Aced

“I NEED YOUR HELP, SHANE,” I say, sounding desperate and not caring a single bit that I do.

“Rylee.” He chuckles, sounding so much like a grown man rather than the awkward teenager that once came to me alone and traumatized. The irony I’m now turning to him for help is not lost on me. “Colton said you were going to call and try to bribe me to help you escape your house.”

Damn it! He’s thought of everything to keep me stuck at home where the walls of this house feel like they are closing in on me more and more every day. Sure paparazzi have died down but they are still present, still perpetuating the sensationalism. They might not all be sitting outside, but the covers of the rags still show the grainy image of me in the garage. However, now it’s next to one of me leaving the hospital in a wheelchair two days ago with titles that are equivalent to the conversation Colton and I had on our first date: Chupacabras and three-headed aliens.

“I’m not trying to bribe you to escape. I’ll sit here, not be stubborn, and listen to doctor’s orders so long as I know Zander’s okay,” I confess. “I’ve talked to him and he seems fine, and Colton and Jax are telling me he’s fine, but Shane, he’ll talk to you.” The last words are emphasized so he understands I’m referring to the brotherly bond they’ve formed over the years. The connection between two battered souls that have healed together, shared experiences no one should ever have to, and came through it on the other side, is something that has allowed them to be the odd couple of closeness in The House.

And I’m hoping I can call on that bond right now to help find out how he’s doing.

“On one condition,” he says, throwing me for a loop.

“Mm-hmm?” I respond, curious if Colton has anything to do with this one condition.

“That you let me handle this. I don’t want you stressed out and back in the hospital. I’ll tell you everything I find out as long as I know you’re going to put you and the baby first.” I hear his words, and as much as I’m irritated with the ultimatum, pride overrides it and allows me to listen to what he’s saying. To the concern in his voice, the compassion in his words, the remarkable man he’s become.

It tells me I’ve done my job. And I hold tight to that idea since right now I can’t continue to care for them. I have to trust in the time I’ve invested thus far with both of these boys and that their bond will remain steadfast when one needs the other the most.

“Can I trust you to do that, Rylee?” he asks, breaking through the emotion clouding my mind and clogging my throat.

“Yes,” I say, feeling like a scolded child and yet it’s hard to feel anything but love for him.

“He’s struggling. He’s scared and worried. We’re the only good he knows. He fears going back to that constant life of not knowing what’s next . . . and I can understand that,” he murmurs, no doubt lost in his own memories.

He tells me exactly what I assumed but what no one else would confirm.

“Thank you for telling me.” My mind races, wanting to rush over and see Zander face to face to reassure him, and wanting to beg Teddy to get back to me even though I know he’s waiting on the caseworker to get back to him.

“I’m coming home next week for a few days. I’m going to stay at The House, already talked to Jax about it, and hang with Zand to make sure he’s okay.”

“Thank you,” I say softly into the phone with my eyes closed and my heart full of love. “That’s a really cool thing for you to do. He’ll like hanging with you.”

“He’s family,” Shane says. In my mind’s eye, I can see that boyish smile on his face and the casual shrug that’s typical of him. All I can do is smile and acknowledge that, yes, I’ve done a good job.

“He’s family.”

It seems so surreal to be folding baby clothes. Yes, my belly is so big I can’t see my toes and a mountain of yellow clothes surrounds me, but with everything going on, it still feels so very far off and just around the corner simultaneously.

“While the idea of you being tied to the bed is rather hot, I’d prefer to do it with you as a willing candidate and not because you won’t listen to the doctor,” Colton says from the doorway. I turn to find a smirk on his face but the warning loud and clear in his eyes.

“Cute. Very cute,” I say drolly.

“Well, you’d be even cuter flat on your back in our bed.” We stand, a visual battle of wills war between us, and when he finally breaks eye contact and looks around, I notice his startled expression. “You put stuff away?”

“I figured it was about time,” I murmur, slightly embarrassed at how long I’ve let my anxiety hold this process up. “It’s safe enough that if he’s born now, she should be okay.”

“Nice change of pronouns there,” he says with a laugh as he walks up to me and wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on the curve of my shoulder.

“I couldn’t let you think I knew BIRT’s sex.”

His laugh rings out, the vibration of it going from his chest into mine as I finish folding some of the receiving blankets I had pre-washed. “BIRT, huh? You’ve come over to my dark side and are calling him that now?”

“I’ve always liked your dark side,” I say, intending one thing but when I feel his hands that have slid over my belly falter in their movement, I realize he took it in a completely different way. We stand there in silence momentarily as I let him shake the ghosts off his back that my comment caused to resurface.

“Did you feel that?” I ask, my hands flying to land on top of his so I can direct them to where the baby has moved beneath his palms.

“It’s so bizarre,” he murmurs. There’s a sense of awe in his voice that tells me the darkness in his thoughts has passed for now. He presses his hands against my belly to try and will the baby to move again.

“BIRT likes his daddy’s voice,” I say softly, absorbing this moment we’ll never get back once he’s born. He presses his lips to the side of my neck and holds them there. It’s almost as if he knows what I’m thinking and feels the same way, so he is trying to suspend time to make the here and now last as well.

“I have something for you. Will you come with me?” he asks.

“Is that something handcuffs and restraints?” I tease.

“Not unless you want them to be.” With a laugh, he takes my hands and leads me down the hallway and into our bedroom.

I give him a look as he pats the bed for me to hop up. “And I fell for it,” I say as he helps me up onto the mattress, my mind already wondering what exactly is going on since Dr. Steele said to hold off on sex for a bit. And as strict as Colton’s been following her rules, he’s either going to force me to rest or plan to exert himself.

I vote for the exertion.

“It’s not what you think, you nympho,” he says as he props pillows behind my back and under my knees before leaning in and brushing a kiss to my lips. And of course, because I can never resist him, I bring my hand up to the back of his neck and hold him there so I can steal one more from him.

“A girl can hope,” I murmur against his lips. When he pulls back, a smile lights up his face and a mischievous glimmer is in his eyes.

“Not until this girl gets clearance from the doctor,” he says. He walks around the edge of the bed and grabs something off his nightstand, holding it behind his back so I can’t see it. And the cutest part about the action is that in the sequence of movements, I’ve watched my confident, demanding husband morph with discomfort so I know whatever is behind his back pushes his comfort zone.

“So I have something for you,” he says and then stops with a shake of his head that’s reminiscent of when one of the boys is embarrassed. It tugs at my heartstrings and gives me an exact picture of what BIRT will look like if he is a boy. He looks down at a crudely wrapped rectangular box in brown paper as he reaches it out to me. I close my hand over his and don’t let go until he looks at me.

“Thank you, but I don’t need anything.”

“I thought it was a good idea at the time . . . but now I feel like it’s lame so you can laugh at me all you—”

“I’m going to love it,” I say with complete conviction, because if this present is making him this unsure then I know he’s the one coloring outside of his already messy lines.

With the weight of his stare, I slowly unwrap the gift to find a picture frame made of thick rustic wood void of a photo in it. I stare at it for a moment because while it is actually quite beautiful, I sense there is a deeper meaning here than just a gift so try to figure out what it is that Colton’s telling me.

“It’s empty,” he states, drawing my eyes up to his while my hands run over the texture of the wood. It’s weathered but refined, rough but smooth, kind of like the two of us. The idea brings a smile to my lips.

“I see that.”

“It’s been a rough couple of weeks for us,” he says as he climbs on the bed beside me. He lies on his side, head propped on his hand as I nod and try to figure how this all fits together. “Kelly is trying to find my dad.” My mind slams on the brakes at that because I’m so confused and lost how we got from a frame to a person Colton has never spoken about before.

“What?” I look at him while he concentrates on his hand on my stomach. My mouth is opening and closing like a guppy because I don’t know what to say or how we got from point A to point B in this conversation. I can tell he’s just as confused as I am so I rein in my need to know and let him find the words to explain everything.

“I’m scared about being a dad,” he says and continues the confession. And it’s not like I don’t get the fear, because I have it too, but I’m starting to connect the dots in the sense that he fears he is going to be like the father he never knew somehow. “And I thought maybe if I knew about my sperm donor then it would ease the fear that I’ll be like him.”

As much as I want to shift to take his face in my hands so he’s forced to look in my eyes, I allow him the space he needs. “You will be nothing like him, Colton. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”

I’ve seen him with the boys at The House. I’ve watched him help them overcome adversity only he could understand. Does he not have any clue how important that is? How that interaction more than just hints at the incredible father I know he will be? I wish he could see the same man I see every single day when he looks in the mirror.

He just nods his head yet doesn’t say anything for a moment. I wish there was something I could say or do to reassure him further when only time will prove the truth in my statement.

“I don’t know,” I say with a shake of my head. “I think it’s a bad idea . . . I don’t see how finding him is going to help you at all.” And I probably should keep my opinions to myself, let him deal with his past how he needs to, but at the same time we’ve had so many things crash into our reality recently, I don’t know how much more we can take. “What are you hoping to achieve if you find him?”

“A clean slate.” He then clears the emotion from his throat. “This frame is empty because I want to start this next chapter of our life with a completely clean slate. Our family deserves this. It’s . . .” His voice fades off. I reach out and link my fingers through his. His words—his thoughtfulness—are so damn overwhelming that I can’t find the words to speak just yet. “Never mind,” he says again.

“No. Please, finish. I’m quiet because I’m touched and stunned you thought of this and did this for us . . . especially after everything that has happened this month.”

“I sound like a fucking chick here but this empty frame is also my promise to you that from today forward I don’t want to just take pictures with you, I want to make memories. Good ones more than bad ones. Funny ones. Memorable ones. Precious ones. They will shift and change over time, each stage of our life together dictating what goes here, but more than anything, this empty frame with be filled with our new normal . . .” His voice trails off. Tears flood my eyes. The depth of emotion in this incredible gift from a man who thinks of himself as unromantic—despite the grand sweeping gestures he shows me time and again—is so very poignant and fitting.

“I love it,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his as I look at him through a kaleidoscope of tears. “It’s absolutely perfect.” I hug the frame, my empty treasure box in a sense, and revel in how much Colton has grown since we’ve met.

I shift so I’m on my left side, facing him, our bodies mirroring one another’s. We stare at each for a few moments, our visual connection so very intense as feelings are exchanged without any words being spoken.

“I don’t have anything to give you,” I finally say.

A shy smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “You’ve given me more than I’ve ever wanted.”

It’s silly that even after all this time I still react viscerally to praise from him, but it’s undeniable. As I draw in a shaky breath, his eyes narrow and my fingers trace over the grooves in the frame lying between us.

“Sometimes I play the ‘I’m game’ with the boys . . . want to play with me?” His grin grows, and I realize the innuendo.

“You know I’d never turn down the chance to play with you,” he says, nodding his head for me to continue. “How do you play?”

“I tell you something that starts with ‘I’m’ and then you go. You don’t get to ask questions though . . . That way you’re forced to listen to what you think the person is saying. It’s an I go, you go, type thing.” I’m shocked that in all our time together, I’ve never explained this to him, but I feel this is an absolutely perfect moment. “I’ll go first. I’m scared too,” I say in a whisper, as if the lower voice will help my confession somehow seem less.

He starts to say something that doesn’t begin with “I’m” and I shush him and bring a finger to his lips. “No reassurances. Sometimes that makes you feel like your fears are invalid. Your turn.”

I watch him struggle finding the words to express whatever it is weighing heavily on his mind. He takes a deep breath, looks over my shoulder for a few moments, and his fingers pluck at the sheet. In the last five years, he’s grown leaps and bounds in not only identifying but in the ability to articulate his emotions. And yet right now I can tell he’s at a loss on how to phrase them.

The silence stretches. My concern over what has him so tongue-tied grows.

“I’m afraid you’ll never forgive me for the video and that I couldn’t fix it.” He won’t look at me.

I close my eyes momentarily, letting the apology in his voice be the balm to the open wounds that video has caused and nod my head to let him know I heard him. Given the number of times he has apologized, I shouldn’t be surprised this was his first confession. At the same time, I appreciate his need to tell me it again.

“I’m worried that when people see us now, all they’ll be able to think of is the video. I can only hope it will die down and go away at some point.” Colton closes his eyes momentarily and gives a subtle nod. His reaction is all I need to know he feels the same way.

“I’m hopeful Eddie will get what he deserves,” Colton says, disgust and spite lacing his tone.

“I’m in agreement,” I say with a laugh, because I didn’t give a confession but I didn’t exactly break the rules either.

“Rule breaker,” he murmurs with a shy smile on his lips.

“Not hardly,” I say. “Your turn.”

“I’m worried you’re going to be so focused on Zander that it’s going to put you back in the hospital again,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows and a glance down to my belly.

“I’m concerned I’m going to let him down and not be able to help him when he needs me the most.” I fight the unease my confession brings, and try to staunch its very real side effects. I worry it will end up doing just what Colton fears, too.

“I’m certain that somehow we’ll make everything right for him,” he says, shaking his head to stop me before I even open my mouth. He knows me so well.

“I’m positive my husband likes this game because it prevents me from saying too much and arguing with him,” I confess matter-of-factly, causing him to bark out a laugh in agreement. The sound of it puts a smile on my lips before the quiet falls back around us as Colton figures out what to say next.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be man enough to give you what you need when you need it most.” He licks his lips and forces a swallow down his throat. His eyes never waver from mine despite the absolute swell of emotion riding its way through them.

Wow. Well I guess he’s bringing out the deep confessions now. I so did not expect that comment from him. It knocks me back a second while I wrap my head around it. Does he mean in all aspects of life or just with the baby coming? I wonder what it is he thinks I need that he’s not giving me.

Doubt is the chisel that causes the fissures to drive a solid relationship apart, and I hate he feels like I have any when it comes to him.

“Colton,” I begin to say, breaking my own rules, because I have to tell him he’s more than man enough in all aspects for me, but he reaches out and puts a finger to my lips.

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Your turn.”

And I just stare, desperately wanting to tell him he’s so very off base to worry about that and yet I don’t. Can’t. I need to allow him to say what he needs to say. I blow out a breath in frustration and discomfort because we may know each other inside and out, yet this is more soul-bearing than anything we have done in such a long time, and as cathartic as it may be, it’s also scary as hell.

“I’m afraid you won’t find me sexy anymore after I have the baby.”

He may not speak, but his head shakes back and forth to tell me I’m crazy. “I’m afraid that every time you look at me, you think you’ve made a mistake in marrying me.”

Is he crazy? His words stab my heart. It’s so unbelievable the world sees Colton as an arrogant, self-assured man. Yet with me—especially right here, right now—he reveals the insecurity all people have but keep close to the vest.

“I’m afraid you are going to pull away when the baby is born,” I say without thinking and realize that my deepest fear has been spoken out loud. The quick hitch in Colton’s breath tells me without him saying a word that he fears the same thing. I panic momentarily, fear lodging in my throat. I know I need to fix this somehow so I keep talking like I was going to finish the sentence, “. . . but need you to know that I can’t do this without you.”

Silence settles between us. Our eyes lock. My heart hopes he really hears what I’m saying. “I’m afraid that I’m going to panic in the delivery room, see things I can’t unsee, or not be able to handle watching you in pain.”

And hearing him say something so many men fear makes me feel better. Like we’re normal in a sense when our relationship and everything surrounding us is far from it.

“I’m afraid of labor.” Who wouldn’t be? The unknown pain and the absolute unexpected followed by the beautiful ending. Colton just raises his eyebrows and nods his head.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be like them,” he says, the term them unmistakable in its meaning: his mother and father. His eyes burn into mine, and it kills me that he has even put himself in the same category as them. Yes, their genes run through him but that doesn’t mean his heart isn’t different.

Blood makes the body, not the man.

“I’m scared I’m going to make too many mistakes as a mother.”

Colton rolls his eyes, prompting me to reach out and wipe his hair off his forehead. He grabs my wrist and brings the palm of my hand to his lips and presses a sweet kiss to the center of it before bringing it down to rest over his heart. “I’m sure I’m going to make way more mistakes as a father but I know that with you by my side, our baby will grow into an incredible human being . . . just like his mother.” He whispers the last words, causing tears to sting my eyes, which is in complete contradiction to the soft smile on my lips from the way he changed his confession to make it a positive.

I should have known he’d find a way to make me feel better about my fears by skating under the radar and breaking the rules without actually breaking them.

“I’m sure BIRT will have your green eyes, your stubborn streak, and your incredible capacity to love,” I say as Colton clears his throat. His fingers tighten over mine on his chest. I know he wants to refute my comment, the one I put out there to try to lessen his fear about him being like his biological parents, but he doesn’t.

And that’s a good sign because hopefully if I say it enough, he’ll eventually start to believe it.

“I’m afraid that everything was going so well for us. But first it was the video . . . and now . . .” he blows out a breath and I try to figure out what’s eating at him, “now . . . the other shoe is going to drop.”

I stare at him, so perfectly imperfect and full of fear just like I am, and yet he walked in here tonight and gave me a gift most husbands would never even think of. Yet he still doubts us, still worries the other shit will affect us when all we need is each other.

All we’ve ever needed is each other.

“I’m certain that even if the other shoe drops, it’ll be off an octopus with a lot of shoes so we’ll be able to handle it, because I married the only man ever meant for me. We can handle anything that comes our way, shoe by dropping shoe.”

Colton just falls onto his back and starts laughing, deep and long. I can tell he needed something humorous to release the stress clawing him apart from the inside out. I find comfort I can use a game I invented for little boys and still affect the grown man in my life.

Then again, boys, men, they’re really no different from the other.

After a moment he rolls back onto his side and scoots up against me so my belly hits his. He cradles my face in his hands. “Octopus shoes?” He laughs again with a lift of his eyebrows and a flash of that irresistible dimple.

“Yep. They’ve got eight feet. Lots of shoes to drop,” I tease, wanting to keep the moment now that our hearts are a bit lighter.

Colton just shakes his head with a soft smile on his lips, love in his eyes, and tenderness in his touch. How in the hell did I get to be so lucky to be the one sharing my life with this contradiction of a man?

“God, I fucking race you, Ryles,” he says, sealing the sentiment with a kiss and stealing my heart once again.

With my eyes closed, our lips touching, and hearts beating as one, I think back to our wedding day, to the vows we made, and the promises we made and have kept. The “You know that’s permanent, right?” and I know there’s nothing I would ever change because he’s here, he’s mine, and no matter what life throws at us, he’ll be here for me. He’s protected me. Put me first. Made me consequential. Made me whole.

With every beautifully scarred, bent piece of him.