They play it right now, and her voice draws me in. “Why did you do it?” the interviewer asks.
She looks square in the camera and says, “I did it for love.” Only we know the true meaning of that simple, chilling statement. Only Lincoln and I. The rest of the world assumes she’s talking about her love for the boss man. The kingpin. She’d do anything for him, they assume. The cartel has hidden her past from record so no one knows she was a mother first. That she loved a man and lost a man. That her biological mother is a serial killer. Aria made sure to fudge all of the connections to Autumn Glass so nothing would ever link us to her again. She was deleted from the world. That’s Rena’s secret. One she’ll take to her grave in the most painful possible existence because she knows someone else is living the life she was too afraid to take.
My heart pounds as her face vanishes from the screen, and Lincoln puts a hand on my shoulder from behind. “She got what was coming to her,” Lincoln’s dad erupts with more passion than I’ve ever seen from him. “What she did was atrocious.” I don’t know if he means what she did to Lincoln and Turner or the drugs, and I guess it doesn’t matter, really. Because both are true statements.
I chose to remember her as Lincoln described her in the early years, and I close my eyes to bleach the image of her in the orange jumpsuit from my mind. It’s not turning a blind eye, it’s giving me something to hold onto. Lincoln pulls me into a hug and I follow him to our room. He asks if I’m okay, and I tell him I am. He kisses me passionately and asks me once again, to be sure. “I’ll always be okay as long as we’re together,” I breathe against his warm kiss.
Sliding his hands down my sides, I open my eyes to meet his. “Ditto,” he whispers.
Epilogue
Lincoln
For the rocky start to our relationship, we sure do manage to have a normal, happy marriage. There are challenges, just like any married couple faces, but we’re not looking over our shoulders to see if we’re being followed. There isn’t obsessive checking of our security system, nor do we worry about Chonk and Turner playing in the front yard, or when we take a hike in the mountains. There is contented bliss in just existing in the same space as each other.
Every night I close my eyes, I thank God for Rena. That might seem strange, but she is the reason my family is as perfect as it is. After a full year of enjoying trying to give Turner a sibling, we found out Maeve couldn’t have children. I remember waiting for an explosion of tears as we sat in the fertility doctor’s office. I was staring at the side of her face as she looked at the doctor while he delivered the grim news. My heart was pounding in my chest, because to me, this felt like it would be another loss for her. She smiled, though a little sadly, and looked at me for my reaction. Maeve took my hand in hers. “That’s okay. I already have the greatest son in the world.” The kicker? She actually meant it. Like she really was okay with it because she loves Turner so much. We got home that night and I was still expecting a breakdown, but she read an extra bedtime story to Turner, and took Chonk for an extra-long walk. When she got home, I was waiting for her at the door.
“Let’s adopt a child from the girl’s home where I was at as a child.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks, because even though logically I knew this was an option, we’d never spoken about adopting because we had been trying too hard to get pregnant the old-fashioned way. I told her I’d love it if that’s what she wanted, and the following weekend we flew as a family to the place she grew up in. It was painful, and she clung to Turner and me during that weekend more than usual, but we both embraced her with open, waiting arms. The actual building was sterile, cold. It smelled of lemon and mold. They guided us to an office, and Maeve visibly cringed when the door closed behind us. So much time had passed that she didn’t recognize any of the employees, or at least she didn’t mention it to me, but as soon as we sat down, and they pushed files in front of us, Maeve said, “The one no one wants. That’s the child for us.”
The headmistress was shocked, looking at us, a well-dressed man and woman, asking for the cast off. “There is one,” she said, pulling the files back in front of her. “A baby. The mother was on drugs and she might have a delay.”
I put my hand on Maeve’s shoulder. She knows it’s her decision, this is her path, and I’m the support column. They brought Birdie swaddled in a ratty blanket. Her face was red from crying and her blonde hair was a wild mess sticking up all over the place. I could tell Maeve was smitten from the word go, but she looked up at the headmistress and asked where the birth mother was. It’s like she knew, somehow, that this had to go down a certain way. The mother was still in the birth ward on the second level of the girl’s home, and I’m still not sure how Maeve did it, but she convinced that woman to let her up to talk to her. I didn’t go. Maeve told me men aren’t happy beings in a place like that, and I trusted her judgment. I paced the lemon mold hallways for an hour before Maeve appeared with Birdie in her arms and red eyes. She said, “Birdie is ours. Always ours.” That’s all she said about the conversation, and we left that day with a baby. In and out. Turner is the world’s best big brother and is chasing Birdie in the back yard as she drives her pink convertible Power Wheels like an old woman after a bottle of wine.
Birdie grew to be strong, beautiful, and wonderful. She’s four now, and she has no lingering side effects from being born addicted to drugs. Maeve loves the kids fiercely and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a mom more…devoted, or patient, or kind. When I’m away on missions or training trips, she holds down the fort like a natural. A pro. She said she’s had so much practice defusing bad situations that parenting alone comes second nature.
Maeve is staring out the window, hands on her hips. “I need to call them in for lunch. They’re just having so much fun,” she says, gaze longing.
“Birdie would stay out there all day and not eat a thing as long as Turner is playing with her.”
She smiles. “I know. It’s so adorable. Do you think they’ll always be like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, turning her to face me.
“Love each other that much. I’ve never seen it from this perspective. It’s… a lot.”
I kiss her nose, then her forehead, and then her lips. “I didn’t have a sibling, but I imagine you love most of the time and hate a little too.”
Her mouth is warm and pliant on mine. “That’s the thing,” she replies, pulling away. “Turner only loves. He never gets annoyed.”
“It’s because he’s only known love. He wouldn’t know how to hate that sweet little thing if his life depended on it.”
Her laugh is magic to my ears. Maeve slides her hands under my shirt and her fingers hook into my waistband. “We have a few minutes before lunch. What do you say?” Before I can answer, her head is in my hands and her lips are wrapped around my dick. I have to hold on to the counter and try to distance myself from the kids playing, but that’s not hard when she really starts working her hand, sliding the saliva where her lips aren’t at.
“Jesus, Maeve,” I hiss, losing my breath. I swear a few times as my balls tighten, and I come down her throat in several hot bursts. She slurps, trying to collect all of the spit, and I cackle at the sight of her attempt to hurriedly clean, and zip me up. “Not sure what I did to deserve that, but I’m feeling good now.”
I catch my breath as she washes her hands, giggling like we got away with something. It reminds me of someone. A someone from long ago, but that’s buried and ancient history. I kiss Maeve and its only Maeve, but I’m confident in her theory that our fates are linked, and Rena is the reason why I fell so hard and fast for Maeve. It might sound foolish to some, or impossible to others, that a chain of actions is required, but for us, it makes perfect sense and nobody’s opinion can change it.
Ramona had to meet and lose Stavros to find her true love in Vin. If she’d written off Stavros the first time he cheated, well, she’d be living a completely different life. Even Autumn Glass plays a part in our story, and though she’d like to forget her completely, I know there’s a soft spot. Not for the killer, but for the teenaged mother who had her baby stripped away.
“You didn’t do anything to deserve that,” Maeve says, cackling. “I kind of just wanted to see you squirm.”
“Squirm, did you say? I’m about to make you squirm.” Maeve runs to the other side of the kitchen island to try to escape, but it’s half-hearted and I catch her in my arms. “You want to squirm?”
She yells out, “Ah! Not here! The kids, Lincoln.”
I nod once and call out into the back yard that they have ten minutes before lunch. I turn to meet her eyes. “Ten minutes. Probably fifteen if Birdie has anything to do with it.”