Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I want to believe them. I do.
The next call is to my mom. This one I put off for three hours, pacing the upstairs hallway in bare feet, phone in hand. Brenda knows that I’ve been seeing Hunter and Lachlan, and was curiously accepting. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions,” she said when I told her. “Although I have to say I never expected you to be dating your two step-uncles. That’s one that blew past me, even.” But Brenda was okay with it, more or less. So when I finally dial, she answers from her home office in Wyoming, her voice loose and bright. “Stella! To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I try to speak, but it’s like my throat has been coated in sand.
“Stella?” she says. “Is something wrong? Are you safe?”
I laugh, and it comes out as a croak. “I’m safe. It’s just—complicated.”
She waits. Brenda is good at waiting.
“I need you to come to Minneapolis next week. It’s a…family thing. For me.”
Another long, silent gap.
“Is this about the church?” she asks, voice a little too careful.
“No,” I say. “It’s about me, and Hunter, and Lachlan.”
The silence this time is longer. I start talking to fill it. “You don’t have to approve, or even understand, but I want you to be there. You’re my mom. You should be at my wedding, or commitment ceremony, more accurately.”
When she finally speaks, her voice is different—lower, more centered. “You’ve always done things your own way, Stella. I guess it’s genetic, seeing that your father has always been that way too.”
She takes a breath. “I’ll be there. Even if I have to ride a Greyhound all the way. You’re my girl.”
I hang up, and the tears come, fast and hot, but they don’t last. By the time I get back to the kitchen, I feel like a human again.
The last call is to myself. I look in the mirrored backsplash behind the stovetop, at my hair, my makeup, my exhausted eyes, and say: “You’re not broken, star girl. You’re not bad. You’re just in love.”
Hunter appears behind me, looping his arms around my waist. His hands are warm, callused, fingers laced over my belly. He kisses the spot behind my ear, and I shiver.
“You ready for this?” he murmurs.
Lachlan enters, holding a mug of coffee, and sets it down in front of me. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he says, then grins, “unless you’re worried about my cooking for the party.”
I laugh, loud and real. “God help us all if you’re in charge of the menu.”
The two of them stand behind me, a wall of muscle and promise. I look at the rings on the bar and slide two onto my fingers, feeling the rightness of each band as it finds its place.
“Do you want us to help you insert the last one?” Hunter whispers in my ear.
“We’re more than happy to do the honors,” Lachlan murmurs on my other side.
Immediately, my heart begins to race from the promise in their voices, and I think about my dad’s words, about what it means to change everything.
I think about the party to come, the faces that will watch us, the mouths that will whisper.
But mostly, I think about the two of them—my men, my anchors, the only thing in the world that makes sense anymore.
The three of us together, in a kitchen filled with sunlight and the smell of fresh coffee.
If this is what a happy family looks like, I want it forever.
Let the world burn.
Let them talk.
Let them see.
26
FOREVER THREE
Stella
Dusk comes on like a held breath, the kind that starts in the soles of your feet and rises, hot and helium-light, until you’re afraid the next exhale will tear you open. The garden behind Hunter’s mansion is strung with a million fairy lights, each one a tiny witness, glinting through the late-blooming wisteria and the night-burst of jasmine. The scent is thick and narcotic, almost soapy, but there’s a citrus tang from somewhere—the peel of a cocktail, maybe, or just the sharpness of new-cut grass beneath the rented chairs. I stand at the edge of it and watch the guests gathering in their rows, a war council dressed for a party.
I see them all. I see everything.
Kayleigh sits in the front row, blonde hair swept up with a crystal comb, a dress the color of green grapes clinging to her curves. She has the look of someone holding a secret—chin lifted, mouth held tight so it won’t break into a grin or a tremble. Next to her, Mary Kate is practically vibrating out of her seat. Her hair is a golden curtain, her lips glossed and perfect, but she keeps tugging at the hem of her skirt like it might transform her into someone less obviously herself. Chloe is next to MK, a silvery slip of a girl with big eyes and a black velvet choker, and she keeps glancing up at the altar like she expects the whole thing to vanish if she blinks.