Page 42

…I know you’ve had a hole in your heart since you sent him away, but when I discovered he’d come home, I knew I had to find a way to push you two together…same as I knew you wouldn’t seek him out, not unless you had no other choice.

I’m sorry, baby.

I know I overstepped, know it was too far, but as I write this letter, knowing that my attorney will ensure it arrives on your one year anniversary with Aiden, I know that I had to do it.

You deserve a world of peace, a life filled with love and happiness.

And you have always been good enough to be loved to obsession.

I’ve checked up on Aiden, know he will give you that…because he needs you just as much.

I sniff again, tears escaping.

…So even though I’ve written other letters, I know THIS is the one that will reach you. Because I’ve never hoped for anything more. Because I know that you can be brave enough to do this.

Because I know you’ll shatter the curse.

Because I know you’ll find your great love.

Because I KNOW your life will be so full of love you won’t ever even remember what it’s like to be alone.

I dash at my cheeks, read the last lines.

Now live big and bright and beautiful, baby, and know that I’ll be watching down on you, cheering on all your victories and sharing in all that love.

-Grams

I set the paper aside and before I can even reach for a tissue, gentle fingers are wiping away my tears, strong arms are holding me close.

“Happy tears,” Aiden says to the top of my head.

I sniff, know that I’m soaking his shirt. “Yeah, baby.” Because of course he knows the difference.

I lift my head. “She knew.”

“That you’d kick ass and save the world?” He cups my jaw. “Of course she did.”

I shake my head. “She knew I’d pushed you away, knew it left a hole in me, and she knew you were playing for the Grizzlies.” My mouth hitches up. “So, she decided to give me the push I needed to find you… and save the world.”

He grins. “Never let it be said that Grams wasn’t sneaky.”

“And smart.” I grin back. “And luckily for us, we benefited from her machinations.”

“True.” A beat. “And you know what else?”

I shake my head.

“We have the house to ourselves.”

“Yes,” I say slowly, not getting why his smile is turning wicked. “Ack!”

He scoops me up and sets me on the counter. “Which means we get to continue our celebration.”

“Didn’t we celebrate enough last night?

“No.”

“But—”

A searing kiss that steals my breath. “Because we get to continue our celebration with kitchen sex.”

Heat slices through me.

“Right,” I say and because I know that the newlyweds Jean-Michel and Jace will understand precisely why I’m going to show up late for our meeting, I throw my arms around Aiden’s neck and kiss him with everything I have.

“I think it’s time to get me naked,” I tell him as I pull back for air.

And—as usual—he doesn’t disappoint me.

Gray

I spent the morning with a trio of hockey players, trying to figure out what size clothes a baby needs.

Because apparently getting newborn size isn’t right.

The kid’s gonna be newly born, so you think that’d make sense—to get newborn size—but apparently I know nothing.

And now, between Joel, Smitty, and myself, we’ve bought more clothes than a kid needs—and then some.

And, unfortunately, I’m now aware that baby clothes come in a plethora of sizes, including the aforementioned newborn.

If only the world could see me now.

Rolling my eyes, I hit the opener, wait for the door to roll up, and then pull into the garage. I’m just popping the trunk, pulling out far too many bags of clothes when I hear my name.

That voice…

It strokes down my spine like fingers tracing nonsensical patterns over my naked flesh, moving further and further south, moving forward, rounding my body and encircling me, stroking once, twice?—

I slam the trunk, turn for the house.

Know that she’s going to follow me.

She always does.

And, sure enough, before my fingers reach the panel to shut the garage door, she’s there, a foot behind me, floral scent in my nose.

It’s intoxicating.

It’s fucked up.

But that’s Courtney and me—fucked up to the nth degree.

Stifling a sigh, I push into the house, walk into the kitchen, and turn around, preparing to tell her to go.

“I want a divorce.”

My mouth falls open and before I can close it, she launches herself into my arms?—

And kisses me.

And the worst part? I kiss her back.

Faye

I whip around, tearing my eyes from the beautiful man.

From the beautiful man and the woman who showed up, strolled in, and dared to kiss him with barely any preamble.

And he kissed her back.

I slant my eyes to the window above my sink again, the same window that looks right into the man’s kitchen, the same window I’m standing in front of—doing dishes from my dinner for one—daydreaming about a life that isn’t me waking up at home by myself.

That also isn’t making breakfast for myself and working at home…

you guessed it, by myself. And eating lunch by myself, taking my after work walk (by myself), eating dinner, also by myself, and then bingeing whatever hot TV show is on social media until I’m too tired to stay awake—and doing it by myself.

And then—worst of all—going to sleep.

By myself.

The man picks up the beautiful woman, lifting her like she weighs nothing and setting her on the kitchen counter. Then?—

“ Oh!” I exclaim, dropping the dish I was washing and ripping my gaze away.

That’s…

Well, that’s a version of oral sex I’ve never seen before.

Heat floods my cheeks, fills my middle, flickers between my legs, and I close my eyes, count to ten.

“Stop,” I whisper, slitting them open, finding that at least I didn’t break the plate.

I move slowly and deliberately as I finish washing it, as I set it in the rack to dry, then repeat the process with the remaining cutlery and glass and pan that I used to sear my single chicken breast, to cook my single serving of asparagus.

I promise myself I’ll give the man—the couple —privacy, but the sicko in me can’t stop my eyes from slanting over…

Or being disappointed when I find the kitchen is empty, though the lights still blaze.

See? I’m a Peeping Tom sicko.

I shake my head, treat myself to a second glass of wine, and pad off into the living room.

I watch my show until my lids grow heavy.

Then I climb the stairs to my bedroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, and I crawl into bed.

Alone.

“Enough,” I mutter to myself as I yank the covers up, as I close my eyes and deliberately clear my mind.

As I wait—a long time—for sleep to come.

But when I jerk awake what feels like minutes later, it’s not to sunlight pouring into my bedroom, morning having come.

It’s bright, yes.

And warm—uncomfortably so.

I sit up on a gasp…and then immediately start choking. On smoke.

Because flames are licking up the walls of my bedroom.

For once, I’m glad I’m by myself, that I’m the only one in this danger. But that flits through my mind and out of it in a flash. Because the heat is overbearing and the smoke is burning my eyes and lungs.

I finally get it together enough to throw the covers back, to drop to the floor, to start crawling for the hallway, coughing harder and harder with each foot I progress.

There’s more smoke, too much smoke.

But I need to make it downstairs, need to get outside.

So, I pull my tank top up, getting a bit of relief from the smoke, and keep crawling.

Then I’m in the hall, turning to the right, searching the flickering blackness for the stairs?—

“Ow!” I cry out as I tumble headfirst down several steps, having found them in the least helpful way.

Falling.

My face hurts and my wrist is screaming, but I know I can’t stop.

Not when it seems to be getting hotter by the second, hotter than anything I’ve ever felt.

Not when it’s getting harder and harder to breathe with each passing moment.

Not when I can—literally—see my life flashing before my eyes.

I keep half-crawling and half-falling down the stairs, crashing hard onto the landing and trying to orient myself.

But I can’t see anything.

And I can’t breathe.

Weakness seeps into my legs, my arms, the shirt not protecting me any longer, the heat and smoke closing in. It’s so dark, so disorienting, and I don’t know where the front door is, don’t know how to get out, don’t know how to do this…

By myself.

But just as those words slide through my mind, as my arms give way and I crumple to the floor?—

The front door bursts open in a splintering of wood, a shattering of glass.

And the last thing I see before black sucks me under…

Is the man from next door.

Thank you for reading! I hope you love Aiden and Luna’s story as much as I do!