And there he was. The man responsible for Fiona’s broken bones, her
bruises, the fear I saw in her eyes. Not for her. For our baby. The one she
treasured. Because she’d lost babies before. Because our child was her
fucking miracle. And he almost took that away from her.
He was hooked up to tubes and shit, but he looked pretty fucking okay
to me despite a cut on his head.
“You always survive,” I said, stepping toward the bed, my blood hot.
“You plow through lives and cause destruction and pain, and then you
survive with barely a fucking scratch.”
I didn’t know if the fuck in the bed was on any drugs, but he was alert
enough to look afraid of me.
 He pushed himself up against the bed as if he were trying to crawl up
the wall. “Who are you?” he squeaked.
I didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate to grab him by the throat the second I
made it to his bedside. I could’ve crushed his windpipe right there and then.
I knew how. It only took less than five pounds of pressure against a neck for
ten seconds to cause unconsciousness. A little longer and harder to
completely cut off air supply and eventually kill the person, but we weren’t
there… yet.
I didn’t exert much pressure, just enough to keep him in place, make
him gasp for air, and think he was about to die. I liked seeing that fear in his
eyes. He fucking deserved every second of it.
“If I could make you live two seconds away from death for the rest of
your miserable life, I would do it,” I ground out. “I would make every
fucking moment of your existence terrifying, make it so you never got to
feel love or joy or anything apart from the knowledge that you were about
to become worm food.” I squeezed a little harder, and his eyes bulged. “But
I don’t have that kind of time,” I sighed. “I’ve got a wife. A… baby.” My
vision blurred for a second. With fury. I had to stop myself from losing it
completely and breaking his neck then and there.
He kept gasping for air.
That wasn’t enough.
“A wife and baby you almost killed today because you had whisky for
breakfast—which is fine when you’re ruining your own life, but then you
got behind the wheel of a car and almost ruined my fuckin’ life.”
His hands were clawing at mine now. Weak. Fumbling. Like he was
playing at trying to survive but not really committing to it.
The person having whisky for breakfast and then getting behind the
wheel of a car didn’t seem like someone really committed to surviving. I’d
been that person. Granted, I’d never chosen to drive a car, but I’d been that
low. Someone else might’ve had empathy for this guy, offered a helping
hand that wasn’t clutching his throat. Not fucking me.
“Now, I’m obviously deranged enough to come into your hospital room
and assault you while you’ve got a uniformed guard,” I said
conversationally. “And if circumstances were different, I wouldn’t have a
problem with killing you here either. But that’s too complicated.”
His strangled breaths became shallower now, and his limbs flailed.
I sighed, releasing my hands. He was about to pass out, and that
wouldn’t work.
He coughed and spluttered once I released the pressure, and I stepped
back, waiting for him to shut the fuck up.
“Just because I didn’t kill you today doesn’t mean I won’t tomorrow,” I
told him, speaking louder to drown out his pathetic coughs. “I’m gonna find
the shithole you live in, gonna find out everything about you, and I’m
gonna make sure you don’t sleep soundly. I’m gonna ruin your fuckin’ life
for as long as I decide you get to live it.”
Though I had decided not to kill him, I had a split second where I was
back in my hometown, trying to fathom the fact that my wife and daughter
were dead. And when I came back into this hospital room, I didn’t have full
control of my faculties.
Luckily, it was only for a split second, and then I regained the ability to
think about a future beyond covering up a murder.
I had a wife and baby.
Who were alive and needed me to step the fuck up.
So I turned around and walked out of the room.

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seventeen
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
Coffee, Pastries, and Winning Her Back

OceanofPDF.com
fiona

THERE WASN’T much respite after Kip had left my hospital

room. I could barely digest what he’d told me before Nora came bursting in,
her eyes filled with tears and relief.
Not long after that was Tiffany, Tina, and then Calliope.
All of them fussed over me in their own way, distracting me from my
worry for a time, but not from Kip. Nothing could do that.
Eventually they all left, Tina and Tiffany to hit the mall and get me
some new clothes and toiletries, and Calliope to find someone to ‘get me
into a better room,’ like we were in a Four Seasons and not a hospital. I
tried telling her this room was fine, especially since I was only going to be
here for the night, but arguing with her was fruitless.
“She’ll probably end up head of surgery before you’re discharged,”
Nora joked after her sister-in-law left.
I let out a chuckle. “She’ll probably be in charge of the whole damn
hospital.”
Calliope was a force of nature, and I pitied whomever she was about to
encounter. I was glad they all left, since I needed to talk to Nora. Today was
obviously a day for spilling secrets, and I was exhausted thinking about
carrying on a charade for any longer.
“There’s one more thing I haven’t been quite so honest about,” I said,
sitting up in bed and wincing slightly. I wasn’t able to get the good drugs on
account of the child inside me, so I felt exactly like I’d been in a
semiserious car accident.
“Please tell me it’s not something that will send your alpha male
husband into a spin,” Nora said, rushing to help me up and adjust my
pillow. “I don’t want that for you, and I think that man might explode if he
produces any more testosterone.”
I grinned weakly at that. She wasn’t wrong. Kip hadn’t quite done the
brooding badass thing like Rowan did. He was more of the cheeky sidekick.
Hot cheeky sidekick, to be fair, but sidekick, nonetheless.
I’d never quite realized that Kip had major main character energy.
Major badass energy, especially when combined with the whole tortured
past thing.
He hid it mighty well. Well, maybe not so well these past months. But
I’d wrongly thought it was because he was a selfish asshole who didn’t
want his lifestyle to change.
The truth of it was a lot more tragic and a fuck of a lot more
complicated.
“Well, unfortunately, I don’t have much power over the whole
testosterone thing, but you have your own experience in that,” I said after a
long pause.
Her husband wrote the book on possessive alpha males.
Nora smiled, not arguing with me.
“It’s kind of about him, though,” I added with a sigh. “And the whole
husband thing.” I picked at the cheap hospital blanket.
She scrunched her face in confusion.
“You were surprised, to say the least, when we not only announced we
were together but also were getting married in such a short period of time,”
I told her what she already knew. Although surprised was an
understatement. We’d shocked the ever-loving shit out of our closest
friends.
Instead of saying this, Nora merely nodded.
“Well, it had a lot to do with my visa expiring and not having any other
options to stay in the country,” I explained, not looking at her. “And you
already know about what kind of life awaited me back in Australia, so I was
kind of desperate. I thought I picked the lesser evil.”
A rather succinct explanation, but I wasn’t too keen to go into a lot of
detail, and it got the point across.
“You married him for a Green Card?” Nora deduced.
I nodded. “I didn’t quite foresee all of this.” I gestured to my stomach
and the hospital bed. “But I wouldn’t be me if things didn’t go tits up.”
Nora regarded my belly, then me with pursed lips, digesting the
information. “First off, I definitely don’t think you getting pregnant with a
child you deserve is the definition of ‘tits up,’” she said, using air quotes.
“Though to be fair, I’m not as familiar with the term as you are.”
“Okay,” I conceded, grinning, hand on my belly. “Maybe this wasn’t a
part of the plan, but I’m not mad that it happened. Although it does tie me
to Kip for the rest of my life.” I bit my lip at the prospect. It wasn’t the first
time I’d thought about it, but the times before had been colored with Kip’s
actions and his declaration that he’d effectively be abandoning us as soon as
he could.
Now he’d made a bedside promise to ‘win me back’ with a determined
tilt to his mouth and fire in his eyes that scared me a little.
Nora sucked her teeth. “Well, it might have started off as an agreement,
and you two definitely didn’t seem happy about it at the start, but you
obviously were happy enough to make that.” She nodded to my stomach.
“So, it wasn’t all bad.”
“No,” I said quietly, thinking about our brief honeymoon period. “It
wasn’t all bad.”
“And although I didn’t know what I was seeing at the time, in hindsight,
I’ve come to understand that I was seeing you guys fall into a bit of… like
with each other?” she asked with a teasing glint to her eyes. “This turned
real at some point.”
 “Yeah,” I agreed, not seeing any point in lying to myself anymore. “It
did. But then he went and fucked it up.”
Nora nodded. “He did. But—”
“You don’t have to vaguely allude to his trauma,” I interrupted. “I
know.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “He told you?”
“Yep. Pretty much as soon as I woke up, he let me in on the entire
harrowing fucking story about what happened to his wife and daughter,” I
said, my voice rough and raw all of a sudden.
Nora must’ve heard it because she rushed to pour me a glass of water,
and I took it gratefully.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she said softly, sitting down beside my bed.
Her face was a picture of guilt. Unlike me, Nora did not keep secrets, and
she did not lie.
“It wasn’t your place to tell me.” I put the water down, my throat still
feeling raw. “You did the right thing. It needed to be him.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “I know. But these months, seeing him act that
way, seeing you going through what you were going through alone—”
“I’m not alone,” I said, reaching to grab her hand. “I’ve never been
alone. You, Tiffany, Tina, and Calliope have made sure of that.” I smiled
thinking of how fucking lucky I had been, stumbling upon Jupiter and
deciding to settle here and work at a bakery until I got my shit together.
“Even if you had told me, it wouldn’t have changed Kip’s behavior,” I
continued. “Apparently him thinking I was dead in a car crash was what did
it for him.”
I winced at how it sounded out loud.
“I didn’t forgive him,” I murmured, taking another long sip of my water.
“When he told me, when he explained why he’s been acting like he has,
when he told me about—” I sucked in a breath, trying to find the strength to
say their names. “—Gabbie and Evelyn, I told him I was heartbroken for
him and could understand the initial reaction, but I couldn’t forgive him for
months of his behavior.” I regarded my new cast, thinking of the expression
on Kip’s face when he walked into my hospital room. “Was that too harsh?”
Nora shook her head immediately. “No, it wasn’t too harsh. I’ve felt for
him, trust me, and I’ve tried to understand his behavior, excuse it.” She took
this moment to pour herself some water. “And, at first, I got it. I was ready
to give him some grace, figured he’d come around. But then he didn’t.” Her
nostrils flared, and her normally placid face flickered with rage. Well,
Nora’s version of rage, at least. “Him having been hurt in the past does not
excuse him hurting you and abandoning you in the present.”
But he hadn’t just been hurt in the past. He’d been ruined.
Yet hadn’t I been ruined too? I’d been scraped down, hollowed out,
beaten, and completely destroyed.
“Make him work for it,” Nora decided. “The happily ever after.”
I regarded her with skepticism. “You think after all this, I get a happily
ever after?”
She smiled. “Yes, I most definitely know you’ll get one.”
I shook my head.
Kip might’ve been trying to play the hero now, but I didn’t think we had
the kind of story that ended in happily ever after.

I was fussed over when I was discharged the following day. Mostly by
Nora, but also by Kip, who had slept in my room the night before. I’d been
asleep when he came in or I would’ve argued against that. Passionately.
Or I liked to think I would’ve argued against it, at least.
But it was rather… nice to wake up in an unfamiliar room that smelled
of bleach, wrapped in scratchy sheets and having had really fucked-up
dreams, and see Kip there in the chair with two cups in front of him and a
box that looked remarkably familiar.
He straightened the second he saw I was awake. He looked decidedly
better than he had yesterday. In fact, he didn’t look like he’d slept in a chair
beside a hospital bed. He was wearing his cap, a clean tee, a flannel, and
jeans. His tanned skin was fresh, and the dark blond shadow on his jaw only
worked for him more. The only slight hint to how he was feeling was his
slightly bloodshot eyes. I wondered how much he’d slept.
“Are you okay?” he demanded. “Do you need me to get the doctor?”
I blinked, pushing myself up, until I remembered I had a cast on my
arm. I compensated with my right hand, and it made the process a little
tougher. Kip rushed to gently prop me up.
“Do you need more pillows?”
“No, I don’t need more pillows or a doctor. I need that.” I pointed at one
of the cups. “If that’s coffee, with actual caffeine. And if that is decaf, I will
straight-up murder you where you stand.”
Kip blinked at me. Then his eyes lightened, and the corner of his mouth
turned up. “It’s not decaf. I wouldn’t do that to you. Although it’s only a
double shot, since I think your regular quad shot would put you over the
two hundred milligram threshold, especially if you choose the pain au
chocolat that’s in here.” He nodded to the box.
I stared at him, still struggling to get my bearings. “Gimme coffee,” I
demanded.
Kip gave me the cup, which had the distinctive scrawl from the bakery
and was somehow still warm.
I took a sip and let the caffeine run through my system. Then I reached
for my phone on the table beside me.
“How is it that I’m drinking warm coffee from the bakery at seven in
the morning when it’s almost a four-hour round trip back to Jupiter?” I
asked him.
 He took a sip of his own coffee, which I bet was a fucking quad shot.
“And how is it that you know I’m only allowed two hundred milligrams
of caffeine in a day?” I added.
“Well, Nora opened the bakery early because she knew what you’d need
after waking up in a hospital bed was pastries and good coffee, since both
of us knew none of the cafés within a fifty-mile radius would measure up to
your standards.”
I scowled at him. “It’s not my fault that this country seems to have
decided that Starbucks qualifies as ‘real coffee.’” I shivered at the thought
of it.
He held his hands up in surrender. “No judgment. I can’t drink anything
but Nora’s coffee since I was introduced. It’s been fucking hell having to
tolerate the shit from the diner the past few months.”
I raised my brow at him. “Yeah, it must’ve been really tough for you.”
Kip looked appropriately chastised, reaching for the box from the
bakery. “I have a variety of Nora’s best pastries,” he said, opening the box.
My appetite suddenly took over my body, and I reached for the
chocolate croissant, which was still soft and warm.
Kip produced a napkin for crumbs, which I took thankfully.
“You drove to Jupiter and back to get me croissants and coffee?” I
clarified.
“Well, I got myself a coffee, too, so it wasn’t an entirely selfless act.”
He lifted his cup.
“If this is you trying to ‘win me back,’ you gotta know it’s gonna take
more than pastries and coffee,” I informed him, not giving up either of
them.
Kip chuckled. I liked the sound of it. I hadn’t heard it in months, and it
warmed my very bones. And other places.
“I’m aware that it’s gonna take much more than that. But you just
agreed that I can win you back,” he said, tone dripping with triumph.
 Fuck.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I snapped.
Kip smirked at me. “Yeah, you did. I’ve still got a chance.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Though my voice had a considerable bite to it, something inside me felt
alive, happy to be in a familiar rhythm, to see a Kip I recognized.
A nurse came in at that point to check my vitals and the baby’s
heartbeat with a portable doppler. I recognized what it looked like because
I’d stared at the product page for one every night in my first trimester,
figuring out whether it would be a good thing or a bad thing to have the
ability to find my baby’s heartbeat.
I’d decided against it.
I’d make myself crazy constantly trying to find the little fucker, and
then I’d spiral into a deep depression if I couldn’t. I was already enough of
a wreck.
As it was, I was a wreck when the nurse produced the little thing, my
mouth suddenly dry and my limbs frozen.
The heartbeat that came from the little machine was reassuring and a
welcome sound, but I hadn’t factored in Kip’s being there, nor had I
expected him to have a reaction.
He went slack-jawed, and he leaned forward so his elbows were on the
bed as he stared at my belly in awe. If I was ever going to try to convince
myself that Kip didn’t care about the baby, I couldn’t, not after this moment
right here.
It scared me. The boomerang from such coldness to such utter…
astonishment and devotion.
I didn’t know what to do with that. All the maternal hormones coursing
through my body made me soft and really tempted to forgive him and go
home like a happy family.
Which we weren’t.
 I needed to remember that.
So I retreated.
For the rest of the morning, I didn’t look directly at him, didn’t smile at
him, and didn’t let his caring expression and over-the-top protectiveness
penetrate. Instead, I focused on getting myself ready to get the fuck out of
the hospital and back home.
They made me leave in a wheelchair, which didn’t really help with my
whole ‘capable woman’ thing.
Then there was Kip helping me in and out of his truck like I was a
fucking invalid. I wanted to swat him away, but the fucker’s truck was
lifted, and I couldn’t wrench myself in there one-handed. The hospital
didn’t give me any of the good drugs on account of the fetus inside me.
Therefore, not only did my wrist throb but I felt like I’d been hit by a car.
Which I guessed I kind of had.
So, I needed Kip to help me into the truck, and out of the truck, and then
into the house, where he situated me on the sofa with blankets. Fucking
blankets. Again, I might’ve argued except my sofa and blankets were really
fucking great right now.
“I’m going to make dinner,” he said after tucking me in like a burrito.
“What do you want?”
I pursed my lips, not wanting to request anything more from the man.
“I’ll order pizza,” I decided, searching my blanket for my phone.
“I’ll make pizza,” Kip decided.
I scowled up at him. “The pizza place will make pizza. With ranch.”
He did not scowl back. Instead, he had that soft look on his face,
devotion tingled with amusement. It hurt. And it made me feel warm and
fuzzy.
“I can make pizza. And ranch.”
I opened my mouth to argue with him, but Calliope interrupted. She’d
arrived not long after we got home from the hospital, which was after I had
urged Nora and Rowan to go home to their daughter and dog, who were
being looked after by Rowan’s mom.
Calliope had been silent on her phone during the whole blanket fiasco,
sipping from the glass of wine I’d urged her to have. It seemed she was also
listening.
“Let him make the fucking pizza,” she said. “No one outside Naples
makes pizza better than Kippers—or Deidre, to be exact, since he learned it
from her.” I turned my glare her way, which she met with amusement. “I get
that you’re trying to fight against being taken care of by a man,” she
continued, guessing what lay behind my glare. “And I do support it. But
you kind of have to be taken care of… a little bit.” She held her finger and
thumb millimeters apart. “Because you’re pregnant, now injured, and you
can’t cook for shit.”
I stopped glaring at her to continue to search for my phone amongst the
mountain of blankets. “I may not be able to cook, but I can use my phone,”
I argued, still searching.
“Not when it’s on the counter,” Calliope countered. “And you’re all
tucked in there. Just let Kip make the fucking pizza.”
Shit.
The counter wasn’t far away in the grand scheme of things.
But when you were pregnant, recovering from a car accident, and
wrapped in blankets, the distance seemed yawning.
I looked from Kip to Calliope. “I don’t like either of you right now,” I
grunted.
Both of them were smiling.
“You don’t have to like us right now,” Calliope answered. “Plus, you’ll
want to marry Kip and have his babies once you get a taste of that pizza.”
She looked pointedly at my stomach. “You know, if you weren’t already
working on that.”
I flipped her the bird.
 Kip leaned down and kissed my head before walking away.
I ignored Calliope. She wasn’t bothered.
Kip made pizza.
And Calliope was right—one taste and it did make me want to marry
him and have his babies.
Except I was already in the middle of that.

Kip had scheduled an OBGYN appointment for me the day after we arrived
home.
“You cannot just schedule doctor’s appointments for me!” I yelled when
I found this out.
“I’m your husband,” he replied. As if that were a sane thing to utter.
My eyes widened, and I was surprised that steam didn’t come out my
ears. “You’re my husband on paper only. And even if you weren’t, I have a
little thing called bodily autonomy, and I get to choose when and where to
have doctor’s appointments.”
Kip’s expression was hard but not cold like it had been for the past few
months. There was emotion there, to be sure. Concern, mostly, and
determination.
“I can do it when my pregnant wife got into a serious car accident the
day before,” he bit out.
Again, the underlying anguish in his voice hit me because of what he’d
told me in my hospital room. I could never unhear those words. They’d
been bouncing around in my head ever since.
“You’ve emphasized the word wife more in the past two days than you
have in the past five months,” I muttered.
Kip’s mouth thinned. “I know, because I haven’t been much of a
husband for the past five months.”
 At least he was owning up to his mistakes.
Not that it mattered.
“You’re not meant to be a husband, remember?” I said, my voice tight
with irritation. “That was the agreement.”
His eyes went purposefully to my stomach and then back up to me. “I
think we can both come to terms with the fact that the agreement is now
moot. So, the only other option we have now is to address the fact that we
might have entered into a real marriage here.”
You could’ve knocked me over with a fucking feather. Not just because
I wasn’t quite so steady on my feet on account of the concussion and
general weakness of my aching muscles.
“A real marriage?” I spluttered, the blood draining from my face.
“You’re really going from essentially ignoring me for months in preparation
for eventually abandoning me,” I stroked my belly, “abandoning us,” I
corrected. “You’re going from that to deciding—on your own—that our
sham marriage is now the real thing?”
Kip didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. He just kept that
determined glint to his eye with a hint of mischievousness. “Pretty much.”
“You’re fucking insane,” I informed him.
He merely shrugged in response. “You’re still going to the doctor’s
appointment.” He looked over my pajamas that I was still wearing because
it was only eight in the damn morning. Too fucking early for this shit.
“You want to make me?” I asked sweetly, putting my hands on my hips
in challenge.
“Yep,” he replied without hesitation, a challenge of his own in his eyes.
“I will hog-tie you, gag you, and carry you into that office.”
The principle of the statement angered me. Like a whole bunch.
But then I thought of Kip. Tying me up. In another scenario.
And I kind of liked that.
 Kip’s eyes glowed as if he could read my fucking mind. Which, of
course, he couldn’t. But he stepped forward. Close. Too close. His torso
almost touched my protruding belly.
“You like the idea of me tying you up, babe?” he murmured, reaching
out to twirl a handful of my hair around his finger.
My breathing shallowed. I fought against my desire.
It had been months since I’d gotten laid. Months.
“Because we can do that,” he said, leaning forward so now his body was
brushing against mine. “I can tie you to your bed, have you naked, spread-
eagle, and I’ll eat that glorious pussy of yours until you scream.”
Holy. Fuck.
Was I meant to be mad at him? How big of a deal was him being an
asshole and abandoning me, really?
“Then I’ll fuck you, just how you like it,” he continued, his voice low
and throaty, lips ghosting against mine. “After we go to the doctor’s.”
There it was.
Cold water on my rapidly heating body.
I jerked back from him.
He let go of my hair, smirking.
“You’re such a prick,” I hissed at him. But my voice was kind of
breathy.
“But you want me,” he countered.
“Fuck off,” I snapped back.
“You want to go get changed, or you want me to carry you to your
bedroom, rip your pajamas off you, and put some new ones on?” he offered.
I might’ve called his bluff, except he really, really didn’t sound like he
was bluffing. The fucker was going to do anything and everything in his
power to get me to the doctor’s. I didn’t have much of a choice.
That infuriated me, to say the least.
“Fuck you,” I spat, turning on my heel and stomping to my bedroom.
 “We’ve gotta leave in fifteen,” he called to my back. “I’ll make you a
breakfast burrito to have on the way.”
Fuck, now I wanted a breakfast burrito.

I gave Kip the silent treatment for the rest of the morning.
Very mature of me, but it was either that or scream expletives at him.
And if I was screaming at him, I couldn’t eat the breakfast burrito.
Which was fucking amazing.
But even that didn’t help with the fact that I’d lost. I’d lost because I
had indeed gotten dressed, climbed into Kip’s truck—with his help—and let
him drive me to my OB’s office. I did not like to lose. Especially to Kip.
I’d been dealing with this thing alone for months. I’d been in control of
where and when I went places for this entire time—well, apart from the
bathroom, because the baby dictated that—and my entire life, after escaping
my abusive husband. Yielding to Kip on this one thing felt like the end of
the world.
I’d given up enough control to him by marrying him in the first place.
This was too much.
This, along with the ride to the doctor’s office, which was always
anxiety inducing. Yes, I’d been given the all clear at the hospital the
previous morning, but a lot could happen in twenty-four hours. I’d been
feeling those same weird little flutters last night that I’d been feeling on and
off for a couple of weeks.
Flutters that could’ve been hunger pangs, gas, or it could be the tiny
limbs of my baby moving inside me. But if I focused too much on that, I
couldn’t feel anything at all.
I had nothing to compare it to, since my previous pregnancies had never
made it this far. I was flying blind. Beyond that, I didn’t want to tell myself
I was feeling baby kicks, reassure myself that’s what I was feeling, and go
to the doctor only to find out they weren’t because my baby was gone.
Better to write them off as gas for now. Better that than to hope.
My head throbbed as we checked in at the office, though I did not miss
the receptionist and a couple of other women checking Kip out. Including
the pregnant women here with their husbands.
Because Kip, as always, looked great. He was wearing faded jeans, and
instead of his work boots, he had on Chuck Taylors that should’ve looked
weird on him but somehow worked. His jeans fit him perfectly, showing off
his perfect ass. Then there was his white tee, not tight but hinting at the abs
I knew were underneath it. His biceps were straining against the fabric of
his tee, showing off muscled, tanned arms that had veins running down to
his large and well-manicured hands. Although he was a builder, and they
were callused, he always kept his hands in great shape.
He was wearing his cap backward, with his dirty-blond hair peeking out
the bottom of it. He still had that shadow of stubble on a square jaw.
In short, he was fucking catnip to women. Especially pregnant women,
who, if they were anything like me, were being ruled by their hormones. It
took everything I had not to drag him into the bathroom and make him fuck
me there and then.
Though I guessed trying to battle against my libido in the waiting room
was a welcome change to battling against an anxiety attack.
Kip looked outwardly calm, his usual self. Upon first glance. But I
didn’t miss the tightness in his limbs, the wrinkling around his eyes, the
way his jaw moved, like he was grinding his teeth. Yeah, he was nervous.
No, he was scared.
He was scared.
Forgetting that I was supposed to be mad at him, I reached over and
grabbed his hand.
 Kip jerked when I grabbed hold of it, and I immediately tried to pull it
back. But he tightened his grip, not letting me go, and rested our
intertwined hands on his muscular thigh.
We stayed like that, sitting there, holding hands right until the nurse
came to get us. Kip kept holding my hand as we stood and followed the
nurse, only letting me go so they could weigh me, and then grabbing me
again until it was clear I had to sit in the exam chair and he got the husband
chair across the room. He looked forlorn with the distance, and I ignored
that.
The nurse was cheerful as she took my blood pressure, saying how
exciting it was for “Dad to be able to make it for this one!” she exclaimed.
I didn’t look at Kip as she said that. It was all too weird.
And luckily, for once, there wasn’t a long wait between the nurse
leaving and my doctor arriving, so there was no time for Kip and me to
linger in a loaded silence.
As always, she rushed in with a smile, cheerful and excited to see me
and not giving me any inclination that she thought this was the time they
wouldn’t be able to find a heartbeat. It was reassuring.
She paused when she spotted Kip in the corner. She looked momentarily
surprised and then delighted. “Dad?” she asked, looking to me.
I nodded once, not able to verbalize it.
Kip looked equally uncomfortable. Again, although I was supposed to
be mad at him, I felt an incredible amount of empathy.
He had not been called Dad since his daughter died. I couldn’t imagine
what he must be going through.
My doctor clapped her hands together. I jumped. “Well,” she said.
“We’re happy to have Dad here, especially today. I understand you had a bit
of an accident?”
I nodded, looking down at my bulky cast. “Yeah, a little bit. But I’m
okay.”
 She gave me a soft smile. “I looked over your chart from the hospital,
and it seems you’re both okay. We’d been trying to reach you because
you’re overdue for your anatomy scan.” She gave me a look that could only
be described as… maternal and slightly chiding.
I bit my lip. “Yeah, um, I’ve been busy,” I hedged.
I could feel Kip’s glower from across the room. I refused to look at him.
“We do happen to have a small gap in our ultrasound tech’s schedule,”
she said, clicking on her computer. “And considering your recent trauma, I
do want you in there right now.”
I opened my mouth as an endless pit opened in my stomach.
But before I could argue, my doctor got up. “I’ll just go and tell my tech
to get set up for you,” she said with a smile before leaving the room.
Fucking hell. I did not get a moment of reprieve.
“You’ve been busy?” Kip parroted, turning so he was facing me. “Too
busy for an anatomy scan, which sounds pretty fucking important?”
I pushed myself up from the table, now that it was clear I wasn’t getting
any kind of exam. “Really? You’re giving me shit about missing one
ultrasound?” I snapped. “How many have you been to?”
That shut him up.
Which gave me the time I needed to freak the fuck out.
Unfortunately, Kip didn’t stay silent for long. He picked up a figure of a
baby inside a womb, inspecting it with a frown, holding the small baby up
to my stomach as if to figure out whether the size measured up.
He then moved his attention to me, and unfortunately, I didn’t seem to
be hiding the freak-out.
“Why were you putting off the scan?” he asked, gentler this time.
I pursed my lips, intent on keeping them glued.
But then Kip kept looking at me while holding that fucking baby
figurine or whatever it was called.
 “If you had been here for the past five months, you might’ve witnessed
me having multiple panic attacks of varying severity,” I informed him
smarmily. “All because of the many ultrasounds I’ve had before, because of
my… history.”
I felt uncomfortable talking about my history, uncovering all the nerves
that had been exposed since the second I peed on the stick. Oh, how I
wanted to be snarky and strong and breeze over my trauma and worries. But
I wasn’t capable of that. All my strength was going toward remaining half
sane and growing a child, dealing with a car accident, and also my fake
husband, who had decided to become my real husband and baby daddy in
the past twenty-four hours.
Kip sighed, guilt sculpting his face. “I’m sorry—”
I waved my hand. “I understand, and I get that you’re sorry, but I’m
really not in the mood to hear another apology right now,” I said, not
harshly, but a little of my resentment might’ve slipped in. “As time has
gone on, I’ve become a little less of a hot mess in this office.” I gestured
around. “But that scan is a serious one. Where they can discover serious
shit. I might’ve had a bunch of tests to rule out the normal stuff, but then
there’s also all the abnormal stuff,” I ranted. “And because I’m unable to
sleep these days, I spend all that time doom-scrolling mom forums and
reading horror stories about babies with half a brain or an incurable kidney
disease or something. So, excuse me for not wanting to find that out right
now!” I was yelling again, but I couldn’t help it.
Kip put down the baby, which clattered awkwardly in the womb on the
table. He crossed the distance between us, and I tensed, communicating that
I really did not want him touching me right now.
He got the message, since he stopped before he got within touching
distance. Although he was now close enough that I could smell his scent.
“That all makes sense,” Kip said in a calm and reasonable tone. “And
it’s on me that I haven’t been here to soak up all the crazy.”
 My eyes narrowed. “Calling a pregnant woman crazy is an interesting
choice at this juncture.”
He grinned. “Yeah, well, you’re mad at me, and you’re not freaking out
about the ultrasound, are you?”
I blinked.
That asshole.
He reached over to grab my hand despite my warning body language. “I
can’t promise you nothing bad is gonna happen in there, as much as I want
to,” he told me soberly. “But I’m thinking the odds are in our favor. Not just
because I believe my sperm is superior to any and all sperm—”
I scowled at him.
“—but because you’re one of the toughest, most infuriating women I
know, and that baby is you, and that baby is fucking strong.” His thumb
stroked my hand. “And if the worst happens, I’m not going anywhere. I’m
not abandoning you.”
Though I really wanted to protect myself, my heart, and my baby, I
couldn’t help but believe him.

OceanofPDF.com
eighteen
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Sex and Baby Books

“DO you want to know the gender?” the ultrasound tech asked me.
We’d been in the room for half an hour, my heartbeat a dull roar in my
ears and Kip’s hand firm in mine.
So far, our baby had an entire brain, a normal, healthy heart, and all the
other organs were in the places they were supposed to be in.
That had loosened my tight muscles somewhat.
I was still waiting for an extra limb to pop out of somewhere, or the
woman’s face to change from open and casual to closed off and grave.
“Yes,” I said, my response more than a little delayed to the
sonographer’s question.
Kip’s hand squeezed mine, and I remembered he was there. I looked
over to him, wondering if I should ask him if he wanted to know the gender.
Then I remembered the months of solitude and cold shoulders.
“Yes,” I said, looking back at the sonographer. “We want to know the
gender.”
Kip, to his credit, seemed smart enough to keep his lips shut with my
use of the royal ‘we.’ Though he hadn’t said much beyond “holy fuck” with
an awed, slack-jawed expression, eyes glued to the large screen that showed
a seemingly healthy and active baby.
 But I didn’t have a degree in radiology or whatever you needed to
decipher the splotches of black-and-white that consisted of her organs.
I’d had the chance to find out the gender much earlier than this. First
with genetic blood tests, then with a variety of ultrasounds. I wasn’t one for
surprises—I was sure a newborn baby was going to give me plenty of those
—but for whatever reason, I couldn’t let them tell me what it was.
Surely it wasn’t because it felt wrong without Kip. I was going to raise
the fucking thing without him.
Yet…
I waited until he was sitting beside me before I found out.
“It’s a little girl,” she said with a smile. “Congratulations.”
“A girl?” Kip said, stunned.
I looked over to him. He was pale, wide-eyed, shocked, and awed.
A girl.
Just like the one he lost.
Without thinking, I squeezed his hand.
He jerked, looking at me with tears in his eyes. Then his lips stretched
into the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.
“We’re having a daughter,” he whispered.
And because I was pregnant, staring at my healthy baby girl and the
hottest baby daddy on planet Earth, I replied, “Yeah, we’re having a
daughter.”

We didn’t speak on the ride home from the doctor’s office. Kip was
pensive. But not shut off. He’d helped me off the bed in the ultrasound
room, and his hands had stayed on me ever since. He drove one-handed, the
other situated firmly on my thigh, moving up to rub my stomach at regular
increments.
 This appointment could’ve set him back. Even through my resentment
of the man, I could understand that. Empathize with that. I was
experiencing my own complicated fucking emotions. Sure, I was filled with
relief that there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. ‘Perfect’ was
the word my OB used. Which was great.
And terrible. My perfect baby girl was thriving inside me. Moving
inside me. Growing.
And I was becoming attached to her. To a life ahead that included her.
That meant it would be all the more terrible if something happened to
her. Yes, the odds were in our favor now. The chances of losing her were
drastically low. But I’d already been a part of the minority cases, so I knew
I wasn’t protected by percentages.
I supposed Kip might’ve been thinking something similar. He’d
experienced an anomaly that most people thought existed on the news, only
happened to other people.
It was darkly ironic that we were two profoundly fucked-up people
who’d lost things you weren’t supposed to lose. And now we were in a fake
marriage that had somehow turned very fucking real.
When we got home, Kip said he had to go to work to “take care of some
shit.” His voice had been faraway, and I wondered if he was going to retreat
again.
That thought filled me with fear.
Only a day with him masquerading as a husband and a father, and the
prospect of a future without him was more than a little daunting. I was only
thinking this because of the trauma of these past few days, nothing else.
“I’ll call Calliope, get her to come sit with you,” Kip said, grabbing his
phone off the counter.
“You will do no such thing,” I snapped. “I’m more than capable of
being alone in my own house and not sticking my fingers into any sockets.”
 He regarded me seriously, like he had to be convinced that I, an adult
woman, was going to be fine home alone.
“Go!” I shouted at him.
“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. He thankfully
put his phone in his pocket.
He rounded the counter, stopping only when he got right in front of me.
Then he put his hand on my stomach to lean in and gently kiss my head. I
was so shocked I just sat there, letting it happen.
“I’ll come by with lunch,” he said against my forehead.
Then he left.
Without me arguing with him.

We just had dinner.

I’d requested Dorito casserole. Kip made it gladly, drinking a beer as he
did so. I sat outside, pretending to read my book but really sneaking a
whole bunch of peeks at him in the kitchen.
He looked really hot in the kitchen.
And he was acting all… nice. Still with the devotion. He’d come with
lunch—sandwiches from the place in town that made their own sourdough,
plus cookies from Nora’s bakery. And cake. Because he obviously knew I
consumed sugar like it was going extinct.
There was the forehead kiss, the belly touch, the lunch, the cookies, the
cake. And now him making my new favorite comfort meal.
The other shoe had yet to drop.
I was dubious. I was bracing, waiting. But somehow, I still hoped. That
this was it. That I wasn’t alone.
A dangerous thing to hope.
 We’d finished dinner—I had thirds—and Kip had done the dishes,
fighting against me when I tried to help. I was sitting at the counter with a
cup of tea and cookies. He was putting away the last of the dishes.
He paused at the fridge, where I’d put up the ultrasound picture from
today.
“Her hands were up at her ears,” he said, looking at the fridge like he
was going to drill a hole in it. “Ultrasounds use sound waves.” He gaped up
at me. “She didn’t like it.” His brows knitted together. “How many more
ultrasounds do you need?”
I bristled, though his distress at our daughter’s discomfort was kind of
cute. “However many the doctor thinks I need.”
He nodded, still frowning. “Yes, of course.”
That was enough for me. I sipped the last of my tea, getting up to rinse
it and put it in the dishwasher. I tried my best not to get too close to Kip.
“This day has been… intense,” I said, stepping out of the kitchen as soon as
the dishwasher closed. “I need to go to bed.”
He blinked. “Yes, of course,” he repeated like a broken record. He
blinked, as if he were rebooting or something, then looked at me a little
more focused than that dreamy look on his face. “You want me to bring
your cake in for you?” He nodded to the cake stand, where a fudgy
chocolate cake sat gloriously.
I pursed my lips, my first instinct being to refuse him on principle. As a
thirtysomething-year-old woman, one who was going to be a mother in a
few months, I should be able to take care of myself, cut my own damn cake.
But I didn’t want to take care of myself. Yes, being an independent
woman was a great goal, a great identity to stick it to the world, the
patriarchy, and the man who beat me and tried to grind me into mush.
But it was also nice to let someone take care of you. I’d always wanted
that. To trust someone enough to take care of me.
 Granted, Kip hadn’t given me a whole bunch of reasons to trust him
these past few months, but… he was the father of my child and my
husband. And he made a really fucking good alfredo.
“Yes, that sounds… nice,” I replied.
His posture relaxed somewhat, as if he’d been tensed, waiting for a
fight. A good thing. Keep him on his toes, I decided.
“Me letting you bring me chocolate cake in bed is not me letting you
win,” I said, pointing at him. “It merely means I need chocolate cake.”
Kip nodded soberly.
“I know you, Fiona Owens. I didn’t expect a victory so soon.”

Kip wasn’t asleep when I burst into his room at midnight.

I expected him to be.
He got up before dawn and worked manual labor all day. And that
wasn’t counting all the cooking and cleaning he did around this place. Oh,
and carrying around the weight of his guilt and masculine concern. Yeah, I
expected that to be fucking tiring.
But he wasn’t sleeping. He was propped up in bed, watching TV. His
eyes went to me the second the door opened.
I was surprised he didn’t point a gun at me or something, he was wound
so tight. I was wound pretty tight too.
Which was why I was barging into his bedroom at midnight. Naked.
Kip’s expression changed from surprise to hunger in a split second.
I didn’t hesitate before crossing the distance between the door and the
bed. “To be clear, this isn’t because I forgive you,” I said, crawling onto the
bed and yanking the covers back.
Kip didn’t fight me on the covers, and he let me expose his muscled
body in nothing but underwear.
 My fucking mouth watered. I yanked at his underwear angrily, freeing
his cock so he let out a hiss of pleasure.
“This is because I am pregnant and full of hormones not entirely under
my control,” I explained, straddling him.
Kip’s hands landed on my hips, steadying me.
His cock was already hard when I brushed myself against it.
“I need to be fucked,” I said, breathing heavily. “That’s all this is.”
“Okay, babe,” Kip said, hands going to my newly engorged tits.
I let out a gasp when his fingers found my nipples, which were sensitive
as all fuck currently. A nice change from the pain I felt from merely letting
the fabric of my tee brush over them.
“Don’t call me babe,” I hissed, reaching down to position his cock
against where I was soaking wet and fucking desperate.
Then I seated myself fully. No fucking around. No foreplay. I sure as
shit didn’t need it. And I didn’t need any time for me to second-guess my
decision, for reason to come back. I did not reason. I needed an orgasm.
I almost came right then and there. It wasn’t like I’d been depriving
myself sexually. I was getting my money’s worth from my vibrator, which
was top-of-the-line. But I was left lacking. I needed this. Needed fullness.
“This is because you have a cock,” I breathed, riding him. “Because
you’re handy. Because I’m unfortunate enough to be married to you.”
Kip grasped my hips, letting me dictate the rhythm. “Whatever you
say,” he replied, his voice thick, deep, impossibly masculine, and
impossibly sexy.
“No more talking.” I smooshed my finger against his lips and kept
riding him, my body electrified.
“Okay, Fiona,” he gritted out, cords in his neck tight, his eyes wild with
hunger. With pleasure.
“That’s talking,” I growled, my voice no longer sounding like my own.
 Then the first wave took over. Pleasure. Unbearable, beautiful, world-
shattering pleasure. My body was more sensitive, more responsive, more
alive than it had been… ever.
I gave in to it, gave in to him, letting myself fall off the edge of the cliff,
giving myself to Kip.
He let out a strangled roar a handful of seconds—minutes?—later,
communicating he was giving himself to me too.
My body sagged against his, my limbs leaden as I let go of all the
tension I’d been holding in for months.
But I didn’t get a moment of respite.
Kip, it seemed, was done letting me take charge. He lifted me up and
onto my side—impressive and smooth since I barely noticed it happening.
To be fair, I was in a post-orgasm haze. He probably could’ve loaded me
into a sheep truck and sent me off to Mexico and I barely would’ve noticed.
He situated me on my side, slipping inside again, still hard. I gasped at
the new angle, the way it electrified my sensitive nerve endings.
“You think I’m done with you?” Kip growled against my neck.
He slammed into me, hand on my breast, tweaking my nipple.
I cried out.
“Oh, babe, we’re far from fuckin’ done,” he promised. “I’ve got a lot to
make up for. And if I remember correctly, my wife has a greedy pussy.”
Kip did remember correctly. And he did all that was promised.
He made up for a whole fucking lot.
Almost everything.
Almost.

I hadn’t planned on sleeping in Kip’s bed. In fact, I’d specifically planned

not to sleep in his bed. It was just supposed to be sex, me scratching an itch
just enough to sate my need and get my ass to sleep.
Except I hadn’t realized how deep that need ran. Nor did I understand
how much more sensitive and more responsive I was now than I had been…
ever. And Kip was very eager to please. Whether he felt guilty about
everything or was just as horny as I was, I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. All
that mattered was once was not enough. The first time was both of us
desperately joining after months of pent-up need. It was quick, dirty, and
frantic. The second time was slightly less quick, still pretty frantic, and
equally as intense. The third time was when we both became human enough
to slow it down. Well, Kip was the one who slowed it down.
I was still ready to claw his fucking skin off.
But slow could be good too.
Good enough to give me an orgasm so fucking intense I literally passed
out within seconds of having it. I didn’t think that happened in real life.
Then again, these days I got exhausted working a half shift at the
bakery, so three rounds of pretty acrobatic sex were more than enough to
wear me out, especially when I’d been sleeping like shit and had pretty
recently been in a car accident. I barely even thought about my cast, and I’d
been worried that Kip would treat me like I was breakable because of it. He
did not. Sure, he made some adjustments on account of the cast and the
belly, but he didn’t go easy on me. Hence me passing out with his dick still
inside me.
And I’d slept all through the night. I hadn’t needed to get up to pee or
readjust or anything.
I vaguely recalled using Kip’s muscled chest as a pillow, with his arms
tight around me. I also vaguely recalled feeling safe and secure and utterly
fucking content.
If I recalled those things, I was somewhat aware enough to understand I
was falling asleep in Kip’s bed. I was just too tired to get up. It wasn’t
because I liked sleeping with him again.
 When I woke, though, I was not sprawled on an impressive chest. I
was… surrounded by pillows. One at my front, one at my back, caging me
in.
It took me a while to get my bearings and fight my way out of the
pillow cage.
In that time, Kip walked back into his bedroom, wearing plaid pajama
pants, low-slung and showing off his Adonis belt, impressive abs, and
muscles that moved like fluid in the morning light.
He was holding two coffee mugs with a plate balanced on one of them.
I quickly struggled against the blankets to sit up, reaching out for the
plate and the mug with impatient fingers.
Kip knew me well enough to know I needed coffee as soon as I woke,
but also that I couldn’t have it on an empty stomach without vomiting, even
though my morning sickness had mostly gone. So, he had toast with orange
marmalade on the plate.
He’d never made toast for me during the deep freeze—that was one
thing I managed myself—yet he knew I needed it, nonetheless. He’d been
watching me a lot closer than I’d thought.
“Thank you,” I said, already grabbing for the toast so I could shove it
down my throat and get to the coffee quicker.
Kip didn’t say anything. He also knew I didn’t like speaking first thing
in the morning.
He took his coffee into the bathroom, where I heard the shower turn on.
I commenced my slow wake-up routine, with the eating and then the
drinking of the coffee.
By the time Kip came out with the towel slung around his hips, hair still
dripping wet, I was somewhat human.
“Why is it that men can never seem to adequately dry themselves after a
shower?” I muttered.
 He didn’t move toward his dresser and begin to get dressed, which was
a disappointment. I kind of wanted to watch the towel drop. Instead, he
came to sit on my side of the bed.
“Because this man knew he had a sexy, naked woman in his bed who he
couldn't guarantee would be there when he got back,” he said, eyes
shamelessly checking me out.
My skin tingled. I would admit, as much as I was in awe of my
changing body, I was self-conscious too. I’d relied on my sex appeal for
most of my adult life. I didn’t know if that still remained with the stomach.
According to Kip, it did.
“Well, I couldn’t get out of here since you surrounded me in pillows,” I
informed him. “What’s with that?”
“You’re not supposed to sleep on your back now that you’re twenty
weeks, and I just wanted to make sure.”
I raised my brows. “That’s a debated stance,” I replied. “And how in the
fuck do you even know that?”
Kip nodded beside me.
I blinked at his bedside table, or more accurately the stack of books on
his bedside table.
The stack of baby books.
I reached over and grabbed the closest, squinting at the cover.
“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Kip said. “Cliché, maybe, but
a classic for a reason.”
I looked from him to the book. “You know they turned this into a
movie, right?” I waved the book at him.
He chuckled. “Yeah, I’m aware. I’ll be sure to check that out. After I
finish the book, of course. The book is always better than the movie.” He
winked.
My body felt warm.
The safe feeling came back.
 “Okay,” I said, propping myself up further in order to get out of bed.
Kip hurried to help me.
I waved him off. “I’m capable of getting myself out of bed,” I snapped.
Though I didn’t punctate my point well with a slight struggle. I had yet to
get used to my cast and my newfound center mass.
“Last night didn’t change anything,” I told him when I stood. Then I
looked at his torso, still damp. Flashbacks of last night hit me and my pussy.
“Well, we’re fucking now,” I decided on the spot. At first, I thought last
night was going to be a one-off—or a three-off, if you wanted to get
technical—but I still had eighteen weeks left, and I had the suspicion that
my hormones would only get more powerful. Plus, I felt better this morning
than I had in recorded memory.
Kip’s mouth stretched upward, but his eyes were a mix of teasing and
erotic hunger.
My body responded to the mere look.
“Just fucking,” I said to him, ignoring my lust. I felt especially tender
between my legs. In a very good way. “We’re not together or anything.”
His lips stretched wider. “We’re married,” he reminded me.
“We’re not together,” I said firmer this time. “Just sex. And no more
sleeping together.”
Feeling somewhat more in control, I walked out of the room and into
my own bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Nora had banned me from working at the bakery, even though I was mostly
healed up from the accident. Yeah, I had the cuts and bruises, my ribs
vaguely hurt, and I still had the stupid cast on. That was going to be there
for a few weeks, at least.
 Yet my best friend wouldn’t hear of me coming in as anything other
than a customer for at least a week.
I would’ve tried to fight her further on that, except I knew that even if I
won with her, I wouldn’t win with Kip. He was being next-level
overprotective, and I couldn’t lift anything heavier than a mug these days.
Sure, I’d gladly go toe to toe with him, but I knew I couldn’t win on that.
Which made me feel just a little suffocated.
So, I needed therapy.
“What are you doing?”
I looked to where Kip was leaning against the doorjamb. The expression
on his face was hard to process. His brows were furrowed into something
resembling a frown, but his eyes twinkled with reverence, melancholy, and
fondness all mixed into one.
I got the impression that he’d been watching me for a while.
Despite my overall irritation with him, I felt a wave of emotion that
almost made me cry and want to run into his arms.
Instead, I shoved a paperback into my tote, along with sunscreen,
towels, and my bottle of water. It was an uncharacteristically warm day for
this time of year. I was going to make the most of it.
“You’re a smart guy,” I told him. “Or at least I assume you were trained
to assess the variables of a situation and come to a conclusion. I’m wearing
a swimsuit, I’m packing a beach bag, and there’s an ocean right there.” I
pointed out the window. “Use your soldier skills.”
I then hitched the bag on my shoulder and walked toward the doors.
Kip moved faster than me. He wasn’t hauling a beach bag, and he was
still working out and in shape. Therefore, he could take the bag off my
shoulder and bar my way to the beach.
“You are not swimmin’ out there,” he barked, eyes no longer a mixture
of things. No, this was the hard resolution of a man who thought he called
the shots.
 “And why do you think you’re entitled to make calls like that?” I asked
him, bite to my voice.
“Because you’re carrying my fucking child.”
My brows rose. “Oh, now it’s your fucking child.”
He glowered at me. “It has always been my child.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. There was an edge of bitter hysteria to it, of
course. “Always?” I repeated. “Like when I went to all the doctor’s
appointments with Nora? When I was suffering with morning sickness that
is, in reality, your worst hangover on repeat for the entire fucking day for
months? I’m so sorry, I must’ve missed your presence and support through
all the anxiety, vomiting, and hormonal roller coasters!”
I was yelling now. Which was fine. If there was someone who deserved
to be yelled at, it was this guy.
Kip’s nostrils flared. He was pissed. And it better be at himself.
“You’re right. I wasn’t there,” he said through his ironclad jaw. “But I
am now.”
I put my hand on my hip. “And that means you’re going to control my
every move now? Try it, dude. See how long you survive.”
He chuckled. It was an empty sound. “I survived a fucking war, babe. I
can survive you.”
I smiled at him, leaning in so our lips almost brushed. On account of my
new size, I didn’t factor in my stomach grazing against his flat abs, but I
just went with it.
“You may have been to war, but you definitely can’t survive me,” I
purred, licking my lips. My tongue ran along the seam of his.
He opened his mouth immediately and relaxed his grip on the bag. I
snatched it, skirted around him, and stomped to the doors.
Kip recovered quickly—he was a former soldier, after all. But I was in
an open space and already to the stairs by the time he got to me. And since
he was alternating between manhandling me and treating me like I was
impossibly fragile, he wasn’t going to attempt anything as I walked down
the stairs.
“You’re not getting in,” Kip growled as he caught up with me on the
beach.
My feet sank into the sand, usually something that calmed me. Not now
that there was a six-foot alpha male trying to tell me what I could and
couldn’t do.
“If I feel like getting in, I’m going to get in,” I informed him, setting my
towel down in the sand.
“We’re not having this conversation.”
I squinted at Kip, who had his hands on his hips, staring at me like his
word was law.
“We are having this conversation,” I said. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid,
and I have been swimming on my own for decades now.”
His nostrils flared. “It’s too dangerous. And too fucking cold.”
“Not with you right here, absolutely bursting at the gills to play the hero
and pull me out when I’m not even drowning, remember that?” I asked him.
Kip’s jaw twitched as he regarded me with a harsh expression. “Okay,
this isn’t going to work, I need a new tactic.”
I screwed up my nose. “What do you mean new—”
His kiss cut me off. At first, I struggled against it—not that that did
much, and I didn’t struggle that hard. It only made it more erotic.
I tangled my hands in his hair, tearing at his scalp, and reveled in his
groan of pleasure mingled with pain.
Kip lowered us onto the towel, lips never leaving mine. I straddled him,
gasping as my pussy rubbed against his hard cock.
One of his hands went to the tie at my neck, undoing it so my bikini fell
forward and my breasts were exposed.
Kip’s mouth left mine and found my nipple.
I tightened my grip on his hair, throwing my head back and crying out.
 I ground myself against him, knowing the friction of my bikini bottoms
against his jeans was going to be enough to make me come if I kept at it.
Especially with his lips, tongue, and teeth on my sensitive nipple.
I ripped at Kip’s tee, needing the bare skin of his torso but hating that he
would have to remove his mouth from my nipple in order to get it off.
He obliged quickly, and unfortunately, he had to move more in order to
get his jeans off.
He rolled us gently so I was now on my back, sand rubbing against my
skin in a way that should’ve been gross and annoying but somehow wasn’t.
Kip’s turquoise eyes were blazing, fastened on me. “Don’t you stay on
your back for long,” he growled, yanking off his jeans.
He was back on the sand and had a hold of me in order to lift me into
my previous position of straddling him.
He pulled at the tie on my hip, exposing my pussy, and yanked at his
underwear to free his cock.
Kip’s hands were tight on my hips, lifting me ever so slightly and then
slamming me down on his cock.
Pleasure shot through my body, and I threw my head back again, letting
him dictate my movements, bouncing up and down against his cock, my
knees digging into the sand.
My head moved back, and my eyes found Kip’s, which were electric
and seemed like they’d been watching me the entire time.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he grunted.
My breath left me in a whoosh as my orgasm rushed forward.
“No talking,” I demanded, shoving my finger against his lips.
He opened them and sucked on my finger as I continued riding him.
“Come for me, wife,” Kip demanded once he let go of my finger.
I let out a sound of frustration mingled with pleasure. “Don’t tell me
what to do.”
 He showed his teeth in a wicked and sinful smile as his hands tightened
at my hips. “Come for me, wife,” he repeated.
I opened my mouth to tell him to shut the fuck up, but only a strangled
moan came out. I couldn’t argue with him because I was too busy coming
for him.

“Holy shit,” I said against his chest.

I had only just regained the ability to speak. Even now, I was still
breathing heavily.
Kip’s arms were tight around me. We were still lying in the sand, me
mostly on top of him, adjusted to accommodate my stomach. Somewhere in
the past week or so it had suddenly gotten bigger. I no longer looked like I
ate a bunch of tacos and chased them with a bunch of beer. I actually looked
like a pregnant woman. My changing body was beautiful to me, a sign my
baby was growing.
I looked at Kip.
Our baby was growing.
Weird.
My bikini top was in the sand somewhere, but my bottoms were
fastened back onto my hips. We were lucky that my place was situated in
somewhat of an inlet so I almost had my own private beach. No neighbors
could see us down here, but anyone could walk from either side of the
beach, as they tended to do from time to time.
I hadn’t been thinking about that during the wild beach sex. Or maybe I
had been thinking about it somewhere in my mind, and that’s what made
the wild beach sex all the more glorious.
“Holy shit is right,” Kip replied. He was only wearing his underwear,
the rest of his clothes discarded in various areas of the sand.
 “You did that to distract me from going into the water,” I deduced, far
too sated to be angry.
“It worked, didn’t it?”
There was a hint of victory in his tone.
Such an asshole.
My first instinct was to argue with him. Arguing with Kip was my
default. But I was feeling soft and fuzzy, and arguing might harshen my
buzz. Maybe it was time for a different tactic.
“The beach is my place,” I told him. “The ocean. It always has been. We
lived in a shitty house when I was growing up. It was dark, dingy, and
always had spiders the size of your fist.”
He shuddered visibly, and I giggled at the thought of him being afraid of
spiders, of all things.
“Yeah, it was pretty shit,” I agreed. “But it was a five-minute walk to
the beach. And I went there to escape for as long as I can remember.
Definitely when I was much too young to be wandering around the streets.”
I wiped some sand off Kip’s nose. “I’d go swimming, go as deep as I could,
stay in until I was exhausted, and then I’d crawl onto the beach and dry
myself in the sun.” I smiled at the memory and the sun beating down on the
both of us. Even across continents and years, the sun felt the same.
“And when I was married, we had a much nicer house, in a much nicer
area, and it was right on the beach that time.”
Oh, how the place had charmed me and intimidated me all at the same
time. It had seemed like a palace, one I’d stumbled into by accident, and
everyone was too polite to tell me to fuck off.
“I’d go there often, when things got bad, which was pretty fucking soon
after the honeymoon,” I said. “The salt water washed away blood and
bruises just fine. And didn’t attract any sharks, luckily. Or maybe at the
time I wanted something to tear me apart,” I mused.
 Kip’s arms tightened around me. I restrained an eye roll, unsurprised
that the mere mention of my previous abuse made him all alpha angry.
Though I did kind of like it.
“One of the many reasons I settled here is because of the ocean,” I told
him. “That and Nora was like… love at first sight. But the ocean, it… I
don’t know. This is going to sound far too new age-y for me, but it really…
called to me.” I stared at the waves. “And though I’m not in a chaotic,
abusive home anymore, I’ve got plenty of chaos going on inside my head.”
I rubbed my stomach. “So, I need this. I need the sand, the breeze, the salt
water.” I looked back at Kip. “You are not taking that from me.”
He didn’t look exactly happy, but that could’ve been the trip down
memory lane that wasn’t too cheerful.
He sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear.
I waited for him to argue with me.
Instead of saying anything, Kip stood up, and since I was lying on top
of him, he stood with me in his arms. That was pretty impressive
considering my added weight. He didn’t put me down like I expected him
to. He started walking, right into the ocean.
I gasped as the crisp water washed against our bodies, Kip taking us
deeper into the surf.
“You get this,” he murmured close to my mouth, “whenever I’m here
with you.”
My immediate reaction was to argue with him, let him know I could go
to the beach whenever the fuck I wanted. But then Kip’s arms tightened
around me and our wet bodies pressed together, and I relished in the feeling
of someone holding me up against the waves.
So instead of arguing, I just said, “Okay.”

OceanofPDF.com
nineteen
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 The Nursery

KIP WAS with me when I went to the next OB appointment. I was

supposed to have ‘graduated’ from my biweekly appointments, but due to
the accident, they were checking on me a little more often than normal.
Everything was fine, even though I still hadn’t gotten past the rolling
sense of dread that came over me every time I walked through the doors.
Kip’s hand stayed in mine the entire time, and fuck if I didn’t hold on to it
like it was keeping me tethered to this earth.
His physical affection had come back with a vengeance.
Not just for me.
But for our baby girl too.
Whenever his hand wasn’t in mine, on my ass, or groping my growing
tits, it was on my stomach. Which was weird and also kind of… wonderful?
His hand was damn near fucking glued to it now that he’d felt her kick.
I was no longer feeling flutters. No. I was feeling my daughter’s feet,
fists, and somersaults. It was a surreal, wonderful feeling. A little being was
moving inside me. Kind of like an alien.
But my alien.
“What was that?” Kip had whispered as we lounged on the couch. I was
nestled between him and the back of the couch, and he was lying flat on his
back—something I wasn’t allowed to do.
 His hand had been resting on my stomach as we watched 90 Day
Fiancé, a new addiction and rather ironic, given our situation.
Oh, the money TLC could’ve made with us.
I’d just polished off half a tub of ice cream, Kip had finished the other
half, grumbling about his own ‘pregnancy weight’ since he also indulged in
my sweet cravings. I’d rolled my eyes at that, and my daughter kicked in
unison.
A large kick.
One apparently Kip could feel on the outside of my stomach.
“That was your daughter telling you that comparing your six-pack abs
to my bulbous belly is greatly offensive and frankly dangerous,” I replied.
She kicked again, as if to punctuate my point.
Kip’s eyes widened in wonder, and he gently rubbed the spot where
she’d moved. He regarded it with awe.
My heartbeat stuttered at his expression. I was getting softer and softer
toward him, as he treated me with wonder every fucking day. And he
fucked me good and hard too.
“Hello, little girl,” he murmured, leaning forward to lay his lips on my
rounded stomach.
She kicked in response.
Kip blinked rapidly. “Yeah, this is your dad,” he said, rubbing my
stomach.
Another kick.
He looked up at me. His eyes were glassy. “She can hear me?”
I nodded. “That’s what the app says. She knows her dad.” I was afraid
my own eyes were maybe a little glassy too.
Damn pregnancy hormones.
“I’m her d-dad,” he had stuttered.
Without deciding to do it, I reached up to run my hands through his hair.
“Yeah, you’re her dad,” I agreed.
 Since then, it had been a lot harder to enforce my ‘fucking but no
sleeping together’ rule, but I managed. Kip, to his credit, didn’t try to push
me. He was playing the long game.
We’d just gotten done with our latest checkup. A quick ultrasound to
see her wriggling around, hear her heartbeat, and ensure she was still
perfect.
Which she was.
“Okay, if there’s nothing else, I’ll see you in a few weeks,” my doctor
said, wiping the jelly off my stomach and helping me sit up.
“Sounds great,” I replied with a smile.
I was eager to get out of the office, having made sure my daughter was
still alive and kicking.
Kip cleared his throat, obviously having something to say. We both
looked at him. Although mine was more of a glare.
“We’ve been, uh, having a lot of…” He trailed off, eyes darting away as
he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
I bit back my smile, knowing exactly what he was trying to say and
finding it ridiculous that a grown man was so awkward saying it. Especially
a grown man who was so cocky speaking of the subject in question in any
other environment.
My OB smiled, too, likely catching on to the vibe and Kip’s general
demeanor. She didn’t jump in to save him either.
“We’ve been having a lot of… sex,” Kip said, clearing his throat again,
his cheeks turning pink. “And I know all the books and the websites say it’s
fine, but the, uh, sex in question has been quite… intense.”
I swallowed my chuckle at the same time I moved in my chair to
counteract the way my body reacted at the mention of the intense sex in
question. Kip had wanted to treat me differently, gentler, but I was
somewhat of a sex fiend, and he soon forgot about things like treating me
gently.
 My doctor didn’t answer Kip straight away. She let him stew in his
obvious discomfort, and I loved her all the more for it. Then she looked him
up and down. “You’re not gonna hurt that baby,” she said definitively.
It was then that I couldn’t swallow my chuckle.

“Have you given any thought to a doula?” Kip asked, looking up from one
of his countless baby books.
He was really going through them.
I was eating chocolate-covered almonds and watching reality TV.
“Is that a kind of casserole?” I asked him.
He shook his head, chuckling. “No, a doula is a birth coach.”
I knitted my brows together. “A birth coach?” I repeated.
He nodded.
“I’ve got a doctor.”
“A doula is there for you in different ways than a doctor is. They
advocate for you,” Kip explained.
I paused my show, not wanting to miss a moment of the catfight in a
restaurant. “Okay, well, I’ll think about it.”
“The good ones are going to be booked up if we don’t move soon,” he
said. “I’ll set up some meetings.” He looked down at his phone, tapping at
the screen.
“You will do no such thing,” I told him, pulling my feet back from his
lap.
“It’s only some meetings. After that, you can make a choice.”
I placed my almonds on the coffee table, sitting up. “I will make the
choice,” I said, caressing my stomach. “Me. I get that you’re making strides
and reading the books and generally trying to be better, but a few weeks of
you acting decent doesn’t mean you get to make all the decisions,” I
snapped, rubbing the back of my neck, suddenly feeling hot.
“I get to make some of the decisions,” Kip shot back. “That’s my baby.
You’re my wife.”
I pushed myself off the couch so I could pace the room. “Oh, you need
to fucking stop with the whole ‘you’re mine’ bullshit. I am not yours
because you decide it.”
“No, the state of Maine and the baby inside you decided it,” he replied.
I glowered at him. “Fuck you,” I hissed. This time, I said the two words
as an insult, not in the semi-playful tone I normally used.
“You have to forgive me sometime,” Kip said, quite obviously catching
my tone and serious expression. Although I was tolerating him being nice,
letting him rub my feet and give me orgasms, I had made it clear that I
hadn’t forgiven him.
I stared at him, stopping mid-pace. “Do I have to?”
He caught the aggression in my tone because it was impossible not to.
Nevertheless, he didn’t back down. “Yes,” he said. “We’re going to
have a daughter, and I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want her growing
up confused about her parents’ lifestyle. I don’t want this to be a fake
marriage. It isn’t a fake marriage. It’s real.”
I chewed my lip, fury simmering in every ounce of my blood. “I’m glad
you're getting the opportunity to tell me all the things you don’t want out of
this. Let me get a pen and paper so I can make a list, so I’m sure not to
forget all the things I must do for my husband, all the ways I must bend to
give him all that he wants.”
I stayed in place, glaring at him, my body damn near vibrating with
anger. I didn’t have a great hold over my emotions these days, but I was
pretty sure, pregnant or not, I’d be the same level of pissed off as I was right
now.
“Fiona—”
 “Nope,” I said, holding up my hand. “I appreciate that my car accident
made you reevaluate things. Your past gave you a reason to bail out,” I told
him. “An excuse for you to use to live with yourself. Something you could
use to explain yourself to me, so I have to forgive you. Feel empathy for
you. And I do.”
I felt it coming. Like a bubble in the back of my throat. All the things
I’d been holding in. More anger I’d been nursing but hadn’t let out because
I felt like an asshole for still being mad at Kip despite what he’d told me
about his wife and daughter.
“But I am also haunted by my fucking past, Kip,” I snapped at him.
“Not just the wino mother, the asshole father, the abusive husband, the
babies that died inside me, the feeling of being utterly alone.”
I kept pacing. “I’ve worked through… most of that. Or repressed it
enough that I’ve managed to be a somewhat adult person. But it’s this.” I
pointed at my stomach. “The catalyst that brought it all crashing down.”
I placed my hand there, gentler now, worrying that my little girl was
getting my fury fed to her through the placenta or whatever. That couldn’t
be healthy.
I stopped pacing and took a deep breath. Then another. Then I looked at
Kip, who was sitting on the sofa, watching me, his elbows resting on his
knees. “I get that you’re tortured,” I said quietly. “But you don’t get to walk
around like you’re the only one who is. Do you know I wear these earrings
every day?” I pointed at my earrings. “Not because I like them overly
much. Or that they’re expensive. In fact, the gold plating leaves black
marks and makes my earlobes itch. But I have to wear these. Because these
were what I was wearing when I first peed on the stick. When I first went to
the doctor and didn’t get bad news. So, I thought they were some kind of
moderately priced, gold-plated good luck charm. So now I have to wear
them every day. Because if I don’t and something bad happens, it’s because
I didn’t wear the earrings. It’s because of me.” I jabbed myself in the chest,
already forgetting that I was supposed to be regulating my fury to protect
the baby.
“I’ve got about a hundred tiny little fucked-up things I have to deal with
to get through the day with just enough of a cheerful veneer so my best
friend doesn’t worry about me when I really spend most of my day
alternating between joy, panic, and terror.” I squeezed my eyes shut because
I suddenly felt like I was about to cry, and that just would not do. I was
angry. And if I started crying, I couldn’t be certain that I’d be able to stop.
Once I felt like I had it under control, I opened my eyes again. Kip was
still sitting there watching me, waiting for more. “And you know what?” I
whispered. “I’m dealing, because I’ve got no other choice. It’s hard. It
sucks. But I’ve got no other fucking choice. So woman the fuck up, Kip,
and deal. You have no other goddamn choice.” I paused. “Well, actually you
do. You can walk away. So either do that or deal. Those are your fucking
choices.”
I was breathing heavily at this point, having dumped it all on him rather
unexpectedly.
Kip might’ve said something. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to hear
what he had to say, but I wasn’t storming off as planned either.
A knock at the door punctuated the silence.
It jerked me out of my stupor.
“I’m going to get that,” I said. “You…” I pursed my lips. Stared at Kip
standing there, having taken everything I’d thrown at him and looking
properly tortured and guilty by it all.
My anger fizzled out.
“I don’t care what you do,” I huffed, turning on my heel and storming
out to get the door before I did something ridiculous like kiss him or forgive
him or declare my undying love for him.
I figured the person at the door would likely be the UPS guy. We were
great friends at this point. I even left a little table of snacks out for him
because of how often he came to the house. My clothes no longer fit me,
and I’d heaved a whole bunch of jeans, dresses, and tight things into a
suitcase to make way for clothes that would accommodate my stomach,
hips, and ass.
It couldn’t have been Tina, Tiffany, Calliope, or Nora. They all walked
right in. Their visits had calmed somewhat since the sting of the accident
had lessened a bit and I was given the all clear by the doctors.
But it was not the UPS guy.
“Oh my god!” Deidre exclaimed, pulling me into her arms.
I relaxed into the embrace because you didn’t fight it when Deidre
hugged you and also because it felt… nice. I needed a hug from a motherly
type figure right now.
“I’m so mad at you,” she snapped, holding me at arm’s length to inspect
me. “But how can I be mad at you when you have such a beautiful bump
and you’re positively glowing. Glowing!”
She cupped my cheeks and shook my head a little but… fondly.
“So mad,” she muttered, not sounding mad. Actually, her eyes were
glassy, and she sounded like she was close to crying.
Emotion welled up inside me as I wondered what she might be feeling.
Her only son didn’t tell her he got married—granted, the marriage was fake,
but she didn’t know that—and now she’s going to be a grandmother, and he
didn’t tell her that either.
I saw it then. The pain in her eyes that she hid so very well. Kip had lost
a wife and a daughter. She’d lost a daughter and a granddaughter. Because I
had no doubt that she welcomed his late wife into the family with the same
warmth and love she had for me.
Her eyes widened in shock when she looked down. “Oh my god, what
happened?” she asked in horror.
I glanced down at my cast, the wretched fucking thing. I still had three
more weeks of it, and it already itched like a bitch and was a prick of a
thing to take a shower with. Luckily the rest of my injuries had healed up
nicely, so Deidre didn’t see the extent, and I could downplay the accident.
“My car had a… disagreement with another car,” I told her. “It’s
nothing,” I tried to wave off her horrified look. “A little fender bender that
left me with a new accessory. And she’s completely fine.” I gestured to my
stomach.
Deidre stilled. “She?” Her voice was quiet, broken.
I smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Yes, she. You’re having
a granddaughter.”
Then her tears fell, and this time I pulled her into my arms.
“Mom?” Kip said from behind me. It was only a matter of time before
he came to make sure I hadn’t fainted or been abducted by whomever was
at the door.
I let Deidre go, and she sniffed, wiping her eyes delicately.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, body coming close to mine.
Despite our argument, I found myself leaning into him ever so slightly.
Deidre’s expression changed. “I’m here to give my son a good telling
off for not telling me about my granddaughter!” she snapped, swatting his
upper arm. “I had to hear it from Jill Derrick, who, of course, assumed I
already knew. She’s already been knitting!” She shook her head. “When
were you going to tell me?” she demanded. “After she graduated from
college?”
Kip sighed, looking appropriately guilty for keeping the secret, and I
had a momentary feeling of sympathy for the man. Everyone had piled onto
him while he was dealing with some pretty fucking heavy emotions.
Granted, he was not dealing with them well.
“I was going to tell you, Mom,” he replied, suddenly sounding a lot
younger.
Deidre raised her brow and looked pointedly at my belly. “From the
looks of it, your wife is about halfway through, and that means I wasn’t
there through the horrific first trimester.” She looked at me. “Morning
sickness?”
I nodded. “Like the worst hangover of my life.”
She returned a sharp gaze to Kip. “And as sweet as my boy can be, I
doubt he provided the support a woman needs during the first trimester
because men can never fucking understand it.”
I pursed my lips, leaning into Kip heavier now, even though I should’ve
been angered by the not-so-subtle reminder of my first trimester and Kip’s
lack of involvement.
“Well, he’ll likely never understand the vivid dreams, the sickness, the
cramps, backaches, to name a few, but he does make a mean Dorito
casserole,” I said.
Deidre smiled. “Well, yes, he cooked with me every day and night since
he was a baby. I was doing Montessori before it was trendy.” She winked.
“Now,” she clapped her hands, “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, and
we have things to do, so let’s get inside and you can catch me up on
everything that’s been going on.” She looked to Kip. “Be a dear and run to
that bakery Fiona works at, get us some treats.”
Then she ushered me inside and left Kip to go get the treats,
presumably.
After that, I didn’t get a moment to think because Deidre didn’t let me. I
couldn’t decide if that helped me bury my resentment toward Kip or resolve
it.

Deidre stayed for a couple of days, helping me shop for the nursery but not
letting me pay for a single thing. Nora and Tiffany were delighted at this
turn of events and tagged along.
 Kip took a couple of days off work—I wasn’t sure if that was Deidre’s
request or if it was his own volition—in order to do some repairs and
improvements on the guest room, which was now going to be the nursery.
That meant we no longer had a guest room, but Deidre was happy to
stay with Calliope, the two of them apparently good friends.
Deidre was such a force of nature that I didn’t realize we’d gotten rid of
all of the furniture in the guest room—I actually, for the life of me, had no
idea what was done with it—and put a coat of paint on, adding a fresh rug
and a brand-new crib in addition to other furniture that was on its way from
various high-end stores.
And it was only after she left that I realized that the loss of a guest room
didn’t just mean I couldn’t house guests, but Kip no longer had anywhere to
sleep.
He’d been sleeping with me for appearance purposes—his mother
turned up bright and early to make us breakfast in the morning and wasn’t
shy about bringing it to us in bed. Though I did enjoy that it meant Kip
woke me in the middle of the night to fuck me. And I’d slept better than I
had in months.
“Did you plan this?” I demanded as Kip cooked dinner. Deidre had left
earlier with tears in her eyes and promises to be back as often as possible.
No mention of Kip’s father had been made on this visit, but I could’ve
sworn I felt underlying tension between them about it.
Kip looked up at me, and fuck him for doing it with his arresting blue
eyes that were full of admiration and sexual promise. “Plan dinner?” He
shrugged. “Well, you threatened my life if you didn’t get a burrito in the
next hour, so it’s more of a survival instinct.”
I scowled at him, my stomach growling for that burrito. “Not the
fucking dinner, your mother. Her turning up here and strong-arming me into
doing the nursery.”
 Kip’s lips turned up. “You can trust me when I say that I absolutely did
not plan my mother’s visit, and had I known it was coming, I would’ve tried
mild measures to sabotage it, like orchestrating some kind of landslide in
order to make the road impassable.” He took a pull of his beer. “But she
would’ve figured a way around that.”
I glared at him, wanting to argue but also knowing it was very likely
that he was speaking the truth. With all that had happened over the past few
months, I couldn’t imagine Kip raring to tell his mother that she was going
to be a grandma—again, cue the heart-clenching sorrow at what she’d also
lost—when he was planning on abandoning the aforementioned grandchild.
I also couldn’t imagine Deidre letting her son get away with something like
that.
And since my accident and Kip’s rapid change in behavior, he’d been
determined to dive into the devoted-husband role. Then there was all the
sex we were having… all over the house, at all hours of the day. It was clear
he loved his mother, but he also knew her well enough that she would take
up a lot of time and attention—time and attention that would be better
served for sex.
And then there was also the underlying tension of family drama left
unsaid that I was infinitely curious about but refused to ask about because
learning more about Kip would only tangle me up in the man further.
I was already plenty tangled.
“Okay, yes, so you didn’t plan your mother’s visit,” I conceded, staring
at my glass of organic sparkling juice, wishing it was a Paloma. “But all of
your brainpower isn’t going toward growing another brain, bones, and
limbs, so you likely deduced that converting the guest room into a nursery
would leave you with nowhere to sleep,” I snapped.
A flash of guilt went across his face.
I pointed at him. “You totally did realize that!”
He sighed in defeat. “I might’ve realized that.”
 “So, you took advantage of my baby brain in order to make sure the
nursery was too far gone once I realized, and then you’d have to sleep with
me,” I hissed. “Well, forget that. You’re sleeping on the fucking couch.” I
stood up, intending on storming out to my bedroom. Then I looked at the
pan, the smell of meat cooking actually appetizing for once. I plonked back
down in my seat. “You’re going to keep cooking my burrito, but you’re not
going to speak to me.”
Kip nodded once, miming the zipping of his lips.
But the fucker grinned.

I was tossing and turning in bed.

It was late.
I couldn’t be sure of the time.
I couldn’t be sure of anything except that my sheets were too heavy, my
skin was too sensitive, and my thighs needed friction. My pussy needed
friction.
My pussy needed Kip.
Or, more accurately, Kip’s dick.
At first, I thought I could power through it. I mean, I’d gone through the
majority of my life without Kip’s dick. I could surely survive one more
night.
Then the minutes ticked on. The fucking lifetimes ticked on.
I tried to take matters into my own hands, literally speaking, but my
climax eluded me. My attempts only served to make me more frustrated.
“Ugggh!” I groaned, kicking away my pregnancy pillow and wrenching
myself out of bed.
I stomped all the way to the living room, where Kip was lying awake,
reading yet another baby book in the lamplight.
 He pretended to look surprised to see me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting up.
“No,” I grumbled.
His expression turned to worry, his features pinching as he surged up
from the sofa, rounding it in an impressive handful of seconds.
His hands went to my stomach protectively. “What is it?” he demanded.
“Do we need to go to the hospital? I’ll get my keys.”
“Jesus Christ,” I exclaimed, grabbing hold of his wrist so he couldn’t
rush off to find his keys and bundle us both into his truck in our underwear.
“I thought you were meant to be some serious badass former Marine or
whatever. Shouldn’t you stay a little more calm under pressure?”
He glared at me. “If there were a handful of insurgents openly firing on
this cottage trying to penetrate it, then I’d be calm as fuck,” he responded.
“Okay, what if I want penetration?” I purred, holding his wrist tighter so
I could attempt to pull him close to me.
Kip’s posture relaxed somewhat. “You’re out here looking hysterical
because you need to be fucked?” he murmured, reaching up to grasp the
back of my neck.
My body melted and electrified at the same time. “Yes,” I moaned. “I
really need to be fucked.”
Kip’s mouth found mine, and I submitted to him instantly.
His tongue worked expertly, one hand still at the back of my neck while
the other palmed my ass.
I moaned again, pressing myself against him and wanting to climb up
and wrap my legs around his hips if not for my new body composition.
Kip yanked his mouth from mine but kept a firm hold of me. “Does this
mean I’m sleepin’ with you from now on?” he asked, voice thick.
“It means I need to be fucked right now,” I told him, leaning forward,
intending on kissing him.
 He grabbed a handful of my hair, holding me back so just the right
amount of pain exploded in my scalp.
“I’m not fucking you until I have your word that I’m sleeping with you
for the foreseeable future.”
I glared at him. “Are you really trying to manipulate me into this while
I’m vulnerable and horny?” I asked. “That is really, really not fair.”
Kip smirked. “Never said I was going to fight fair, babe.”
“You’re an asshole,” I shot back.
His free hand, the one not holding my hair, went between us, right
between my legs.
I let out a rough gasp as he found my clit immediately, circling his
finger with the exact amount of pressure and friction I needed.
“You want to come?” he asked against my mouth, finger still moving.
My body responded to him enthusiastically, his fingers likely to bring
me to orgasm in another minute when I hadn’t been able to get there for the
past hour.
“Yes,” I hissed desperately.
Kip kissed me, slipping his tongue into my mouth as he worked my clit.
I kissed him back, reveling in the taste of him.
“You come when you agree I’m fuckin’ you in your bed, and after that,
it becomes our bed,” he said against my mouth.
My body stiffened and I wanted to glare, but my gaze was hooded and
lazy, and everything was blurred around the edges.
“You fucking asshole,” I huffed.
Kip stopped working my clit.
I let out a sound of protest.
He let me go and stepped away from me. I tottered on my feet for a
moment before I righted myself.
He folded his arms, cock straining through his underwear, his muscles
sculpted from fucking marble.
 “I want in your pussy,” he growled. “But I also want to be in your bed.
Our bed. Wanna wake up with you.”
My chest rose and fell rapidly, both with fury and with desire.
“You’re such a fucking prick,” I spat.
“Is that gonna be a no to making you scream with my cock?” he asked,
voice thick and husky but still teasing.
I glared at him, staring for a few beats more. Then I crossed the distance
between us, grabbed the back of his neck, and kissed him.
“You better earn your keep,” I told him after sinking my teeth into his
lip and drawing blood.
Kip lifted me into his arms without effort, walking us toward my
bedroom. “Oh, baby, I intend to.”

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 twenty
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Boo

KIP CAME HOME TO A DISASTER.

The smoke alarm was going off. I was waving the broom at it, too
fucking pregnant to jump up and reach it like I normally did. Damn my
fucking large and inelegant body, unable to cooperate as it used to.
“Babe, babe, I got it,” Kip said, rushing to my aid.
I let myself be rescued happily, only to sprint over to the smoking pot
that was the reason for the smoke alarm screaming at me.
The beeping stopped almost immediately, because Kip was taller and
overall more capable than me.
I resented that. Resented him for not having a basketball attached to his
torso. Despite the shit he’d given me about having put on weight as a result
of my ice cream purchasing habits, his torso remained flat, his six-pack
intact.
And despite me feeling salty about that, I was still trying to do
something nice for him. Trying and failing.
“It’s ruined!” I cried, lifting the lid off the pot and inspecting the
blackened mess in front of me.
My morning sickness thankfully left at the beginning of the second
trimester, but this stench was strong enough to bring it back.
I slammed the lid back down with a clatter.
 “I’m so fucking useless!” I yelled, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Kip threw the broom on the floor, then walked toward me and grasped
my hips, pulling me into his body. I melted into his embrace, his smell,
especially raw and masculine after a hard day at work.
“I wanted to do something nice for you,” I sobbed into his chest. “Even
though you might’ve been a massive cock in the first trimester, you still
made me shit and wanted to take care of me.” I gripped his shirt and looked
up at him through blurry eyes. “Now you’ve been much less of a massive
cock… except in the important places.” I looked downward, momentarily
distracted by the thought of that massive cock.
Then the smell of the dinner wafted toward me.
Though it didn’t smell like dinner. It smelled like a chemical spill mixed
with rotting meat.
I looked up at Kip, who had been concerned—which happened to be his
default whenever I didn’t seem happy, healthy, or content—but now the
fucker was smiling.
“Don’t laugh!” I hit his chest. “I was doing this for you.”
Kip’s smile disappeared. He stroked my hair. “You don’t have to do
anything for me. In fact, this”—he stroked my stomach—“is your ticket for
not having to do anything. Creating a human is a big job, so I hear.”
“I wanted to do it!” I shrieked. “And that is a big deal, because I don’t
usually want to do anything for men, but you’ve been doing too much
lately, and I figured I needed to practice cooking for our spawn because
she’ll need to eat once she gets off the tit. I’d like not to poison her.”
I wasn’t going to be relying on Kip to stick around long enough to cook
our daughter solid foods. Sure, he’d stopped with the cold robot man
routine, and he was now sleeping in my bed every night, but that didn’t
mean he was going to actually be a husband and father. We hadn’t talked
about the long term. That was a ticking time bomb, and I knew eventually
I’d have to address it. Just maybe not when I was overcome with fear,
hormones, and heartburn.
Kip didn’t speak for a handful of seconds, his expression somewhat
troubled.
I really hoped he didn’t think this was the right time to hash out future
plans.
Then, still holding me, he moved to lift the lid off the pan and inspect
the contents. I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath and letting out a
hysterical sob.
“I’m useless,” I cried.
“No,” Kip said quickly, focusing on me once more. “I like it like that.”
He leaned in to kiss my head, stepping back so he could move around
me to grab a plate.
“Don’t you dare!” I said, guessing his intention.
Kip ignored me. He got a serving spoon and started putting something
that could only be described as burned slop onto his plate.
I gripped his wrist. “Seriously, dude. Sure, we might have our issues,
but I really don’t want you to die. Plus, the police will get me in, like, a
minute. Pregnant wife poisoning her husband is a slam dunk.”
He chuckled. “I’ve got a strong constitution. And this smells great.”
I let go of his wrist to put my hand on my hip. “The fact that you can
say that with a straight face is seriously concerning to me.”
Kip kept eye contact with me as he grabbed a fork, got himself a large
serving of slop, and put it in his mouth.
I winced watching him chew and swallow.
His expression didn’t change, but I swear his eyes were watering.
“Delicious,” he said, clearing his throat.
And then the fucker went for another bite.
“No!” I cried, lurching forward and snatching the plate from him. “I get
it, you’re willing to do a lot of shit for me, but I will not witness that.”
 Kip coughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I rolled my eyes, dumping the slop in the rubbish bin, wincing at the
smell. Then I grabbed a beer from the fridge, opening it and relishing the
crisp bitter scent coming from it before handing it to Kip.
“Wash your mouth out with that,” I instructed.
He took the beer and put it to his mouth for a long pull before grabbing
me and yanking me in for a deep kiss.
I reveled in his warmth, his touch, his taste, tinged with the beer I’d
started craving in this summer’s oppressive heat.
“How about I make us something else?” he offered against my mouth.
“But I was going to do something nice for you,” I moaned.
“You’re gonna do somethin’ nice for me… later,” he murmured,
squeezing my ass.
My body went aflame with desire.
“Hmmm, I can do that,” I whispered.
He kissed me on the nose. “Good. Now let me cook my wife dinner so
she can work up an appetite.”
I did just that.
And later, I did something nice for Kip that really felt like a gift for me.

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kip
I enjoyed a cold and crisp beer while I watched my wife run around Rowan
and Nora’s garden, chasing Ana.
She ran a little slower these days, and her steps were taken—thankfully
—a lot more carefully. Granted, Ana had only just started walking, so she
wasn’t exactly tearing through the garden. Her little legs were still unsteady,
and she tumbled down often, getting up with Fiona’s help and a giggle.
Still, I watched Fiona’s every move, my limbs tight with worry. One
wrong step, one dip in the grass, and she could fall over, hurt herself or the
baby. The urge to yell out to her, tell her to stop running, was almost
overwhelming.
But I kept my mouth glued shut because I already knew what would
happen if I spoke. Fiona would scowl in my direction, tell me to fuck off,
punctuate that with a hand gesture, and keep running around the fucking
garden.
Then I’d get equal parts irritated and turned on, and my cock would
urge me to chase after her, lift her into my arms, and find somewhere to
fuck her.
And I was already battling against my cock watching her dress trail
behind her as she ran, the swell of her stomach protruding in front of her.
She was much bigger now, and with every day she became more
beautiful. She’d gotten her cast off a few days prior, and I knew she’d been
happy to have the last reminder of her accident gone. For me, it was seared
into my brain.
“Things between you seem good,” Rowan observed.
My best friend had been slowly warming back up to me. Our
relationship was almost back to normal. Everyone else, being all of Fiona’s
posse, was a little warier. Tina had taken me aside and informed me that
she’d relieve the balls from my body in the most painful way possible if I
pulled that shit again.
They were all waiting for me to fuck up again. For me to let her down. I
didn’t blame them. And I liked that Fiona had friends who would do that for
her.
“Yeah,” I agreed with Rowan. I was not only fucking my wife, but I was
now sleeping in her bed. Sleeping in our bed.
The baby’s nursery was done, thanks in large part to my mother. In
hindsight, I was glad she came. I’d been too busy thinking about winning
Fiona back, worrying about her, then fucking her ever since she’d come into
my room at midnight, that I hadn’t really thought about the specifics of
what the future held. Like a nursery. Like strollers. Like what kind of
bedside bassinet we were going to have for the first few months of the
baby’s life.
Even though this technically wasn’t my first child, this was my first
time going through all of this. I was ignorant to things like changing tables
and car seats. It made guilt burn hot in my belly, regret crawl up my throat,
and me curse myself all over again for not being there for Gabbie when she
was pregnant.
My mother had been, at least. And her own parents. That’s what I’d told
myself then. That’s how I’d lived with myself.
“She forgiven you?” Rowan asked.
I took a pull of my beer, thinking of the last few weeks, thinking of her
trying to cook me dinner.
“Mostly,” I replied. “Which is more than I deserve.”
He clapped me on the back. “What you deserve is right there.” He
nodded to Fiona.
“I’m not gonna agree with you on that,” I said. “But I’m gonna keep
her. Keep them. Give them a life they deserve.”
 Rowan nodded once. “It’s all we can do.”
We were silent for a couple of beats as I mused on the thing I’d been
ruminating on since that day in the hospital.
“She had an ex who used to lay hands on her,” I said, still watching as
Fiona squealed with laughter while Ana crawled on top of her. “After she
had miscarriages. He pushed her down the stairs.” I gripped my bottle
harder, not taking my eyes off Fiona’s smile, having to see it for myself
because I couldn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t quite believe her. All the shit
she went through, all the shit she still struggled with, you couldn’t tell it by
looking at her. It didn’t dull her smile or darken her gaze.
Rowan was watching my wife, too, when I was brave enough to take
my eyes off her. His face was impassive, but his nostrils flared, his mouth
turned down. He was fond of Fiona, too, and whether or not Nora had
already told him this information, me saying it out loud bothered him.
Not as much as it bothered me.
“Keeps me up at night,” I said, eyes going back to Fiona. “Thinking
about him. On another continent. Living his life when he shouldn’t.
Breathing when he shouldn’t.”
Since the second Fiona told me, I’d considered getting on a plane to kill
him with my bare hands. I already knew where he lived. Some fucking
mansion in Sydney. Married again. Rich as fuck. Family money.
Rowan and I had acquired certain skills while we were deployed, and
we’d made certain connections. Connections with people who did not retire
in Maine like we did. No, they got in even deeper with Uncle Sam, did all
sorts of shit that the public was blissfully unaware of.
I still hadn’t ruled out a little trip Down Under. But that would mean I
would have to leave Fiona. No way was I doing that while she was
pregnant. But the thought of being on another continent from my wife and
daughter filled me with anxiety too. The last time I’d done that, it hadn’t
ended well.
 And Fiona was waiting for that. For me to leave. I could see her bracing
for it, not fully giving herself to me. Not fully trusting me. She didn’t talk
about the future. She skirted around it. And that was on me.
“Who would it help?” Rowan asked me.
I looked at my friend.
“Who would killing him help?” he clarified. “She’s created a life far
away from him, has thrown herself into it.” He nodded at Fiona. “Sure, I
can say she’ll never forget him, never fully heal, but she’s not a woman who
will let a man like that hold power over her.”
I clenched my fist. The fucker was right. Fiona was too damn stubborn.
Too damn strong. Yeah, he’d wounded her. But he hadn’t broken her. No
man would break my wife. Not even me.
“It’ll be for you,” Rowan continued. “Because you told her you wanted
to do something, make it better for her, avenge her, and the only way you
know how to do that is kill.” He looked inside to where his wife was
finishing dessert. No one was allowed to help, despite her husband
continually checking in. “How you help her is doing exactly what you’re
doing right now.”
I looked at him. “By doing nothing?” That went against everything
inside me.
“By being her husband,” he countered. “Being a father.”
I looked back at Fiona.
Being her husband.
Being a father.
Two things infinitely more difficult than flying across the world to kill a
man.
Two things that scared the absolute shit out of me.
Fiona came home with a cat the next day.
She’d been out with Nora. It was hard as fuck, letting her drive her new
car, letting her do it alone. I had the overwhelming urge to demand she not
go anywhere unless I was driving. But of course, I knew how that was
going to go. So, I tried to swallow my worry. My bone-deep fucking fear.
I tried to remind myself that lightning didn’t strike in the same place
twice. That my wife and daughter were not going to be taken from me
again.
Yet I only truly breathed again when Fiona came through the door, belly
first these days.
Or cat first today.
“This is Boo,” she declared, cradling the cat in her arms, resting it
above her stomach.
I peered at it, and the cat peered back at me. It was solid black, big
enough to show it wasn’t a kitten, and looked judgmental. “What’s wrong
with it?”
She scowled at me. “Nothing. He’s perfect,” she snapped, stroking his
fur. “He was just born without eyelids.”
I blinked. I knew that tone. That was a warning tone, one that meant she
was either going to burst into tears or yell at me. I didn’t want either of
those things to happen. Though I didn’t mind being yelled at because that
usually ended with me fucking her. The crying I did not like.
I couldn’t predict which one was going to happen, and therefore I was
going to have to tread carefully. “Who does Boo belong to?”
She continued cradling him. “Us,” she said, as if it were the most
obvious thing in the world. “I adopted him.”
I pursed my lips.
Tread softly, I reminded myself.
“You hate cats,” I said, trying my level best to keep my tone even.
“I do not hate cats,” she retorted, stroking the black creature.
 I kept my mouth shut. It would not do well to inform her of the many
conversations we had about cats and how she thought they were ‘bitchy.’
“You can’t change the litter box,” I said instead, remembering what I’d
read in one of the baby books.
“Of course, I’m not going to change the litter box,” she replied,
screwing her nose up. “Gross. We’re not having a litterbox. Boo is going to
go outside. Like a dog.”
Again, I thought of the best way through. I stared at the cat. It stared
back at me. It was a cat, not a kitten, and therefore likely already trained in
using a litterbox. We’d been a dog family growing up, and I had no clue
how to work with a cat, let alone how in the fuck to train an adult cat to stop
using a litterbox and not shit on the rug.
“Okay,” I said to my wife. “Sounds like a plan.”
She smiled, and fuck if I would move heaven and earth to figure out
how to potty train an adult cat.
“Her stuff is in the car,” she said, kissing the cat’s head. “Now let me
give you a tour of the house.” Fiona walked in the direction of the living
room.
I caught her hip, doing it gently and then running my hand over the
swell in her belly when she stopped.
“Forget something?” I asked her.
“No, I got the food and her special eye drops, plus a bed and the
scratching post thing,” she replied.
I bit back a laugh. “No, you don’t walk into this house without kissing
your husband,” I stated, hand still on her stomach.
Fiona screwed up her nose. “You don’t make the rules in this house,
mate,” she shot at me.
My cock stirred. She knew I fucking hated it when she called me
‘mate,’ and now she did it on purpose to rile me. Because Fiona knew that
riling me meant she was getting fucked. And my wife was only getting
hungrier for my cock with every day that went on. Her growing stomach
meant I had to get inventive, which I was more than willing to do. I also
had to make sure I didn’t have my hand on her stomach when I was seconds
from coming. Feeling my daughter kick my hand while I was fucking my
wife was a surefire way to fuck up a hard-on.
I leaned in to kiss Fiona before she said anything else.
She responded to the kiss immediately, like she always did, no matter
how pissed off she was.
“I’ll be making some more rules once I get this cat’s shit from your car,”
I informed her, cock already hard.
Fiona’s eyelids fluttered. “You’re not the boss of me.”
I grinned. “We’ll see if you say that in twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes later…

“Who’s the boss of you, baby?” I grunted as I pounded into my wife’s

velvet pussy.
Her cheeks were flushed with arousal and fury, her eyes on fire as she
glared at me. “Fuck you.”
My cock pulsed inside her. “Who’s the boss of you?” I repeated.
She kept her lips pursed shut.
I stopped moving.
She let out a groan.
“Who’s the boss of you, Fiona?” I asked for the last time.
She continued scowling at me for a handful of seconds. “You’re the
boss of me, husband,” she shot back, anger lacing her tone.
“Good girl,” I murmured.
“Now fuck me,” she demanded.
And I did what my wife ordered.
Because she was the boss.

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twenty-one
. . .

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 Partners

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fiona

MY DAYS WORKING at the café were numbered. Even now

my hours had drastically reduced. But I still hung out there as often as I
could.
Especially since there was an abundance of pastries, cakes, and all the
delightful sugary food I could stomach, which was an impressive amount.
My body was changing rapidly now as I was officially in the third
trimester. All my checkups and tests had been going wonderfully—all of
them attended by Kip. I had plenty of reasons not to worry. In fact, an
argument could be made that I barely had any reason to worry. But that
wasn’t how that shit worked.
Kip had many of his own reasons to worry, too, yet the man in question
did not seem worried or tortured. We hadn’t mentioned his late wife and
daughter since the big blowup the day his mother arrived. Nor had we
revisited the big blowup. I couldn’t decide whether I was still mad at him.
Some stubborn part of me wanted to be, just on principle, to make it
difficult, maybe. It was only a small part of me, though. Most of me had
gotten over it. Most of me was enjoying the sex, the doting husband, the cat
he had successfully trained to go to the bathroom outside, the upcoming
arrival of our daughter.
Maybe I’d be ‘nesting’ if Deidre hadn’t already decorated the entire
nursery and didn’t have new baby items arriving every day. Nora was often
at our place, helping me unwrap things, put them away, explain what half of
them were.
Our baby girl’s room was perfect. All the walls were white, except a
feature wall of woodland wallpaper, complete with branches, swallows, and
butterflies. The crib was wrought iron, and there was a midcentury
changing table, a floral rug, and a large, comfortable rocking chair facing
the window and the ocean for nursing. I often sat in there, rubbing my
stomach while staring at the waves and letting myself believe I’d be holding
a little girl in my arms in a couple of months and that Kip would still be
here and be my husband.
And he was acting like my husband in every possible way. My real
husband. He fucked me every day. Sometimes twice a day. My hormones
were out of control, and I only got hornier the bigger I got. I worried that
my growing size would turn him off, not to mention the human inside me.
But he made me feel sexier than I ever had, and apart from the one time he
freaked out when she kicked him pre-orgasm, he was able to separate me
from the baby during sex.
Then there was all the food he was cooking me. And our friends. We’d
had a couple of dinner parties since Kip and I… reunited—if that’s what
you wanted to call it—and he’d cooked at both of them. Everyone was
impressed. Even Tina had grumbled about his lasagna being the best thing
she’d ever tasted, and she was the last one holding on to her grudge with
him. All of my other friends had forgiven the man now that it was clear he
was making up for lost time.
Nora hadn’t pried a whole bunch into the nature of our relationship
beyond telling me she was happy for me. I was happy for me too.
We’d closed up for the day, and Nora had yelled at me when I tried to
help her clean. I’d yelled back telling her I was able to wipe a fucking
counter.
She’d relented because I guessed my temper was pretty scary. Granted,
it was a force to be reckoned with before I got pregnant. But Kip was the
only one brave enough to go up against me these days, and I was pretty sure
he only did that as a form of foreplay because I always got what I wanted.
“Here,” Nora said, pushing a cupcake over that had a single candle in it.
“It’s not my birthday,” I said, already licking frosting from the cupcake.
 “No, but we’ve got something to celebrate,” Nora said. “I spoke to a
lawyer, got this drawn up.” She nodded down to the paper between us.
I stared at it. It was a whole bunch of words in mighty small print and
looked very scary and legal.
I’d had experience with scary and legal these past few months, and I
was still not a fan of it.
“I’m signing over half of the bakery to you,” she explained as I looked
down at the contract, trying to make sense of it.
I blinked as I saw my name on the paper, then gaped back up at my best
friend. “What the fuck?” I uttered. “Are you dying or something? Like
really, not you just thinking you have a brain tumor or whatever.”
My best friend had an anxiety disorder that had ruled a lot of her life
and made her spiral many times. Though she hadn’t spiraled at all since she
got married to Rowan. Since she got together with him, actually.
It wasn’t that he cured her but that he made her feel secure enough to
work on curing herself. It was a wonderful thing to see.
Nora chuckled. “No, of course I’m not dying. Not today, at least,” she
joked. “I’m looking for a partner.”
“You’ve got a partner,” I said without hesitation. “You don’t need some
legal contract, and you certainly don’t need to sign over half your bakery to
me. I’m your best friend. You’re stuck with me for life, bitch.”
She smiled. “I know. But I also know that you’ve taken over running
this place a whole fucking lot whenever I’ve needed you to. That you’ve
gone above and beyond every damn day.”
“You pay me generously to do that,” I stated. “And you’re a pretty kick-
ass boss. Plus, Tina has done a whole bunch too.”
Tina had been working here almost as long as me. And she loved the
place as much as I did. She loved Nora almost as much as I did.
“Tina has her own diverse investment portfolio,” Nora said. “And she’s
looking to slow down her hours eventually.”
 I bit my lip. This was true. Although judgmental eyes wouldn’t think it
on first glance, Tina was a shrewd businesswoman and independently
wealthy. She and Tiffany could retire now if they so wished. But that wasn’t
the kind of people they were. They both liked working.
“Okay, well, you’re the one who started this bakery,” I reminded Nora.
“You’re the one who built it from the ground up. You’re the one who makes
the things that have made it wildly successful. This bakery is you, Nora. All
of it. And it should be all yours. Always. I did nothing to make this what it
is.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “You’ve had your own important hand in making
this what it is.” She gestured to the empty bakery. It was decorated in
shades of pink, the frosted windows showing the peaking ocean beyond.
Even empty, it was utterly beautiful, one of the most Instagrammable spots
in Jupiter, hands down. “Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this.
I wouldn’t have made it through anything,” Nora said softly.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I snapped. “You are much stronger than you
tell yourself, and capable of anything.”
“See? Without you, how am I supposed to know that?” she joked.
I smiled. “You’ve got a husband to remind you now,” I said. “And he
likely does it naked.”
Nora’s cheeks reddened at the mere mention of it. Rowan really had
given her a great sexual awakening, and I was fucking glad about it. “He
does do that,” she murmured, eyes going faraway for a second. “But,” she
said, snapping herself out of it, “I am a grown woman, of sound mind, and I
have discussed this with my very reasonable, protective, and fiscally
responsible husband, who also agrees that this is a wonderful idea.” She
tapped the paper. “I’m a mother now, and I want to have a whole bunch of
Rowan’s kids. I also want to keep this bakery because you’re right, it is me.
But I don’t want one thing sucking the life out of the other. And I don’t
want you ever thinking you don’t have a place here. I want to help make
sure you have roots. That you won’t be put in a position where you have to
marry a man you don’t love in order to stay here.”
Her voice had gotten a lot more passionate as she went on, and she was
mighty close to yelling. Or crying. Yes, my best friend loved me. And she
was mighty protective over me. And still obviously nursing somewhat of a
grudge against Kip.
“I’m already married to him,” I reminded her. “And I definitely don’t
think I’m going to be in a position to marry a man for a Green Card again…
hopefully.”
Not that we were in the clear after our interview and being told it went
well by our lawyer. They had hardly asked any questions, actually. Then
again, I’d walked in with a baby bump and a husband who couldn’t keep his
hands off me.
But we were still waiting on the official approval. And after that, to stay
in the country indefinitely, there was a whole process. But I told myself I’d
figure that out… later. No matter how Kip was acting right now, there was
no guarantee it would stay that way forever.
“You won’t,” Nora said firmly. “This will help.” She tapped the paper
again. “Owning part of a business in the US is a strong tie. And it’s a step in
securing a future for yourself. And for her.” She nodded at my stomach.
“I can’t do that to you,” I said, my voice trembling. “I won’t take this
from you.”
“You’re not taking anything from me,” she replied. “You are giving me
the greatest gift. Knowing my best friend will live and work with me for the
rest of our lives and that our children will grow up together. That we’ll
make our own family.”
She was hitting below the belt on that one. Bringing the kids into it.
Bringing family into it. Her, Tina, Tiffany, Calliope—fuck, even Rowan
now—they were the only family I had. Not to mention Deidre, who called
me once a week at the least, texted me daily, and was constantly sending
things for the baby.
And Kip.
Fucking Kip.
My husband.
“Sign the contract, Fiona,” Nora requested gently, holding out a pen to
me.
I looked at my best friend, the pen, the contract.
I’d been so intent on being independent. On fixing my life myself.
Saving myself. Because I didn’t want a man to fucking save me. Especially
not Kip.
But I hadn’t considered that it might not be a man who would save me.
I hadn’t considered it might be my best friend.
What else could a girl do?
I signed the contract.

“Can I ask you a question?” I said as Kip rubbed my feet.

It was a nightly routine. Our movie or TV show of the night, me eating
ice cream, Kip rubbing my feet.
It was utterly middle-aged and domestic of me, but I fucking loved it.
My feet needed it, as did my ankles. The fucking things were swelling like
nothing else. Boo was resting on the swell of my stomach, what turned out
to be her favorite spot.
She’d settled into our life seamlessly and was a beloved member of the
family. I’d seen Kip’s apprehension when I brought her home, that had gone
unspoken because he didn’t like to rile me, or he did like to rile me but
couldn’t know whether I would get riled or cry. He hated it when I cried.
 I also wondered if Kip had something against cats because they weren’t
a pet benefiting his alpha male status. He probably wanted a Lab like
Rowan’s dog. I thought that was the kind of pet I’d want too. The only
reason I’d never gotten a pet was because I knew my time in the country
was limited, and I couldn’t have anything permanent.
Technically I couldn’t be sure of my permanence in this country right
now. But I’d been at the pet store with Nora getting food for her dog, saw
Boo, and lost all reason. She just had to come home with us. End of story.
Kip reached over for the remote so he could pause the TV and give me
his full attention. “You can ask me anything,” he said in his normal
agreeable and warm tone.
Although he was warm and agreeable most of the time, that didn’t mean
we didn’t fight. We did. Almost daily. Mostly with him being over-the-top
protective or telling me what to do and me telling him he couldn’t tell me
what to do.
Almost all of those fights ended in sex. And I won most of them.
I took one last spoonful of ice cream, then put the empty carton on the
table beside the sofa before I returned my attention to Kip.
It was probably a bad idea to broach the subject I’d been ruminating on
for a while now. It was probably a better idea to keep things light between
us, not rock the boat, not try to dive too deep. Diving deep meant I’d likely
hit a nerve, make things too serious, and one or both of us would retreat. Or
fight for real, not just for foreplay.
But I wasn’t someone who did things on the notion whether they were a
good idea or not.
“You’ll excuse me for my ignorance or if I offend your sense of national
pride or patriotism or whatever the fuck,” I said, stroking Boo. “But I don’t
understand why you did it. Why you volunteered to go to a war and fight
for a country that’s much more complicated than freedom and liberty.”
 It wasn’t a question, not exactly. And it was one coated in land mines.
Veterans were highly regarded in this country, and patriotism was
paramount in a way those of us from the Southern Hemisphere could not
entirely understand. I didn’t want to belittle his service. I just wanted to
understand it. Especially why he continued it after he had a wife and child.
Kip let out a long sigh that was much older than his three and a half
decades. He sounded like a man old and gray, who’d lived a long and hard
life.
Then again, he’d fought in a war and lost his wife and child. That would
age you more than enough for three lifetimes.
“I can only speak for myself and a handful of men I was deployed
with,” he replied, still rubbing my feet. “But sometimes, people are running
from so much shit that war is the preferable option to dealing with that
shit.” He shrugged. “Other times, they think war will make them into a
man. Or it’s truly because they come from shitty situations and there’s no
other way out that offers healthcare, housing, food, salary, and free college
afterward… if you come home alive and intact enough for higher
education.” He sighed again. “A small few go because they want to kill,
want to hurt other human beings, and they want the justification to do so.
And then there are those who go because they’re noble and want to do right
by what their country stands for.”
“Why did you go?” I asked him, almost whispering.
“Because I was a cocky, rebellious kid who hated my dad and wanted to
get as far away from his expectations of me as I could,” he answered.
“Ah, the daddy issues,” I muttered.
Kip smiled cheekily at me, though his eyes were tinged with
melancholy. “Caught them, did you?”
“Just a smidge,” I replied. “And like knows like. I’ve got a boatload of
my own.”
He raised his brow in question.
 “Nuh-uh.” I wagged my finger at him. “This is your turn.”
He pursed his lips, his expression pensive. Though he was obviously
thinking, he never stopped rubbing my feet. I really appreciated that.
“My dad is an asshole,” he stated blandly. Or blandly on the surface. I
could hear the underlying hatred there.
Not resentment. Full-on hatred. It burned underneath his breath, was in
the tightness of his limbs, the shuttering of his eyes.
I’d been dealt a shitty hand on the parental side of things, but even I
couldn’t say that I hated them exactly. I resented them for what my
childhood was, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate them.
“My first memory of the man is him yelling at my mother,” he said,
looking at me but not seeing me. “I’ve never seen him say a kind word to
her, never seen any kind of inclination that he loved her.”
My eyes burned with tears already. Deidre. The sweet woman who
positively leeched love and light, who was gentle and kind, how could she
not have a husband who doted on her? And how had she had someone
unloving for so long and not let it turn her bitter and hard? I found a
newfound love for my mother-in-law. And sorrow.
“Yeah,” Kip said quietly, gauging the expression on my face. “It takes a
special kind of asshole to treat a woman like my mom the way he treats
her.”
His grip tightened on my feet, almost to the point of pain. I restrained
my wince.
“He’s never laid hands on her,” he continued. “No way would I have let
him get away with that if he had. He’s smart enough to know that, maybe.
And to know my mom would leave him if he did.”
He kept rubbing my feet with a little too much pressure to be enjoyable.
I bit my lip.
“I’ve tried to get her to leave him a bunch of times,” he explained. “My
sister less so because she lives for my father’s approval,” he scoffed with
obvious disgust.
That solved the mystery as to why I hadn’t met his sister or heard him
talk about her. I knew she existed because Deidre had told me all about her,
showed me pictures of her and her children.
She was pretty. Dirty-blonde hair just like Kip’s, delicate bone structure
like her mother. She didn’t look like she would be similar to Kip, though. In
all of the photos, she was wearing expensive, pressed clothes, not a hair out
of place. Same with the children and the stiff-looking husband.
“Mom will never leave him,” Kip sighed. “And I hate him for that. For
sentencing her to a life where she isn’t treated like she deserves,” he said
bitterly. “But of course, it’s not just that. It’s because he wanted a son who
would obey him. Who would fall into line, go into the family business, put
a stick up my ass.” He shook his head, letting go of my feet only to grab my
calves and pull me gently closer to him so he could lay his hands on my
belly.
It was something that calmed him, I’d learned. And it calmed me too.
“We butted heads a whole fucking lot,” he said. “More when I got older.
I retreated to Rowan’s place often. Fuck, I damn near lived there for my last
year of high school.” He sighed. “His father was more of a dad to me than
mine ever was or will be.”
He looked at my stomach as the baby kicked against his hand, making
him soften that harsh and angry expression.
“You’re not going to be like your father,” I told him.
His eyes found mine. “I already was. When you first told me you were
pregnant.” His tone was saturated in guilt.
And I forgave him. Utterly and completely. Right then and there.
I grabbed Boo from my stomach, kissed her on the nose, and set her
gently on the floor. Then I moved. It was rather awkward and took me
longer than I would’ve liked, but I finally positioned myself so I was
straddling Kip, my stomach between us.
 “You are nothing like your father,” I stated firmly.
He settled his hands on my hips. “You don’t know that. You’ve never
met him.”
I grabbed the sides of his neck. “I do know that,” I argued. “Yeah, you
freaked out a little when I first broke the news. But you beat yourself up for
it the entire time it was happening.”
I gave him space to argue with me, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not
without lying.
“And you’ve more than made up for it,” I continued. “You don’t let me
lift anything heavier than a mug of coffee. You help me out of bed every
morning, but not before I get an orgasm and a cup of java.” I gave him a
wicked smile. “You cook for me. You don’t blink when I bring home a cat,
and then you potty train said cat.” We both looked at Boo, who’d climbed
onto the coffee table to glare at me for kicking her off her perch.
I looked back at Kip. “You come to every doctor’s appointment. You
read the baby books. You know more about my vagina and womb than I do.
You built a beautiful nursery.” I leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips,
having to stop myself from deepening it. “There are about a million other
things I could list, but that would take too long, and I’m getting horny.” I
rubbed myself against him to punctuate my point.
Hunger sparked in my husband’s eyes.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For sharing with me.”
He leaned in to kiss me, a little deeper than I’d kissed him. I rubbed
myself against him some more.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured against my lips. “It’ll be your turn
next.”
My stomach dipped. Not in a good way. Sharing my past beyond what I
already had made me want to run away. But I didn’t. I stayed put.
“Next,” I agreed. “But not now.”
Then I leaned in to kiss him, and I didn’t stop.
 Nor did he.

It was storming.
The thunder was loud enough to shake the house.
That was what woke me. Normally, it wouldn’t. But pregnancy
insomnia was only getting worse, what with the leg cramps and having to
rotate myself like a gas station hotdog whenever I needed to turn over.
Kip held me in the night, because he was Kip and because he always
needed to have his hands on me or the baby. But I also had a large
pregnancy pillow that ran the length of my body and surrounded me on both
sides.
It cocooned me, made it harder to lie flat on my back, and helped with
the hip pain. I did indeed love the thing, although I hated the barrier
between us. It did help when I got out of the bed in the middle of the night,
not wanting to wake Kip. Usually it was just to pee—I had to do that
multiple times—and he often woke despite how sneaky I tried to be. He
was hyperaware of me, and his sleep was much lighter than mine.
But he didn’t wake. Not with the thunder, nor with me getting out of
bed.
I went to the nursery, sat myself in the chair by the window, and
watched the sea rage, the rain trickling down the glass. I got lost in the
storm, my thoughts, the future.
“You’re not supposed to get out of bed without me,” a voice growled
softly.
I wasn’t surprised, having expected Kip to come and get me eventually.
“If I woke you up every time I got up, you’d never get any sleep. You
have a daughter who kicks against my bladder,” I replied, rubbing my
stomach.
 “But you didn’t get up to pee. You’re in here,” Kip pointed out. He then
moved me from my spot in the chair, though only so he could sit and then
position me half on his lap. The chair was large enough that it was roomy
even with the two of us. Three, if you considered my stomach.
I sighed. “I wanted to let you sleep. I should’ve known better.”
He kissed my temple. “You should’ve,” he agreed.
Neither of us spoke for a while, letting the storm speak for us.
Eventually Boo came into the room, standing at the bottom of the chair,
gauging whether there was enough room for her, then deciding against it
and going to the crib, jumping from the changing table to the crib in order
to settle herself inside it. It was one of her favorite places. I probably should
stop her from sleeping in there before the baby was born in order to keep
her from creating bad habits, but it was so cute.
“I know it’s technically meant to be my turn, and this isn’t me wussing
out,” I said, breaking the silence. “But will you tell me about them? Gabbie
and Evelyn?”
Kip’s arms tightened around me when I said their names.
“These past few months is the most I’ve heard their names in five
years,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck and rubbing my stomach.
I pursed my lips, the news not exactly a surprise to me. The Kip I had
known up until we got married was carefree, cocky, and a total manwhore.
That Kip did not hint at a tragic past. Not even a little.
It would take some pretty heavy denial to plaster on an exterior that
thick. I wondered if he’d even thought about them in five years.
“If it’s too hard…” I said, not wanting to push him. I was still tensed for
him to close off to me. For me to be left out here in the proverbial cold.
“It is hard,” he said. “Which is why I need to tell you. I need to give you
a reason to trust me. To know me.” He brushed at my hair.
“Gabbie and I were high school sweethearts,” he explained. “She was
sweet. She loved living in our small town. But she was also a rebel when
she needed to be.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
Despite the fact that she was very dead, a petty part of me hated Gabbie.
For existing in Kip’s past, for dying because she would always be perfect in
his memory, and he could never feel for me like he felt for her.
An utterly gross and bitter thought, but one that had been circling in my
mind.
“She was the girl who everyone wanted and the one who I managed to
get,” he said. “And… Evelyn.” He choked out her name, and thunder
boomed after it as if to punctuate it.
“She was perfect,” he said. “She had blue eyes. Her mother’s dark hair.
She was curious. She loved horror movies.”
“Horror movies?” I asked, surprised.
He chuckled. It was a warm sound. “Yeah, she loved zombies, vampires
—the scarier the better. She was fearless.”
His adoration for his daughter was blindingly clear. For his dead
daughter. I couldn’t fathom that.
“It broke me when they died,” he whispered. “Severed me into bits and
pieces that didn’t fit together again. I wanted to die. Thought about making
it happen many times.”
I had to swallow a choked sob at the mere thought of Kip not existing in
this world. He’d managed to live that. I could hold my shit together while
hearing it.
Kip rubbed my stomach. “Rowan saved my life,” he said. “And
Calliope. His family.” He rested his head against my temple. “My mom
tried. Fuck, did she try. She wanted to keep them alive for me. She wanted
to remember them, memorialize them. And I fucking hated her for it.”
I heard the self-hatred and regret in his voice.
“That’s why I retired—too late—and that’s why I moved here.” He
cleared his throat. “We moved here,” he corrected. “Rowan came with me
just like he came with me across an ocean to a fucking war zone. He’s a
good man.”
“So are you,” I told him gently, hearing what he’d left unsaid.
He rubbed my stomach again, and our daughter kicked as if to further
my point. “No, I’m not,” he argued. “Look at what I did to you.”
“You mean knocking me up with a surprise baby?” I asked, teasing in
my tone.
“I mean knocking you up with your miracle baby and leaving you to
deal with the fear and trauma of everything that came before for months,”
he corrected.
I sighed. “I think you’ve done really good at the self-flagellation thing,”
I informed him. “You’re here. We’re here. Dwelling in the past does
nothing but poison the future. Take it from someone who knows. And is
still working on it.”
Kip didn’t reply, and the storm continued to rage.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For telling me.”
He kissed me. “Thank you for forgiving me.” The thunder boomed
again. “You have forgiven me, haven’t you, wife?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “I have forgiven you.”
It was the truth. I had. But we weren’t out of the woods yet. That I
knew.

OceanofPDF.com
twenty-two
. . .

OceanofPDF.com
 Green Card

I WAS happy when I got the mail.

Not a foreign emotion for me. I was a generally happy person. Before
this fucking rollercoaster.
I’d promised myself not to let Emmet have power over me and make me
some kind of scarred, quiet woman paralyzed by fear. In fact, I’d kind of
gone the other way. I’d lived a wild life since I arrived in the US. Diving
into new places and new men with abandon. But I’d always kept men at
arm’s length because of him. The fear he’d created in me.
It wasn’t Emmet now creating that fear. It was my now-bulging
stomach. It was the human-looking sonogram picture on our fridge. It was
our perfect nursery. It was Kip talking to my stomach every night. Our little
girl had a whole lot of power. To create, to give me everything or take it all
away.
It was a lot to handle.
Too much, at first.
But now, I’d let myself sink into it.
And Kip was, yes, maybe a small part of why I was damn near skipping
to the letterbox that morning.
I was hoping it contained a package of Australian treats that my one
remaining Australian friend had sent me. He was the only person I kept in
touch with who I grew up with. He’d grown up in similar circumstances
than me. Worse, really. With a drunk dad who also happened to be
homophobic, so he beat the shit out of his son when it became clear he was
gay.
Andrew never hid that he was gay, not even when his dad beat him up
or the assholes at school gave him shit—a bunch of whom then secretly
hooked up with him. He’d worked his way up at a PR company, basically
ran the fucking place now, and was married.
We talked sporadically, and he was the only person who knew me from
my childhood. Who knew my whole story.
And he still sent me care packages even though we hadn’t seen each
other in years because I was too much of a coward to be reminded of my
past.
It was not a care package.
Instead, it was an official-looking letter with a US government stamp on
it.
My hand shook when I opened it, already knowing what it contained.
An approval.
A Green Card.
There it was. The thing I needed. The thing that had started this whole
marriage and subsequent pregnancy.
The thing that gave me security—for a few years, at least. But our
lawyer had assured me that no matter what our marital status was in a few
years, me having a child and a business and a home in my name should all
be points toward me maintaining my status.
Kip didn’t know I’d had that meeting. He didn’t need to know.
But this. This he needed to know.
Because this was the end of our marriage.
It was tempting, really fucking tempting, to shove the letter and the Green
Card in the junk drawer and pretend I never got it. But that wasn’t really a
good long-term plan. Avoiding problems only made them bigger.
Better to rip the Band-Aid off and all that.
Though I did drag my feet walking from the letterbox back inside. And
I already moved pretty slow these days.
Kip called my walk a ‘waddle’ once and once only.
Though he was nowhere near stupid enough nor brave enough to utter
the word again, it was becoming very clear that I was indeed waddling
instead of walking these days. And I still had over a month left.
Not that I was complaining. Every new ailment, every foot in my ribs or
my bladder, was just another reminder that this was happening.
The baby was happening, at least.
It remained to be seen what was going to happen with Kip and me.
“I know you’ve been all about sugar these days,” Kip called as I walked
in the door, “but I figured Nora had that covered. And I also remembered
that I hadn’t made these in a while.”
I got into the kitchen just as he was taking the tray out of the oven. The
whole place smelled of beef and pastry, and despite the swirl in my
stomach, my mouth watered. It seemed nothing could quell my hunger
these days, not even the impending breakdown of my marriage.
Could a marriage really break down if it was never real in the first
place?
“Here it is.” I tapped the envelope, wishing I could delay relaying this
information and enjoy a pie first. “Your ticket out of this marriage and this
situation.”
Kip frowned downward, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel before
reading the letter. He froze pretty quickly, not saying anything.
My heart dropped.
Why had I hoped for anything different?
 “It’s done,” I said, forcing my voice to sound even. “Of course, it’ll look
really shady if we file straight away, so we’ll have to separate for a while,
spin some bullshit about space and working on things or conscious
uncoupling or whatever the fuck the kids are calling it these days.”
Man, I really wanted a fucking drink.
One more month.
I’d pound tequila in the goddamn delivery room.
“After an appropriate amount of time, we’ll divorce,” I continued. “I
don’t quite know what your future plans are, but I’d be happy to pay you on
a monthly basis in order to eventually buy this place from you.” I looked
around at the only home I’d ever had. The place I wanted to raise my
daughter in.
“Although that’ll probably take me about fifty years,” I scoffed,
thinking about what Kip must’ve paid for a seaside cottage in Maine in this
market.
My hand went to my stomach, and I still didn’t look at Kip. There was
no way I had the courage for that.
“I don’t know your plans for the baby now that you seem to have…” I
wanted to say ‘come to your senses,’ but that seemed a little bitter. “Had a
change of heart,” I said finally, staring at the wild ocean out the windows. “I
would never keep her from you. You could see her whenever you want… if
that’s what you want.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I didn’t say anything else. I just stood
in the middle of my kitchen staring at the waves and smelling the pies that
Kip made me on the first day of our marriage and what could quite possibly
be the last day of our marriage.
How fucking ironic.
He didn’t speak right away.
Which, of course, sent me spiraling. I gripped the counter to steady
myself lest I fucking faint or something equally pathetic. If he was going to
leave me—leave us—I was going to stay standing when he did.
Kip’s footfalls were soft against the floor. I held my breath, waiting for
them to retreat. Except they didn’t. He didn’t. His heat hit my back, and
then his hand was on my hip, gently turning me around. I stared at his chest,
still unwilling or unable to meet his eyes.
My heart was in my throat.
He grasped my chin in order to tilt it upward, to force my gaze to meet
his.
I braced myself for the emptiness, the mask he wore in order to dole out
cruelty he thought was mercy. But it wasn’t there. His eyes were like that
ocean I had just been gazing at. Wild, full, fucking beautiful.
“My wife… my first wife… I loved her,” he said in a tone I’d never
heard before. It was soft, tortured, regretful. He hadn’t even had that tone
the night of the storm. It speared me right in the fucking heart.
He kept a firm grip on me.
“I loved her like a boy loved a girl, thinking that love made him a man,”
he continued. “It wasn’t mature, it wasn’t ugly, it wasn’t complicated. It
was simple. And it might’ve stayed that way, it might’ve stayed just fine, if
I didn’t make the choices I made.” He sighed. “Again, I wanted to be a
man, one who wasn’t like my father, one who wasn’t confined to life in a
small town. I was selfish and looking for glory.”
I wanted to argue with him, tell him he couldn’t possibly have been
selfish, even then. I wanted to tell him to stop being so fucking hard on a
boy who was doing the best he could.
“At the beginning, I don’t think it bothered her that I was deploying,”
Kip said. “Yes, she was plenty worried about me and didn’t want to be
without me, but she was young too. Looking for her own identity. And at
first, she liked the title of ‘Army wife.’ Liked that she was serving in her
own way.” He shook his head, looking out to the ocean for a few beats
before returning his gaze to me.
 “The reality of it all was quick to hit us,” he murmured. “Quick to
bruise that pure, young love of ours. It might not have scarred if I didn’t
find my place out there, if I didn’t have the skills that kept me gone for
longer and longer at a time. But I did. So I was gone. And she didn’t much
like being alone all the time. I don’t blame her. We were meant to love each
other but let each other go. That’s what I think. But we didn’t. She thought
when she got pregnant I’d come home for good. A lot of people thought
that. I thought I would. Until it actually happened. I wasn’t man enough, not
even then, to stop killing and go home to my life. My daughter.”
His hand went to my stomach, rubbing it as if to reassure himself that it
was still there. That our daughter was still there.
I knew the feeling. I would chug ice water and chase it with Skittles in
order to ‘wake her up’ if I didn’t feel her kick in a while. Not that I had to
do that often because Kip’s daughter kicked the fuck out of me.
“In the end, I don’t think she loved me much,” he said, shocking the
absolute shit out of me.
I blinked at him. His eyes weren’t watering with the love he was
holding on to. They were sad, to be sure. But not wistful.
“I don’t think much of what we were remained. But I still loved her. For
staying. For trying. For bringing my daughter into the world, caring for
her.”
He stroked my face, wiping away a tear that had escaped my eye. “What
I feel for you isn’t young, it’s a little bit ugly, and it’s sure as fuck
complicated. I hated myself for loving you more than I loved her. Thought
that made me a bad man. Without honor.”
He looked down at the stomach between us.
“I know for a fact that I’ll love her just as much as her sister.” His voice
broke a little, and I sank my teeth into my lip in order to restrain my sob.
“I’ll love her exactly the same.” He paused. “Maybe I’ll love her big
sister a little bit more, because I only had a short amount of time to give her
that love. I’ve still got a whole fucking lot of it inside me.” His eyes bored
into mine. “I’m not gonna promise that I’m not gonna make mistakes along
the way, because a lifetime is a long time, and I’m an imperfect man. I’m
gonna fuck up. You’re gonna yell at me. I might yell back.”
He leaned in to kiss my nose.
“We’ll fuck and make up,” he murmured. “We’ll have a messy life. And
you’re outta your goddamn tree if you think I’m gonna walk away from
that. But—” His hand went from my chin downward to my left hand, lifting
it to examine the simple gold band I’d been wearing since he slipped it on
my finger in the bakery. “—we’re gonna need to get you a diamond. And
we’re probably gonna have to do another wedding.”
That was a lot of information for me to digest at once. Even under
normal circumstances where I had a lot more control over my hormones. As
it was, I did not have control over those fuckers, so I went from quietly
crying to full-on ugly sobbing.
“Are you asking me to m-marry you?” I asked between sobs.
Kip chuckled as he leaned in to kiss my head. “We’re already married,
baby, but yeah, I’m asking if you want to do it properly. Maybe not get so
drunk and glare at me while you’re walking down the aisle. I don’t mind if
you wear red, though.” He winked.
I let out a half-hysterical laugh.
“I wore red because I was dressing for war,” I told him.
He smiled at me, brushing my chin with his thumb. “And when you
walked down that aisle, you looked like the most beautiful soldier I’d ever
seen. I fell in love with you right then and there, even if I was too much of a
stubborn bastard to admit it for—”
“Months,” I interrupted. “Actually, over a year.”
“If you wanna get technical, you haven’t said the three little words to
me yet,” he teased.
 I pursed my lips. “You haven’t really said them either,” I challenged,
suddenly terrified. The hospital didn’t count, I decided. Emotions were
running high then, and he hadn’t mentioned it since.
“I love you,” he said without hesitation. “I love that you’re cranky in the
morning. I love that you swear like a sailor. I love that you adopt cats
without eyelids. I love the way you look growing our daughter. I will love
every part of you for the rest of my days.”
My lip trembled. “Okay, that’s overkill,” I said, voice thin and weak.
He chuckled. “Gonna say it back?”
“I’m not gonna say it because you’re telling me to say it,” I snapped.
Kip’s eyes glittered. “I’m not telling you to say it,” he returned. “I
already know you love me.”
I glared at him. “You don’t know how I feel,” I replied snippily, fighting
with him mostly on instinct and also because this conversation was scary.
Sure, I was married to the man, living with him, and pregnant with his baby,
but telling him I loved him seemed like a leap of faith I wasn’t sure I was
capable of.
He kissed me, then shrugged. “You don’t want to say it now. I can wait.
I’ve got forever, after all.”
My knees almost buckled.
Kip stepped back, unaware of how tenuously I was staying upright.
“Now, you want to eat some pies?”
I stared at this man. This muscled, gruff, cocky, sensitive man. My
husband.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Let’s eat some pies.”

“Mum,” I said, the title coming out as a sigh.

 I’d been dodging her calls. Not that there were many to dodge. The
woman rarely kept in touch. Sometimes she sent me articles on Facebook,
which were mostly wild conspiracy theories about the New World Order
and population control, though in the past few years they’d been veering
toward holistic remedies and a reminder to ‘ground myself’ every day.
“Darling,” she sang into the phone, her voice light and cheerful.
I frowned at my own phone screen, bringing up the world clock to
double-check the time in Australia.
Yep, it was barely seven in the morning.
My mother was not a morning person. She rarely woke to see them,
usually lumbering out of her bedroom around lunchtime. I had distinct
memories of making my own breakfast since I was about five years old.
How she kept me alive before then was anyone’s guess.
Then again, my father hadn’t left her the first time by that point, and I
had come to understand—from various relatives who I no longer spoke to—
that she’d been somewhat normal before then. Normal being a subjective
term. Mum was always the ‘wacky’ one.
From what I’d come to understand throughout these years of more
regular contact, of my mother’s care packages, she was no longer a ‘wacky’
wino. She was just plain ‘wacky’. She didn’t drink. Not even coffee. Just
dandelion tea that she swore tasted exactly the same. I knew for a fact it
didn’t, because she’d sent some over and it had smelled like hot ass.
I hadn’t trusted my mother’s transformation. I’d braced myself for a
sudden end to the calls, the packages, the weird Facebook statuses. I’d
braced myself to be abandoned by my mother. Except if I didn’t let her in
then she couldn’t abandon me.
But she didn’t.
Relapse. Disappear.
It was working. The dandelion tea, the meditation, the crystals and
howling at the moon. It kept my mum off the booze and turned her into the
version of herself that had always lingered underneath the wine soaked
exterior.
But I still didn’t let her in.
“Look, I’m really busy,” I lied. I wasn’t busy. I’d been sitting in the
nursery watching the ocean while eating handfuls of M&Ms.
“Oh, I know,” she sang. “You’re over there in the USA living that
fabulous life of yours. I’m so glad you’re over there. So proud of you.”
Something clenched in my stomach. Something vaguely resembling
guilt. For dodging my mother’s calls, for never calling her on her birthday.
Or Christmas.
She hadn’t exactly celebrated my birth as a kid. But the past decade
she’d been making an effort. She did call me. She sent gifts—crystals and
sound bowls, mostly. But she was quite obviously trying to make up for the
past.
I’d stubbornly pushed back against all these attempts, my wounds too
deep and my anger still hot after all these years.
Growing up and into my adulthood, I’d had visions of the person a
‘mother’ was. Someone who had it all together. Who knew what was best
for her children, for herself. But now that I was almost a mother, I realized I
was still the same person I was. Nothing had magically turned on in me. No
maternal switch had been flipped. I was still me. The problems I had with
myself before getting pregnant still remained. Some of them increased
tenfold.
Lately I’d been thinking of my own mother and her problems. Getting
pregnant too young, growing up in her own turbulent household, having no
fucking clue what she was doing. It wasn’t an excuse, but she was also just
a human being suddenly saddled with a baby to look after, keep alive.
I looked around the nursery. The one my baby’s grandmother had
almost single-handedly designed. I thought about the daily deliveries I got
from Deidre, from baby things to body creams for me. The vouchers for
prenatal massages. She’d already been nurturing me and would likely spoil
the crap out of her granddaughter.
My own mother didn’t even know she was going to be a grandmother. I
thought I was at peace with that choice.
It turned out I wasn’t.
I bit my lip.
“As much as I do think you have better opportunities over there, and the
distance is good… considering that asshole ex of yours,” my mother ranted.
Although my mother might’ve fucked up a great deal in my childhood,
she’d been there for me when I left Emmet. She’d been fucking furious.
Ready to kill him, until I talked her down. She’d given me all the money
she had saved—which wasn’t much—to help pay for a lawyer. She’d
stepped up.
But it wasn’t enough. Not then, at least.
“Anyway,” she said, “I like that you’re over there, but you do have to be
careful. The things they add to their food are illegal here. You make sure
you wash all your fruit, and don’t drink tap water. Have you looked into
adding live mushroom resin in your diet?” she asked. “I’ll send you some.
It’s great. It contains so many minerals—”
“Mum, I’m pregnant,” I blurted, knowing she wasn’t even going to stop
to take a breath.
“And I’m married,” I added, thinking it would be best to say it all at
once.
Dead air on the other side of the phone.
I’d managed to render my mother speechless.
For a second.
“Holy shit!” she yelled. “How far along are you?”
“Eight months,” I said, wincing.
Another pause. I couldn’t say it was from her being hurt for sure, but I
could imagine. And I felt guilty for that.
 My mother was not someone to be kept down for long, though.
“Have you got a doula?” she demanded. “Are you doing a home birth?
And if you’re not doing a lotus birth, then at least delay cord clamping.”
“Holy shit, Mum, I don’t have half of what you’re talking about,” I
replied.
“Oh well, it’s okay, I’ll be able to figure it all out,” she said distractedly.
I froze. “What?”
I swore I heard a click on the other side of the phone. A click that
sounded like a computer mouse.
“Well, I can’t come over immediately because I have a moon circle
meeting that I’m hosting, but that’s okay. It’s your first baby, so you’ll go
late.” She paused. “Well, darling, of course it’s not your first baby,” she
corrected. “Your others weren’t ready for this world, but they are precious
nonetheless, and they were here.”
My heart clenched.
Another time my mother was there for me.
When I’d lost the third baby. When I was so trapped, alone and broken
—and I’d had a bottle of wine—that I had nowhere to turn to that I’d called
my mum, even though I didn’t have any experience of her showing up for
me.
But she did. Show up for me then.
Another piece of her I’d buried away in order to fit my narrative.
“Wait, you’re coming here?” I clarified.
“Of course, I’m fucking coming there,” she said. “It’s my first
grandchild. And my daughter will need me. I’m a certified lactation coach.
Breast is best, darling, and I’ll show you just how to position the nipple—”
“Enough about my nipples, Mum,” I demanded, looking down at the
nipples in question. Although I probably could use the help. The fuckers
had already started leaking. “You’re coming here?” I repeated.
 “Yes,” she said. “I know I should’ve come earlier. I wanted to come
earlier, especially since you’ve settled in that wonderful-sounding town.” I
had told her about Jupiter on one of our rare calls. “But I knew you needed
your space,” she continued. “Knew you needed to heal. And as much as I
missed you, it was my karma to miss you for how I failed you.”
“Mum,” I said on a sigh. “As much as I appreciate you owning up to
your actions, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Of course,” Mum replied. “We don’t need to talk about it right now.
I’m just booking my flights. This one has a layover for nine hours in LA,
which is perfect because I’ll be able to pick up some uterine recovery tea
that a renowned herbalist makes,” she mused.
“You’re booking flights?” I asked, M&M poised before my mouth in
shock.
“Booked! I’ll be there in three weeks,” she said triumphantly. “Oh,
darling, I just can’t wait. Oh fuck, I’ve got to go. I’m late for my Reiki
healer. I’ll be in touch, love you!”
“Bye, Mum,” I muttered, not returning the ‘I love you.’ It wasn’t lost on
me that I couldn’t say those words to my mother or my husband.
The front door slammed.
“Babe!” Kip yelled.
“In here,” I yelled back.
I didn’t get up to meet him. Getting up was harder these days, and I was
still digesting what just happened.
Kip didn’t take long to make it to the nursery.
“There are my girls,” he said, smiling as he walked in, his gait easy,
posture relaxed.
He looked like he always did fresh off the worksite: faded jeans, dirty
tee, cap. He smelled of him and sweat and wood, and I inhaled deeply when
he leaned in to kiss me. First my mouth, then my stomach.
 “How are you feeling?” he asked, like he always did when he came
home. Every day.
“Still pregnant,” I replied, the same thing I always said back to him.
Sometimes I supplemented with ‘hungry’ or ‘horny.’ “And I just talked to
my mother.” I waved my phone.
“How did that go?” Kip perched on the arm of the chair. I’d told him
about her. About my childhood. Not much more about my marriage,
because what else was there to say?
We’d spoken about my losses too. Not a lot. Again, what else was there
to say? Plus, I worried speaking about them too much would unleash some
kind of dead baby juju and leech into the perfect little girl in my stomach.
“I told her about you and the baby,” I replied.
He raised his brows.
“And she’s coming over. Here.” I looked around the nursery. “She’s a
lactation consultant now.”
Kip nodded. “Well, it’ll help with breastfeeding,” he said with a fucking
straight face.
I scowled at him. “We don’t have anywhere for her to stay,” I pointed
out. “This was our guest room, and I’m not inflicting my mother on
Calliope or Rowan and Nora.”
He considered this for a moment before standing to get his phone from
his pocket, tapping the screen, and putting it to his ear.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
He held his finger up to shush me.
I leaned back in my chair, eyebrows raised. “Did you just fucking shush
me?”
Kip smirked at me. “Rowan, brother, need to get a team out to my place
tomorrow. We’ve got company coming, and we need a guest addition on the
cottage.”
A pause.
 “Yep, sounds good.”
He put the phone back in his pocket.
I gaped at Kip. “What was that?”
“We’re getting a guest room,” he said by way of explanation.
I stared at him. He was not joking. “We’re building an addition onto the
house because my mother is coming?” I clarified.
“Well, my mother is going to be coming, too, and although she’s happy
staying with Calliope for now, we can’t be sure Calliope will be here much
longer. So, it’s best to have somewhere for them to stay when they’re here.
And you love this place, you don’t want to leave anytime soon. Neither do
I. So, we need to expand.”
I blinked.
Kip knew I loved this place. Knew I wouldn’t want to leave. So he was
building a guest room. And he wasn’t saying he was going to do it and
fucking around for a year. No, the second he realized we needed it, he set
things in motion.
“I love you,” I blurted.
He grinned. “I know.”
I waited.
He didn’t say anything else.
“You know?” I repeated. “You fucking know?” I was yelling now.
“That’s all you’re going to say to me telling you I love you?”
Kip chuckled in the face of my fury.
Chuckled.
Then he pulled me up from the chair and into his arms.
“No, that’s not all I’m going to say,” he murmured, holding me close.
Or as close as he could with the belly. “But I wanted to get you a little riled
up before I show you how much those words mean to me.”
I opened my mouth to yell at him some more. Maybe.
But he kissed me instead.
 Then he took me into our bedroom and showed me how much those
words meant to him.

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twenty-three
. . .

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 Emmet

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kip

THE SECOND THE name flashed on my phone, my heart

dropped to my fucking boots. Gus Fender was an old Army buddy who was
a badass in his day and now was an even bigger badass. I didn’t know a
whole lot about what he did, but I did know he had some high security
clearance, high enough to get me information on Fiona’s husband in
Australia with barely any information.
Before I called him looking for that information, we hadn’t spoken in
five years. He’d called when he found out about Gabbie and Evelyn,
expressed his condolences, but we weren’t fucking chicks, so we didn’t
‘check in’ over the years. Plus, checking in with a guy who lost his entire
family in one fell swoop wasn’t exactly going to be enlightening through
the years. Chances were, he was probably still doing shit.
And I couldn’t exactly ask Gus a whole bunch of questions since the
fucker’s entire life was redacted.
So yeah, I called when I needed strings pulled, and him calling back
would only mean one thing.
Bad news.
“Guessing you’re not calling to chat,” I said, already walking to my
truck.
“You asked me to pull some strings and get an alert if we had anyone by
the name Emmet Landon entering the borders from Australia,” he said by
way of greeting.
I walked faster.
Fiona was no longer working at the bakery, much to her disdain. We’d
had many arguments about her working these past few weeks. She’d won
them up until a few days ago.
 Then Nora and Tina had joined in the fray.
They were a little harder to fight off than me.
That and she was getting tired. She was also getting sore and
uncomfortable, and even though she was stubborn as all fuck, she knew it
was time for her to take off.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t at the bakery almost every day. But it did
mean she wasn’t there quite so early, and she wasn’t on her feet all fucking
day running around after other people.
She was also doing something I think they called ‘nesting.’ Which I
figured out just meant a bunch of packages arriving at the house and me
putting the various items together. Then she would spend an hour deciding
where to put things only to change her mind ten minutes later.
The nursery was done. In my eyes, at least. There was a crib, a changing
table, a rocking chair by the window. Rugs, clothes neatly put away in the
closet. Never mind that the baby would be sleeping in the bassinet in our
room for the first months of her life anyway. But you couldn’t tell Fiona
that.
Her Green Card had come and made it clear what I’d known for fucking
months—this marriage had nothing to do with a visa and everything to do
with the fact that I couldn’t live without her. That she was my wife in every
single way, and she would be my wife until the day I fucking died. And I
would be fucking dying first.
It was a strange transition because it wasn’t strange. I’d vowed to never
marry again, never care about a woman again, and sure as fuck to never
have a kid again. But it felt… natural. Like this shit was meant to be or
whatever.
Things were pretty fucking great if you asked me.
Sure, there were a fair few wolves scratching at my door, and some
nights, when Fiona was sleeping wrapped up in her fucking pregnancy
pillow, I let them in. Because I had to. Barring that fucking door was what
almost cost me my second chance.
So, I had to let them in.
Not just the wolves but Gabbie and Evelyn.
The way she had smiled at me on our wedding day. The way she hid
behind her hands if movies got too scary.
And the way I didn’t have nearly as many memories as I should’ve
because I was gone so fucking often.
Then the hardest ones. The ones I wanted to bury but had to let in.
The smell of my daughter’s head. The weight of her in my arms. Her
small hands grasping my finger. The feeling of the world tilting, the axis
changing.
Then the severing of that axis, feeling listless, empty, scooped out from
the inside. It was much easier remembering the pain of losing her than the
joy of having her.
But I did it.
For Fiona. For our daughter.
For me.
And for Gabbie and Evelyn, because they deserved that.
I’d be forever fucked-up, but I had healed as much as I ever would
because of my wife. Because of my daughter growing in her belly.
And now I felt ready to be torn back into that hell with his single phone
call.
“He’s in the country?” I clarified, leaping into my truck.
“Yeah, he entered a couple of days ago—”
“Days!” I roared, my heart thundering. “Why in the fuck are you just
telling me now?”
“The alert got lost on my desk. I wasn’t in the office, and a fucking
intern didn’t know the info was urgent. My fucking fault.” He sounded
appropriately guilty. “But really, what are the chances this guy is here for
your wife? It’s been a long time since they were married. I doubt he’s been
holding a grudge for that long.”
I screeched out of the parking lot. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the
heads-up,” I muttered, hanging up.
Gus might’ve been right. It had been a long time since Fiona was
married to that asshole. But he was also an asshole who married Fiona. And
she was special. One of a kind. And she got away from him. That burn was
never going to be salved. Especially with a man like that.
And even if he had let go of that shit, I hadn’t. Sure, I didn’t fly over
there and end his life, as tempting as that had been. But I didn’t let shit lie.
Because I wasn’t that kind of man.
I’d found out a lot of info through both legitimate and illegitimate
means. Emmet Landon had a bunch of shady dealings going on. Yeah, he
was from a wealthy family and had access to money that most people would
only ever dream of, but he was also a stupid fuck. He spent that money
faster than it came in. With trips, houses, failed businesses, gambling. So,
he’d gotten into some shady business dealings. Fraud. Embezzlement. Shit
that could ruin his life.
And if I wasn’t going to kill the fuck, then I sure as shit was going to
ruin his life.
So, I’d called in a bunch of favors. I’d fucked with him in any way I
could.
Because I needed to hurt someone to feel better. I needed blood.
And driving home with a feeling of dread in my stomach, I feared I
would have blood on my hands once more.
It just couldn’t be the blood of my wife and daughter.
Not again.
No way in fuck would I survive that.

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fiona
Of all the unexpected visitors I thought I’d get in my lifetime, my ex-
husband really wasn’t one of them.
He still existed to me, in many ways. In nightmares that were now few
and far between. In memories that no longer haunted me. I’d checked up on
him online every now and then, saw he got remarried to someone young,
beautiful, and shiny. I’d wondered if underneath the makeup and the fake
tan, she wore the same bruises I had. I’d really fucking hoped not.
He’d never had children. I was glad of that, at least. The thought of
inflicting him as a father onto innocent children made me shudder.
I’d been sure I was never going to see him again. Because I’d never put
myself in a situation where I would be at risk of seeing him again. That’s
what the whole sham wedding had been about. Making sure I wasn’t going
to be on the same continent as him ever again.
When I’d let myself think of him, I’d be struck with the fear that he’d
make good on his promise to kill me the last time I saw him, the day I got
the divorce. But time passed. A lot of it. And I figured he was never going
to be motivated enough to search me out across the world purely to kill me.
He wanted to scare me. Lived off that.
He barely existed for me now. I’d never fully forget the scars he’d
forged in my soul, but they didn’t throb like they used to.
So yes, I was fucking shocked to open the door and see him standing
there after a decade.
I was so surprised, in fact, that I didn’t do the smart thing like shut the
door in his face and go grab the gun Kip kept in his bedside table. The gun
we’d bickered about because I didn’t love the idea of being in the house
with a weapon.
 Right now, the idea of being in the house with a weapon seemed pretty
damn comforting. Or it would’ve if I’d gone to get said weapon.
I just stood there, stunned. Like a fucking idiot in a horror movie.
Which gave Emmet the opportunity he needed to push through the door
hard enough for me to tip backward, almost going down before I caught
myself. Apparently, the prenatal yoga I did every few days helped with
something.
I might’ve scrambled out the door to make a run—or wobble—for it if
Emmet hadn’t snatched my upper arm and yanked me back into the house.
My fear response hadn’t spiked yet. I couldn’t quite believe he was
here, in my house. I was having some kind of out-of-body experience.
Which really fucking sucked because I liked to think my fight-or-flight
response was a little more robust.
Only once we got into the kitchen did I regain my wits enough to yank
him off and get as much space from him as I could. I rounded the kitchen
counter, putting the island between us, my back to the french doors that led
to the deck. Emmet surprisingly let me do that, though he stayed between
me and the front door.
My heart thundered in my chest, anxiety and fear curling in my body. I
tried to remember where in the fuck I’d put my phone. Kip had been
lecturing me about always having it close by in case any kind of emergency
happened when I was alone. Which wasn’t often.
I’d fought him on that because there was almost always someone here
with me now that my due date was approaching, and because my
overprotective husband called, texted, and came home multiple times a day
to ‘check on me.’ I felt incredibly foolish in this moment for being so
goddamn stubborn.
But living in that mindset wasn’t going to help me in this situation. Kip
could walk in the door at any minute. He probably would. Someone would.
But I couldn’t rely on that. Strength. I had to portray strength.
 “What are you doing here?” I demanded, tilting my head upward and
looking at him straight on.
He had aged well. Assholes tended to do that. He was still handsome, in
that effortless ‘surfer boy who never grew up’ type of way. Dark messy
hair, tanned skin, smooth and expensive-looking polo. Muscled arms and
manicured nails. But his eyes. They gave him away. They were empty.
Soulless.
Those eyes were focused on my now-large stomach.
“My husband is going to be home any minute,” I told him, trying to
sound casual and not terrified.
But I was.
Fucking terrified.
I was pregnant as fuck, without a weapon, in a house alone with the
man who had punched me in the face the last time we were alone together.
I was not the same woman I was then, but I was also smart enough to
understand I was at a serious disadvantage.
“Your husband,” he repeated, smacking his lips. He was speaking
quietly, standing still. Too fucking still.
I knew this energy. My body had learned to be afraid of this energy, to
know that pain was coming soon after.
Emmet glanced around the kitchen, his eyes falling on the framed photo
from our wedding day that Nora had sent me and I’d had printed a few
weeks ago. It was us, kissing. My dress was a burst of red, Kip’s hands
were clutching my body, and it seemed laughable to think that we were ever
going to be able to keep our hands off each other.
Emmet’s icy gaze returned to me, and my stomach clenched.
“Your husband is the reason I lost my business, my wife, and was
almost put in fucking prison,” he spat, fury leeching into his tone.
I blinked in surprise. Had Kip done that? I couldn’t be sure. But I knew
the look on his face when he’d found out about my past. I wouldn’t have
been surprised if he’d flown across the world to kill Emmet.
He didn’t do that.
Luckily.
I didn’t want Kip to do that for me.
This kind of thing didn’t seem to measure up with what Kip would do. I
didn’t know if he even had the kind of connections to make something like
this happen. But I couldn’t rule it out either. Kip was full of surprises.
I pulled my shoulders back and met Emmet’s eyes with defiance. “I’m
sure you’re the reason you lost your business, your wife, and almost went to
prison,” I shot back, sounding a lot more confident and unafraid than I
really was. “Karma works slow sometimes, but it fucking works.” I tilted
my head, regarding him. “But if it really worked, you’d be flattened by a
bus or something, living your afterlife out as a dung beetle.”
“You mouthy bitch,” he snarled.
Okay, as good as that had felt, I’d momentarily lapsed into old patterns.
Pre-pregnancy Fiona. Who could mouth off to assholes known to be violent
because she could take care of herself.
Pre-pregnancy Fiona was not afraid of a beating.
Because it was just me.
But now it wasn’t just me.
I placed my hand on my stomach.
A mistake.
Emmet’s gaze went there. “That is my baby.” He pointed to my
stomach. “You were meant to give me a baby.”
Panic seized my spine at the ownership in my voice. Not just panic.
Fury. Absolute raw anger to think he could claim possession over my body,
then or now. “I wasn’t meant to give you anything, asshole,” I spat. “I have
never and will never belong to you.”
He moved quicker than I’d expected him to.
 I figured he’d move eventually—obviously he wasn’t here for a cup of
tea and some biscuits to catch up on old times. His motives were
malevolent. But I’d been planning on stalling him, hoping Kip might burst
through the door. Or Calliope. Either of them would wipe the floor with my
asshole ex.
Not a very solid plan, but my options were limited. I didn’t have any
weapons within reach, he was standing between me and the front door, and
I still had no idea where my fucking phone was. I was little more than
defenseless, but I didn’t want to act like it. Fake it till you make it and all
that.
I moved, too, but slower than I regularly would. So, he managed to grab
a hold of my hair and attempt to slam my face into the countertop.
This time, I didn’t have a delayed reaction. My survival instinct finally
kicked in, and I let the rage at this asshole flow through my veins.
I threw my weight backward so I missed the countertop and slammed
into his body. I whirled, wincing at the pain in my side from the rapid
movement, and didn’t hesitate to slam my knee right into his balls, satisfied
with his groan of pain and the way he crumpled to the floor.
There was a hiss and another groan of pain from Emmet, and I looked to
find Boo on the ground, swiping at him with her paws until he sent her
flying with one arm gesture.
I cried out in worry for my pet, but I didn’t have time to go save her, not
with Emmet already getting his bearings.
I darted out the doors onto the deck, breathing heavily, the sharp pain in
my side making every inhale agony.
Running out the back door was not my first choice. But to get out the
front door, I’d have to go past Emmet and risk him grabbing me. I’d kicked
him in the balls, but I unfortunately hadn’t cut them off. He would recover
quickly. Not quick enough for me to run down my long drive to my closest
neighbor. I couldn’t remember where I put my car keys either.
 But running out the back, down the stairs, and onto the beach would
actually get me to help quicker, with my closest neighbor having beach
access too. The stairs to their place was maybe a five-minute walk.
I really hoped they were home. And armed.
Except I’d misjudged some shit. Like how long it took for my pregnant
ass to rush down the stairs. And run. In bare feet. In the sand.
I was not in good shape. My lungs were squished up with all my other
organs, and it was almost impossible to catch my breath.
No one was on the beach today.
Just my fucking luck.
It was still warm, but it had been windy as fuck all day. Not great
swimming weather, the waves wild and dangerous. Granted, not that many
people swam in this area anyway. This corner of the beach was mostly
frequented by the people who actually lived in the cottages that dotted the
coastline.
I’d also misjudged how long it would take for Emmet to recover from a
kick to the balls and how quickly he’d be able to run down the stairs and
catch up with me.
My body seized when he grabbed a hold of me, yanking me backward
viciously so my head hurtled against his shoulder, and I tasted blood as my
teeth sank into my tongue.
“No fucking way you’re getting away from me now, Fi darling,” he
drawled in my ear while I struggled. “I’ve been waiting for fucking years to
finish you.”
His hand went to the swell of my stomach, and I gagged at him touching
me there, touching my fucking baby. Fire singed my throat with the need to
protect her by any means necessary, but fear clutched my heart as my
struggles were nothing against the man used to hurting women.
“It’s even better now that I can ruin you,” he whispered. “Take it all
from you. From the man who thought he could best me. Maybe I’ll take
everything.”
He fisted the dress I was wearing, bunching it up to expose my legs, my
thighs, and then my underwear.
I tasted bile and struggled harder, screaming like a banshee on the off
chance someone was nearby. But the wind was still whistling, the waves
were crashing against the rocks of the cove, and my scream got sucked
away by the ocean.
Still, I battled like crazy, scratching, kicking, snapping my teeth as I
tried to bite him.
His hands entered my underwear just as I got the right angle to bend my
head to where his other arm was bracing against my upper chest. I didn’t
hesitate to sink my teeth into the flesh of his arm, tasting the coppery tang
of blood. I didn’t let go, ripping at his bitter and rubbery flesh with vigor. I
would devour him piece by piece if that’s what it took.
“Fucking bitch!” he snarled, yanking his arm away, blood flying
everywhere as he did so. I spat out the meat from him that remained in my
mouth, satisfied by his scream of pain.
He pushed me forward brutally, and I stumbled, trying to catch myself
but landing painfully on my knees and wrists half in the surf, where the
sand wasn’t soft and pliable but more like concrete.
Pain splintered against my wrists and kneecaps, and my stomach seized.
I didn’t know if that was in fear or if it meant the baby was in distress. I had
to believe she was stronger than that. She could handle a few knocks and
bumps. She would survive.
I crawled forward, unable to get on my legs. The waves crashed into my
face, and I coughed as I inhaled seawater.
Why I was going into the ocean, farther away from civilization and
help, made no sense. But I was looking for the solace of salt water. The
protection it offered.
 Except when you had a violent ex-husband obviously hell-bent on
killing you, the ocean only offered death.
He crashed through the waves and took hold of me, shaking me like a
rag doll, shoving me farther into the water.
First, the waves washed against me, and I managed to gulp in desperate
snatches of air before my face plunged back into the water. Emmet was
struggling to keep me down at first, because of the waves, because of the
way I was fighting and flailing. But he found his footing. He was stronger,
had a firmer hold on me, enough water to keep me in. There was no respite
of salty air in my lungs. No, there was burning, there was trying to hold my
breath and fight at the same time.
I was a strong swimmer. I’d grown up on the beach, diving down,
testing my limits, holding my breath for as long as I could just to see what
would happen. And then, in my darker days, when I was still bleeding,
bruised, and empty, I’d go into the large swimming pool in our mansion and
stay underwater for as long as I could. For longer than I could. I’d relish the
burn, the black spots in my eyes, the way my lungs were about to explode.
I’d taste the proximity of death, tease myself with it before my body forced
me upward. Unless I wanted to dive into the deep end with weights attached
to my ankles, I wouldn’t meet death because I had a survival instinct. Even
when my mind was tempted to give up, my body wouldn’t let me.
With that kind of practice, I managed to hold my breath for a long time.
What felt like fucking years. But eventually my body gave up, even as my
mind screamed to fight. To live.
Salt water entered my lungs as a hand pressed into the back of my head,
holding me down. I ached to cough, to expel the water and to welcome in
air, but the more my body convulsed, the more water that entered. It felt like
my chest was going to explode. My head throbbed, and my eyes burned like
a thousand sons of bitches.
 Whoever said drowning was a peaceful way to die was a lying sack of
shit.
And no way was I going to die.
No way was Emmet going to kill me.
And no fucking way was he going to kill my baby.
I reached up and sank my nails into the hands holding me, scoring
through skin and flesh. There was a muffled curse of pain. He didn’t
entirely let me go, but his grip loosened.
Enough for me to pull myself away from him, stand up. Not enough
time for me to run against the waves. I coughed and spluttered, greedily
sucking in as much air as I could but unable to get enough to fill my lungs.
My limbs felt weak, deprived of oxygen, my head swam, and the world
tilted. But I persisted, pushing against the waves, holding my stomach.
The baby kicked, as if urging me on, reminding me that she was doing
her part and I needed to do mine.
Emmet grabbed a hold of me. But he didn’t push me back down into the
water. He tried to hold me flush against his body. I didn’t hesitate to slam
my head back, making contact with his nose and hearing a satisfying
crunch. Black spots danced in my vision as pain erupted in my skull from
the impact.
I wrenched myself from his arms again. Now I had enough time to try to
run against the waves. Probably not enough. At best, I’d broken his nose.
But he was still stronger and fitter than me. He wasn’t recovering from
almost drowning with a watermelon strapped to his stomach. He’d catch me
again.
But I’d fight. And I’d figure out how to win.
The baby kicked again as if to say, “Fuck yeah, Mom!”
Sure, not many babies would be cursing from the womb, but if anyone
was going to, it would be my daughter.
I’d make her proud.
 As I ran, I braced for yet another impact, my body tense, still coughing.
Something flashed in my periphery, and there was a loud grunt, then a
splash. There was no impact. No more hands on me. I did not fall in the
water.
I turned around to see two bodies in the waves, writhing.
Someone had come to my aid.
Someone with blond hair wearing jeans and boots.
My husband.
Everything happened in slow motion but somehow still too quick for me
to comprehend.
Kip was no longer struggling with Emmet. He had a hold of him,
yanking him upward so they were both standing, and then there was a
crack. One that seemed louder than the waves but certainly couldn’t be. I
figured my brain manufactured the intensity of the sound, filled in the gaps.
Because my eyes saw Kip grab Emmet’s head and chin and wrench them
violently. I saw his neck move in an unnatural way and then his body go
limp.
Yeah, I must’ve imagined the crack.
Or maybe it had been that loud.
I had never seen someone’s neck broken in real life before. Maybe it
was loud as fuck.
A strange thing to focus on. I was probably in shock.
That explained why I just stood there, waves crashing against my waist,
as Kip discarded Emmet's body and came sprinting through the water
toward me.
His eyes were frantic. His jaw was hard, expression foreign. Cold. This
was Kip from his past. The one he didn’t talk about. The Kip who’d ended
lives on command, who was there lurking, waiting to be let out.
In one slow blink, my Kip was back.
He was holding my neck, and his mouth was moving.
 “Fiona?” he said urgently. I had a feeling it wasn’t the first time he
spoke, but it was the first time my brain let me comprehend it. There was
still a low ringing in my ears, and I was still coughing up salt water. My
lungs still burned. Kip gripped my neck hard. His other hand was on my
belly.
“Baby, are you okay?” he asked. Pleaded.
“I’m okay,” I croaked. But my voice was lost to the waves.
Kip gathered me into his arms. It was impressive. I was really heavy
now, and walking against the water and then in the sand while we were both
wet was no easy feat. But he did it.
I looked at Emmet’s body floating motionlessly in the water. The waves
were pushing it up to the beach like forgotten trash.
I felt nothing.
Again, that was probably the shock.
Kip didn’t stop once we made it to the beach. No, he walked us back
toward the house. Then up the stairs.
“I’m too heavy,” I protested, but my throat was still raw, and I was still
coughing, so I didn’t sound as authoritative as I wanted to.
Though I guessed even if I did sound authoritative, Kip still would’ve
ignored me. He was still in ‘save my wife’ mode, and he wasn’t about to let
me do something as simple as walk with my own two feet. Then again, I
wasn’t quite sure my feet would hold me at this point.
He moved quickly, his strides long and purposeful, eyes flickering down
to me every handful of seconds as I tried to regain even breathing.
“You’re okay,” he murmured every few seconds. “I love you.”
“I love you,” I rasped as he ascended the stairs up to the cottage.
I’d heard those stories about mothers getting an adrenaline rush when
their kids were pinned under a car or something, and then Mum suddenly
got strong enough to lift the car. Maybe that’s what this was.
 Kip was plenty strong already, but I wasn’t sure he could’ve carried me
nine months pregnant up some pretty steep stairs after killing a man if there
weren’t some kind of chemical magic going through his veins.
He wasn’t even breathing heavily when we made it back to the deck.
The doors were still open, and I could see where a barstool must’ve fallen at
some point. My house felt odd now, changed somehow.
I made a mental note not to let him haunt this place. I’d hire an exorcist,
burn sage, do whatever the fuck I needed to do to keep this place mine.
Kip laid me gently on the outdoor furniture, kneeling between my legs.
“Fiona,” he whispered, eyes burning with worry. With absolute terror.
Then I realized what he’d seen. He’d seen someone drowning his
pregnant wife.
It started hitting me that that’s what I had been through. My ex-husband
turned up here to kill me. I’d almost died. We’d almost died.
I started trembling.
Kip’s hand was on my stomach, the other on my chest, as if he had to
remind himself that my heart was beating.
I covered his hand with mine. “I’m okay,” I told him.
The baby kicked his hand. He jerked, obviously feeling it. “She’s okay
too.”
His brows pinched. “We’re going to the hospital.”
“Of course, we are,” I replied, my breathing finally returning to normal
but my mouth still tasting of seawater and death.
Kip gaped at me in shock. “You’re not arguing.”
“Dude, my ex almost drowned me,” I said. “And I’m nine months
pregnant. I’m stubborn but not that stubborn.”
He glowered and gripped me harder. “That is the first and last time
we’re gonna be joking about you almost being taken from this world.”
I felt immediately guilty. Kip was strong. Exceptionally so. Strong
enough to race through the ocean and literally end the life of a man who had
been trying to kill me. He was strong enough to scoop me into his arms,
carry me soaking wet across a beach and up some serious stairs, but that
was a different kind of strength. He was fraying at the seams, being tugged
at by a different reality. One he’d already lived.
I sat myself up, and Kip rushed to help me so I could press my forehead
against his.
“It’s a lot harder than that to get rid of me, I promise,” I told him. “I’m
not going anywhere, buddy. I’ve got a whole life to live.” I placed my hand
on top of his on my stomach. “We’ve got a life to live.”
“This is my fault,” he said, tone clipped, haunted and full of guilt. A
similar kind of guilt that coated his words when he talked about his wife
and daughter.
“This is not your fault,” I said firmly, my voice still scratchy.
He ran his hand through his hair as if he wanted to tear it out. “It is,” he
argued. “When I found out what he did to you, I wanted to kill him. But I
couldn’t leave you. Wouldn’t leave you. I also couldn’t let him live a life of
fucking comfort knowing what he’d taken from you.” Fury leeched from
his words, as though Emmet were still here, as though Kip hadn’t just killed
him.
He had killed him, hadn’t he? He’d snapped his neck. I’d heard it.
“I fucked with his business,” Kip continued. “Ruined his life, because I
am still that fucking man. I’m still that fucking man that needs blood, needs
to destroy. And I almost destroyed my whole fucking world.”
“Hey,” I said softly, grabbing onto him. “No. You didn’t almost do
anything. I’m here. She’s here. Emmet isn’t. And I know it’s not something
a good person would say, but I’m glad he isn’t. I’m glad you ruined his life.
That he took his last breath knowing he lost. Knowing I was still here. I was
yours.” I took his hand and placed it on my belly. “We are yours.”
His eyes searched mine as if looking for an anchor. I tried my best to
give it to him. He’d saved me out in the ocean. Now I had to save him from
himself. His past.
There was a motion beside us, and I blinked at the black shape making
its way toward us.
“Boo!” I cried, moving just enough so the cat could crawl between us,
breaking the moment in that careless way only cats could.
She let me stroke her fur as I inspected her for any kind of damage. She
looked fine.
“She scratched him,” I explained to Kip, laying a kiss on her fur. “She
tried to protect me.”
“A dog would’ve done a better job,” he grumbled but ruffled Boo’s fur
affectionately.
I kissed her nose.
She stared at me, then Kip, and turned around, presenting us with her
ass before she strutted to the end of the sofa, settling herself beside my feet.
I giggled. First small, then larger. Sure, there was probably an edge of
hysteria to the laughter, but most of it was real.
Kip regarded me with concern for a beat before the corner of his mouth
twitched. I doubted he was able to muster up anything close to a smile
because he was still deep in badass worry mode, but I was teasing my
carefree husband back toward the light.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s just, you know, we’re trying to have a poignant and intense
moment, and then the cat interrupts and ends it with shoving her ass in our
faces before walking off,” I said as I giggled.
Kip tilted his head, still staring at me intensely, still not smiling. He
brushed a sodden strand of my hair from my face.
“I love you very much,” he said quietly.
The words boomed inside my head, and I stopped laughing.
I squeezed his hand.
“I know,” I murmured.
 The waves crashing was the only sound for a handful of seconds as we
had yet another poignant moment.
Then Kip jerked, as if he were lurching out of some kind of trance.
“Now can I take you to the motherfucking hospital?”
I grinned again. “Sure, you can. Only if you don’t carry me.”
“No fucking way,” he replied, lifting me into his arms.
“Kip,” I snapped. “I am now able to walk. I’m not an invalid just
because I’m pregnant and was almost drowned.”
He did not dignify my statement with a response, just kept walking
through the house.
Suffice it to say we bickered the whole way to the hospital.
Where, of course, we found out our daughter was completely fine.
I’d known that already.
Because, for the first time in a long time, I had hope.
I had faith.

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epilogue
. . .

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 Happily Ever After

A WHOLE BUNCH of shit went down after my current husband

killed my ex-husband.
As one might expect.
First was the hospital, where Kip demanded I have every kind of test
under the sun. Then I’d argued with that. He’d gotten mad. I’d yelled.
Then there was Nora, Rowan, Tiffany, Calliope, and Tina rushing in
once they got the news. It was kind of embarrassing that my friends had to
drop everything for the second time and run to the hospital on my account.
So dramatic.
After we’d gotten the all clear, there had been the business of Kip
killing a man. It was technically self-defense. That’s what Finn, our sheriff,
said. Sure, there was a bunch of paperwork to go with it, but Kip wasn’t in
trouble.
I wasn’t quite sure if it was technically self-defense, because Kip didn’t
need to kill him. I hadn’t been the most reliable witness, but I did remember
Kip having the upper hand from the start. He could’ve easily knocked
Emmet out or whatever it was that soldiers were trained to do to subdue a
threat without eliminating it.
Of course, I hadn’t told the cops that.
 Emmet had tried to kill Kip’s pregnant wife. No way was Kip going to
let him live.
I didn’t lose sleep over that.
Not a wink.
I lost sleep over my hip pain, heartburn, leg cramps, my overall
discomfort. But not seeing Kip kill my ex-husband.
It might hit me later. That’s what Kip thought, at least. And Nora. And
the rest of my friends.
Well, not Calliope. She’d believed me when I said I was fine.
It didn’t feel like it was going to hit me later. It was fucking dark, but I
was happy Emmet was dead. He was a bad person who’d made my life a
living hell. I didn’t know if he deserved to die in the grand scheme of
things, but I was glad he was dead.
I didn’t think that made me a bad person. It just made me human.

My mother arrived in Jupiter like a fucking whirlwind. She came into the
house, kissing me and Kip full on the lips. She’d smelled of patchouli and
lavender. Her hair was still blonde, with small streaks of silver. She kept it
long and wild. Her face was wrinkled, showing the hard life she’d lived
before all this new-age shit. The years were not kind. But somehow, she
still looked beautiful.
She radiated it. Beauty. And I hated to admit that shit. But it was true.
It only took a couple of days of her in the house, burning sage, making
soups, brewing teas, and arranging crystals to see how utterly changed she
was. How hard she was trying. How much she’d loved me. How much
she’d maybe always loved me. But she’d fought her way out of all of her
bullshit so her love shined through.
 She and Deidre got on like a house on fire, of course. They were utterly
different in many ways but the same in one important way. They were both
mothers who loved their children.
And adored their coming granddaughter.
Who was in no rush, it seemed.
I was a week overdue, and Kip was out on the deck grilling. My mother
was out on the beach, doing some kind of energy ritual I didn’t understand.
She hadn’t seemed distressed upon hearing that Kip had killed Emmet. In
fact, I would have almost called my now-vegan mother gleeful at the news.
She hadn’t been at all gleeful about the trauma I had to endure in order to
get to the killing part. But Emmet being dead was a… comfort to her.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t out on that beach clearing away his energy
any chance she got.
“The last thing you need is a vengeful spirit, darling,” she told me
before heading out there.
I let my mother do her thing because there wasn’t much choice
otherwise. She was a force of nature in her own right. Mostly because that’s
who she was now but also because she was working hard at making up,
earning forgiveness.
It felt nice to have a mother here, nurturing me in her own way. It didn’t
repair or erase the past, but I was done living there anyway.
Deidre was in the kitchen with me, making salad to go with dinner. I
was sitting on the counter, sipping on raspberry leaf tea that was meant to
induce labor. But then so was bouncing on that fucking ball, having sex,
spicy food, and brisk walks. None of it was working.
It was more than a little frustrating. I was trusting her to come when she
was ready, but I thought my womb was meant to be inhospitable. She
seemed pretty fucking cozy in there.
“How are you feeling, darling?” Deidre asked after we’d been quiet for
a while. Though she talked a million miles a minute, my mother-in-law also
had the talent for knowing when to let me think and sit in comfortable
silence.
I still hadn’t met my father-in-law. I wondered if I ever would. If Kip
would ever attempt to repair that break. But then sometimes you couldn’t.
Sure, it was nice to have a newfound relationship with my previously
estranged mother, but it didn’t always work that way. People didn’t always
change. Some people just stayed assholes.
I’d met his sister once. She’d come for lunch one day with Deidre. She
was nice but slightly cold. Buttoned-up, proper, and would cringe in
embarrassment if her mother laughed too loud or joked with the waitress.
It made sense to me why Kip had gravitated toward Rowan and his
siblings more. But I felt sad for Deidre, to live in a stifling environment like
I guessed she might. Not that she seemed stifled.
“I’ve been scared,” I admitted to her after pondering her question. Sure,
I could’ve just said I was fat, tired, and ready to get this baby out, but she’d
asked the question because she wanted an answer. A real one. “This entire
time. Scared I was going to lose her.” I put one hand on my stomach, where
she kicked in response.
Deidre gave me a soft look, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Of
course, you have, honey. You don’t stop worrying about them,” she said.
“Not once they’re born.” She looked out to the deck. “Not even thirty-five
years after that.”
I smiled out toward my husband, who caught my eye immediately. “Is it
time?” he asked for the third time that day.
I smiled, shaking my head. “Not yet, babe,” I replied.
He pursed his lips. “Keep me updated,” he called.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need to keep you updated when you’re all but
superglued to my side. Don’t worry, you’ll notice when a puddle of water
hits the ground beside you,” I called back.
 He shook his head but didn’t reply, just turned his attention back to the
grill.
“Overprotective American macho men,” I muttered to myself, shaking
my own head.
“I don’t worry so much now,” Deidre said.
I looked up at her and her glistening gaze.
“Now that he’s got you, I sleep much better,” she said quietly. “I
worried, after he lost the girls, that he’d lost his light, his potential for a
second chance. But here you are.” Her eyes went to my stomach. “Here you
both are.”
“Here we both are,” I agreed.

I went into labor without fanfare.

Which was fine with me. There had been plenty of fanfare since the
fucking wedding.
We needed a little bit of calm.
And who would’ve thought the offspring of Kip and me would be calm?
But it turned out our daughter was, if her birth was anything to go by.
My water broke, not in a big Hollywood moment but in the bathroom at
home. I’d wiped it up with some old towels and had a long shower before
telling Kip.
He’d been mad at me for not telling him immediately. I reminded him
that we had a bunch of time between water breaking and the baby shooting
out. Though that was technically true, Kip still wasn’t thrilled with me. But
he couldn’t hold a grudge on account of me being in labor.
Unlike Rowan, Kip did not lose his shit and demand we go to the
hospital. He’d trained for this. He’d read all the baby books, dragged me to
all the fucking childbirth classes. He’d done everything but get himself a
doula certification. Therefore, he made me tea while my mother lit incense
and rubbed my stomach, and then he’d given my mother some bullshit
errand so she’d stop waving the incense in my face.
We’d timed my contractions, which hurt like a bitch, and then we’d
gone to the hospital when it was time.
It was all very civilized.
I hadn’t been panicked. This was what I’d been waiting for, after all.
This was the thing I never thought I’d be able to do. This was what I’d
given up on.
But once I was in the gown, in the hospital bed, perched up, legs spread,
and with doctors telling me to push, I kind of freaked out. Just a little.
I mean, I was about to push a fucking watermelon out of my vag. I was
entitled to a little freak-out.
I turned to Kip, who was at my side, calm as could be.
“Are we ready for this?” I asked, breathless, trying to figure out a way
to stall the whole process.
Kip’s eyes twinkled. “Fuck yeah we are, baby.” He kissed me hard on
the lips. “You can do this. We can do this.”
I looked at him. Trusted him. Loved him.
“Okay,” I said. I looked back down to my doctor. “Let’s have this
fucking baby.”
And it hurt like a bitch. Right up until the moment they laid our
daughter on my chest.
Then I forgot what pain felt like.
Then I realized I’d gotten it, against all odds.
My happily ever after.

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 dorito casserole

If you’ve read Recipe for Love, you’ve already seen a few recipes I love. It
made sense to include them, since Nora was a baker. Though Fiona is
definitely not a baker or a cook of any kind, I wanted to include this recipe
because it’s one I discovered and have made repeatedly now I can actually
stomach food.
I even add vegetables to make it kind of healthy. You can add/omit
whatever veggies you like. Once they’re grated up in there, you can’t even
taste them! I don’t actually use Doritos either, I use *slighty* better for you
corn chips, but any chips will work.

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ingredients

1 family size bag of Doritos (I use Late July brand Nacho Cheese
flavor)
1 pound ground beef
1 onion, diced
1 carrot, grated
1 zucchini, grated
handful of mushrooms, chopped (optional if you don’t like them)
1 clove of garlic, minced
1 package taco seasoning
1 cup of salsa
1 cup of sour cream
1 can of cream of mushroom soup (or chicken)
2 cups of shredded cheese

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method
Preheat the oven to 350 F.
Cook onion, garlic mushrooms and veggies for about five minutes then
add the ground beef. Cook until no pink remains and drain fat.
Add salsa, taco seasoning and 1/3 cup of water. Cook for about five
minutes or until it’s thickened. Remove from heat and put into a large bowl.
Combine the beef mixture, sour cream, soup and 1 cup of cheese.
Break up your corn chips a little and make a layer at the bottom of a
casserole dish.
Put 1/2 of the beef mixture on top of crushed chips. Add more chips and
then the rest of the beef. Top with crushed chips and cheese.
Bake for 30 minutes, covered, then remove foil and bake for another 20
minutes or so.
Enjoy!

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 acknowledgments

If you didn’t know it at the start, you might know now, this was a deeply
personal book for me.
Not just because my heroine hails from the Southern Hemisphere, she
falls in love with a veteran and finds herself living in the USA.
If you know me even a little, you might know that my own story looks a
lot like that.
Except I didn’t move to the USA running from a man. I moved to the
USA running toward a man. My husband. The man I fell for on a cruise in
the Caribbean.
But that’s a story for another day.
The main thing is, Fiona’s story mirrors my own in some ways.
Obviously not the whole fake marriage and visa fraud thing.
But her journey to become a mother.
I started writing this book before I found out I was pregnant for the fifth
time. Yep, fifth.
Four times before, I felt hope, joy and love.
Four times before, I felt loss, despair and pain.
It’s a deeply personal and isolating thing to lose a baby. To lose a whole
future. To lose a piece of yourself.
And though pregnancy after loss is wonderful in many ways, it’s deeply
terrifying.
During my first trimester, I was horribly sick and couldn’t get off the
couch for three months. For three months I was overcome with worry, fear
and certainty that I would lose this baby.
 For three months, I channeled a lot of my fears (and my hopes) into this
story.
Fiona and Kip were my escape. They were my form of therapy. They
embody so much of not just who I am, but who my husband has been
throughout this pregnancy too.
Well, obviously not the first part. My husband has been here since the
very first positive test. He was by my side through the first loss. All the way
though to the forth.
And he will be by my side in the delivery room when we welcome our
little girl into the world.
This story means so much to me in so many ways. It was incredibly
difficult to write but also such a joy. I truly hoped you enjoyed reading it.
Taylor. My husband. The man I model every single one of my heroes
after. The man who doesn’t hesitate to make me brownies when I declare
they’re the only thing I can stomach. The man who has wiped my tears,
calmed my panic and weathered so many storms with my already. The man
who deserves this rainbow so very much.
My biggest cheerleader. My best friend. My soul mate. I’m endlessly
glad fate brought me to you.
Mum. You have been here for me through so much. Even when I was
across the world, going through the hardest experiences of my life, you
were there. So much of who I am is because of your strength, your
unwavering belief in me and the fact that yes, you spoiled me just a little.
Dad. You’re not here to read this but so much of who I am is thanks to
you. My expensive taste comes from you. My stubbornness. You taught me
to do everything a man could do and to do it better. I love you. Not a day
goes by that I don’t miss you. I know you’re taking care of your angel
grandbabies and spoiling them rotten.
Jessica Gadziala. Thank you for always being my safe space. For
letting me vent, giving me advice, being such a wonderful friend. And a
supremely talented author.
Amo Jones. My ride or die. I love you endlessly. We are soul sisters.
Cat Imb. Your light is so bright, your heart is so big and your talent is
endless. Thank you for creating covers that make me want to write a book
worthy of them. Thank you for being my friend. I adore you.
Annette. You handle my crazy always. You have been here for me
every step of the way. Thank you for being my friend.
Ginny. Thank you so much for always being there. For loving my
characters as much as I do. For telling me what I need to hear. You are the
best.
My girls. Harriet, Polly & Emma. You’re half a world away but
distance means nothing. You’ve all gotten me through some of the hardest
times of my life and I’m so so lucky to have you as friends, as sisters.
And last but not least, you, the reader. Without you, dear reader, I
would not be here. I would not be creating stories as a job. Thank you for
making my dreams come true.

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 about the author

ANNE MALCOM has been an avid reader since before she can remember, her mother responsible
for her love of reading. It started with magical journeys into the world of Hogwarts and Middle
Earth, then as she grew up her reading tastes grew with her. Her love of reading doesn’t discriminate,
she reads across many genres. She can’t get enough romance, especially when some possessive alpha
males throw their weight around.
One day, in a reading slump, Cade and Gwen’s story came to her and started taking up space in
her head until she put their story into words. Now that she has started, it doesn’t look like she’s going
to stop anytime soon, with many more characters demanding their story be told as well.
Raised in small town New Zealand, Anne had a truly special childhood, growing up in one of the
most beautiful countries in the world. She has backpacked across Europe, ridden camels in the
Sahara and eaten her way through Italy, loving every moment.
Now, she’s living her own happy ever after in the USA with her brilliant husband and their two
dogs.

Want to get in touch with Anne? She loves to hear from her readers.
You can email her: annemalcomauthor@hotmail.com
Or join her reader group on Facebook.

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also by anne malcom
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the sons of templar
Making the Cut
Firestorm
Outside the Lines
Out of the Ashes
Beyond the Horizon
Dauntless
Battles of the Broken
Hollow Hearts
Deadline to Damnation
Scars of Yesterday
Three Kinds of Trouble

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the sons of templar - new mexico
Wretched Love
Wilting Violets
Wrathful Souls

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unquiet mind
Echoes of Silence
Skeletons of Us
Broken Shelves
Mistake’s Melody
Censored Soul

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greenstone security
Still Waters
Shield
The Problem With Peace
Chaos Remains
Resonance of Stars

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the vein chronicles
Fatal Harmony
Deathless
Faults in Fate
Eternity’s Awakening
Buried Destiny

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retired sinners
Splinters of You

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the klutch duet
Lies That Sinners Tell
Truths That Saints Believe

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standalones
Birds of Paradise
Doyenne
Midnight Sommelier
Hush - co-written
What Grows Dies Here
A Thousand Cuts

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