The last few days had worn on him, but they had on me too.
My voice was croaky as I pleaded, “I need you to promise that you’ll put me first, Finn. Before them.”
His eyes were bleak as he stated, “You don’t have to ask. I already promise you that.”
The immediacy of his answer should have soothed me, but it didn't.
I knew what it must have felt like to be slashed with a double-edged sword because as freely as he gave that promise, there were repercussions that neither of us were ready to handle.
His family was no longer just his. They were mine too.
My life revolved around them.
Sundays were spent at the compound in upstate, the frequency in which I was meeting up with my sisters-in-law for afternoon tea had gone from once every couple of weeks to every Saturday now.
I talked about books with Inessa on the phone, and Aela was our go-to babysitter and my unofficial recipe sampler. I’d asked both Inessa and Camille for help with designing the nursery, for God’s sake.
Cutting them out of my life wasn’t going to happen.
But those women were tied to the men in Finn’s.
And they were all tied to his parents.
I’d lived without mine for so long, and no one knew better than me how fragile life was. One second someone was there, the next they were gone.
Neither Lena nor Aidan were getting younger. How much longer would he have them around?
I hated him for giving me his family as much as, last week, I loved him for it.
“What are you thinking, Aoife?” he rumbled. “I don’t like what I’m seeing in your eyes.”
“What are you seeing?”
“Too much despair.”
My bottom lip wobbled. “That’s how I feel. The situation. Our baby—”
His hand snagged mine, and he entwined our fingers. “I wish things could be different.”
“Me too.” I gulped, and even though his family were a major problem, all I could think of was her. Because she'd have been a girl for sure. “I wanted to call her Imogen.”
“So we will. Imogen O’Grady.” His smile was tight. As tight as the times we'd named Gray and Lewis—the other babies we'd lost. “I bet she’d have had your red hair.”
The pain in my chest stole my breath as I choked out, “Your blue eyes.”
“Red hair and blue eyes?” He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “I’d have had to fight the boys off.”
Wiping away my tears, I nodded. “All the boys.”
“Especially if she had curves like yours.”
“You’re the only one who thought I was a bombshell.” I sniffled.
“You were hiding out in a bakery, Aoife. I mean, I'm glad you were but you can't say I'm the only one who thought that when you were always working.”
“I didn't hide out when I was in school,” I argued.
“You were in a kitchen.”
“So? There were men in class with me.”
“They were idiots.”
It seemed impossible that I could even contemplate smiling, but my lips twitched.
Here I was, looking and feeling like shit, but he was acting as if Marilyn Monroe were in the bed instead.
“Well, men are idiots.”
He winced. “Yeah. I fell for that.”
“Hook, line, and sinker.”
"Anyway, what's with the past tense? You are my bombshell. No 'was' about it." Before I could argue, he gently stroked a hand down Jake's back. “She’d have asked for her ears pierced at seven."
“And I’d have told her she was too young a thousand times by eight.” I swallowed down more tears, weaving the picture of the girl who’d never be in my mind.
God, I loved that he let me do this. Even if it hurt so badly it made each breath I took scorch my lungs with the agony of it.
He squeezed my hand like he knew what I was thinking. “She can live on through us, sweetheart.”
“I’d prefer her to just live.”
The breath that whistled through his teeth told me he agreed with me.
Watching him, I settled my head back against the pillows, and as I stared at his red eyes—proof he'd cried at some point—the way our son clung to his daddy, how Finn weathered the discomfort of the armchair to be with me, as well as how he'd fought to stay by my side, I knew what I had to do.
“Ask Lena if she’ll look after Jake for a few days. I don’t know how long I’ll be in here, and he needs some good rest.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “Are you being serious?”
“Deadly.”
I knew what she’d done, but Jake didn’t. Jake just knew her as Grammy—the only grandmother he’d ever had.
“You don’t have to do that," he denied immediately, tone fierce enough that it confirmed I was doing the right thing. "Aidan would look after him.”
I had to snort. “Aidan and Savannah are the least parental people I know. He might be his godfather, but still.”
“Aela could—”
Shaking my head, I told him, “He doesn’t know her as well as he does Lena.” She babysat, but most of that time was when he was asleep so it wasn’t like he knew her better. “Lena is the sensible choice.”
Sure, being sensible sucked for me, but acting as if Lena weren’t there wasn’t going to help matters.
She’d done what she’d done.
She’d burned a bridge between us that could never be fixed.
But that was on her. Not me. Not Finn. And certainly not Jake.
“I’m sorry,” Finn whispered.
The broken words snagged my attention. I could have been sarcastic, asked him what he’d done this time, but I just didn’t have the energy to resent him right now.
Not when seeing him sitting there, my hand in his, looking as broken as I felt, talking about the daughter we’d never see, reminded me of who he was. What he was.
Mine.
For better or worse.
In sickness and in health.
So, instead of being resentful and bitchy, I asked, “Why?”
“For Imogen. For Callum. For letting Jake think of Lena that way.” He blew out a breath. “For letting him love her. For everything.”
I got where he was coming from, but it made me feel ridiculously small.
My son was loved—was that such a crime?
Yet…
I stared down at my lap as a different kind of pain whispered through me.
Lena was the only grandmother he’d ever know because she had been the one who'd taken away Jake’s other grandmother.
Finn tugged on my hand and broke my woozy attention span. “I love you, Aoife.”
My mouth trembled as I pressed my other hand to my stomach. “Even though—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Forever,” he grated out. “Nothing you could do would stop me from loving you, sweetheart. You’re not the sinner in this marriage. I fucking am.”
I wasn’t a saint, but by comparison to him, I knew I was. But I didn’t say that either.
It all seemed so fucking futile.
Hating him, resenting him, being bitter, none of it brought Imogen back, did it?
None of it brought back my baby.
My body was a maze of pain and discomfort, but that glaring emptiness where life had once blossomed was something I’d never forget.