Except I remember the overwhelming feeling after Thatcher was shot. The shame of cowering. The shame of retreating from the pyrotechnics. I know it’s okay to retreat when I’m terrified, but so badly, I just want to be brave.
I want to challenge myself to move forward, even when it’s the scariest thing on Earth. And so when Aunt Rose and Uncle Connor announced a spontaneous yacht trip, I didn’t hesitate to say, I’m fucking going.
I’m here today. I’m joining my family.
I’m never hiding.
The world will always try to break us, but my mom is right—I’ll lose a part of myself if I stay cooped up, and I’ll never have the chance to heal.
And this trip is healing for everyone—not just me. It’s a four-day vacation to escape the press, who’ve been hounding the ever-loving fuck out of everyone about the shooting. Banks said reporters are even bothering his mom and uncles.
Not even two weeks have passed, and Thatcher is still recovering—but he suggested a trip to his in-laws in the first place. He was thinking the lake house, but weather turned out to be surprisingly perfect for the yacht in September. So teenagers took off high school and everyone who needed to cancel work, cancelled.
Even Beckett is missing some ballet performances.
While Thatcher is recuperating, he’s not allowed to do any heavy lifting on the yacht. Just sitting, relaxing, being with Jane and his family—because his big Italian-American family are all invited too.
And I smile, knowing the Morettis are already Akara’s family—but they might be my family someday far into the future too, once we get hitched. Or maybe they’ll just seamlessly be mine like they became Akara’s in time. Just like I know my family is already theirs.
And me, Banks, and Akara—the three of us—we’re our own family too. In seven months, our baby will be with us. My smile never leaves, even as we keep pushing forward. Even as the cameras flash. Even as they shout our names.
Second day on board, we cruise around the Baja Peninsula, and night has fallen, twinkle lights strung above the main yacht deck where everyone has been mingling, dancing, and eating dessert.
I’ve pulled away from the big clusters of people. Now on the bow of the ship, I overlook the sparkling ocean as the full moon casts a glow across the water. Lounge pads surround a low-ground hot tub here, and I stick my feet into the warm water and eat a chocolate sprinkled cupcake.
Whoever chose tonight’s dessert menu gets a gold medal from me. Fruit parfaits with tangerines and Oreo crumble, plus chocolate cupcakes and churros.
Utter fucking perfection.
I’m not alone on the bow.
Jane and Millie Kay Miller bask under the moonlight with me, their feet in the fizzing hot tub. “Have you had any bizarre cravings?” I ask them, since I haven’t experienced that yet. I’m still superglued to my normal obsessions like chocolate and donuts.
“Cereal,” Jane says, dunking a spoon in a parfait. “I can’t go a morning without any type of sugary sweet cereal. Lucky Charms. Coco Puffs.”
I lick icing off my finger. “Is that why there were like seven boxes of Fruit Loops in the pantry?”
Her smile brightens her eyes. “Thatcher went a little overboard. He’s terribly cute that way.” Remnants of heartache from nearly losing her husband lie inside her gaze, and I reach out and touch her hand in comfort. She clasps her fingers around mine, then asks Millie Kay, “You haven’t craved anything sweet yet, have you?”
“Me?” Millie Kay still seems surprised to be called on.
Jane tips her head with a Cobalt roguish smile. “Yes, you. Who else?”
“Sorry, Jane—it’s just…” She eyes me like I’m bigger-than-life Sullivan the Olympian and not just Sulli, then glances to Jane. “There are so many group dynamics between all of you, and I don’t know how I fit in sometimes.”
“That’s my fucking fault,” I say with a wince and pick my feet out of the hot tub. I cross my ankles and hold them loosely. “This is probably the first time the three of us are talking alone together.”
They both nod, but Jane’s smile grows on me. “A long time coming.”
I smile back.
I’m not showing at two-months pregnant, but with the Olympics finished, I’m more interested and concentrated on the road ahead, the things they’ve begun experiencing. And I hate that I haven’t really asked them questions until now. But I’m firmly in the camp of better now than never.
MK has been over the penthouse tons, but this trip is really the first time I’ve gotten to know her. Like how before the pregnancy, she’d been working at Lucky’s Diner as a cook.
“I wish I had a cereal craving,” she says, swishing her feet in the water. “All I want is meat. Specifically messy, spicy chicken wings. And I used to hate chicken wings before this one.” She stares down at her big belly, visible through a sheer coverup and red bikini.
Five-months pregnant, a month behind Jane—Millie Kay said she swelled around her ankles, and her cheeks are puffier than when we first met. With wispy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face, she looks exactly like a heroine leaving the farm for a big city to fall in love.
So I was shocked to hear she’s actually originally from a small town in Iowa.
“Modeling agencies first ate up the whole farm girl backstory,” she told me. “But I barely got booked. They said I was ‘basic beautiful’ which is just another way of saying I look like every Instagram Influencer. Unmemorable.”
Fuck, I didn’t even know that her family are fourth-generation farmers and grow corn. Not until I asked her, but only after she dropped her breakfast burrito this morning and exclaimed, cheese and mice!
I’ve never seen someone turn so red. She could hardly look at my parents or aunts and uncles, like they’d judge her for fumbling a fucking burrito.
No one cared, but I realize to Millie Kay, they’re the famous “Core Six” and not just Ryke, Daisy, Lily, Lo, Connor, and Rose.
I glance at their pregnant bellies. “The carnivore and the cereal-vore.”
They’ll be best fucking friends.
Just like Moffy and Jane. And hopefully my baby will grow up strong beside them.
“Oh, for cute,” MK laughs into a smile. “I joked to Maximoff and Farrow that their little girl will come out eating chicken bones like Pebbles Flintstone.”
I wonder how different this experience must be for MK, being the surrogate carrying the Hale Baby (Farrow’s sperm and Jane’s egg).
“How’d you decide to be a surrogate?” I add quickly, “Sorry if you’ve been asked this a fuck ton.”
Jane is smiling at me. Maybe she’s happy that I’m finally getting to know MK.
“I kind of expect all the questions,” MK replies. “I was actually born via a surrogate. My mom had fertility issues after my brother was born, so she did the whole IVF thing to have me. Didn’t work out, so her and my dad decided to go the surrogacy route, and here I am.” She waves. “I pretty much had in my head that I’d pay it forward one day. Give the gift of life to another couple—or triad…or whatever, I’m not against polyamory.” Her face is bright red like this morning.