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“Want me to brush it out? Dry it?” he asks, standing before me in nothing but a towel as he assesses my hair.

God, yes.

But also…

I wrinkle my nose, asking, “I wonder what Justice is doing right now?”

Pace dabs a towel over his face, pausing. “You miss him?”

“Is that silly?” I ask, knowing it must be. “We just left him. He’s literally downstairs.”

“Nah.” He grins guiltily, checking his stubble in the mirror. “I was just thinking the same thing. I miss him, too.”

I start for the door, but he grabs my hand and pulls me back, hand wrapping around my neck. His skin is still damp against my nose when I nestle it into the center of his chest, and for a long moment, we just stand there in the fading steam, enjoying the closeness.

And then, voice rough, he whispers, “Fuck, I can’t wait to put another baby in you.”

The idea is terrifying. Horrifying. My pussy actually clamps up at the thought, but then I look at him, those deep brown eyes, his sweet face and gentle hands, and realize there is no sacrifice too big to build a family with these men.

26

Verity

I’m sweatingby the time I wrangle my tits back into the black dress, checking my makeup and hair in the mirror. A little over three weeks since I had the baby, and I’m feeling a little more like myself. It helps that I get to dress up in something other than Lex’s old hockey shirts and nightgowns, my hair cascading down in loose, shiny curls. Pace’s commitment to taking care of it while I lack the energy to has done it a world of good. Where he’d once made me a part of his morning routine by rubbing anti-stretch-mark cream on my belly, he now brushes my hair, sometimes washing it or applying masks.

Unfortunately, there’s no one around to do my makeup.

I settle for a light dab of foundation, warm blush, and a nude lipstick, exiting the bathroom with a steeling inhale.

That’s when I hear Mama’s soft, “He did it, didn’t he? The scars on your back?”

Realizing I’ve just emerged into a sensitive discussion, I pause. Peeking around the corner, I see Lex shifting awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He’s in a black tuxedo,diaper bag hanging from his arm. “Yeah,” he answers gruffly. “It’s how he punished us.”

I can’t see Mama from where I’m eavesdropping, but I can hear the jangle of her bracelets, rhythmic and muted. She must be rocking Justice—maybe patting his butt. “When did it start?”

Lex clears his throat, and now more than maybe ever before, I long to take his hair out of its slicked-back ponytail. To free him from the memory of a life where he was forced to be proper and unfeeling and so hardened. “I was seven,” he answers.

Mama’s breath hitches. “Jesus Christ.” And then a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Lex shakes his head. “Don’t be. I chose every wound. Each scar is a hit I took for my brothers. If I had to do it all over again, I would.”

There’s a suspended moment where Lex looks at his shoes, the backs of his ears flushed, and then Mama sighs. “My old man was a real hard ass. Not mean—not like yours. But he was very stalwart. Old-fashioned, you know? In another life, he could have probably been a Duke.”

“Sounds a little like his daughter,” he replies, a grin in his voice. “Where is he now?”

“Passed away my freshman year at Forsyth.” Her voice is quieter than I think I’ve ever heard it. “I always regretted being so difficult for him—not getting to know him better. Not telling him how proud I was to have his last name.” There’s a long pause, and then Mama’s gentle, “Would you like it?”

My heart stutters, squeezing painfully inside my chest.

Lex cocks his head. “Would I like what?”

“Sinclaire,” Mama clarifies. Since Lex has his back to me, I can’t see his reaction, but Mama suddenly rushes out, “I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous of me. It’s just… Verity is Sinclaire, and so is little J.J. here. I don’t know what carrying the Ashby name around does for you, Wicker, and Pace. Maybe it gets you placesand it’s worth keeping. But,” she hedges, “if the three of you ever get tired of lugging around that asshole’s legacy, you’re welcome to a name that’ll help you build your own.”

I don’t hear Lex’s answer because I have to duck back into the bathroom to punch down the swell of emotion in my chest. Frantically, I dab at the tears welling in my eyes.

So much for my mascara.

I give it a few minutes before gathering myself and exiting the bathroom, clearing my throat to make my presence known. Luckily, any residual anguish evaporates at the sight of my mother gazing down at a bundled up Justice, snug in her arms. He’s freshly bathed and fed—quiet for the moment.