And I’ll make you a promise. I never break my promises so you must believe in me.
I promise that I’ll visit with your Dad, even if you can’t. And I’ll read to him all the time because books take you to the places you can’t go. I can be his family too.” His voice wobbles but he continues on. “Because family means no one ever gets left behind. I promise I won’t leave your Dad behind, Jake.
Take care,
Mackenzie Valentine.”
He looks up from the page, tears in his eyes. “I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.”
“It was a silly letter, Jake. It—”
“Fuck off,” he croaks. “It’s not silly. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Jake folds the page and tucks it inside the envelope. Then he opens the dresser drawer and puts it away with infinite care. After closing the drawer, he turns. “Come here.”
“I would, but I’ve beached myself on the edge of this bed and there’s no moving now.” No one tells you how you need a crane to get out of bed in the mornings when you’re pregnant.
Jake chuckles and walks over to me. He takes my hands and helps me upright, pulling me into a hug. It’s not easy with my huge belly in the way, but he manages to hold on tight, his body warm and solid. “Are you happy?” he asks, his face buried in my neck. He’s breathing me in, something he loves to do.
“I’ve never been happier.”
He draws back and looks me in the eye, but my arms remain wrapped around his neck. “I know you wanted to work with Jamieson and Valentine Consulting.” He knows because I told him. I confessed the need I felt to prove myself. But that need is gone. It died along with Gabriella Valdez. She was a police officer, but she chose to serve and protect out of love, not out of need to prove she could do it. It made me realise that I don’t need to prove shit to anyone else but myself and just do what I love.
And I love working with Jamieson. I’ll continue working with them for as long as they’ll have me. I’m right where I want to be.
“I only thought I wanted to,” I remind Jake. “You know that.”
“If you ever change your mind, I’d be okay with it. With you working with them. Well … not okay. Not really. But I’d live with it.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Good. I like having you boss us around.”
“I like bossing you all around.”
Jake chuckles. His lips are still smiling when he ducks his head and kisses me. The pressure of his mouth is firm and his tongue snakes out, licking my bottom lip, demanding entry.
I don’t deny him. The kiss turns heated and my fingers tangle in his hair.
“Mac?” Tap tap tap at the bedroom door. “The hairstylist,” Mum reminds me.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror of my parents’ bedroom. Their private space is large. A king bed dominates the room with a large bedhead made of textured fabric. A daybed occupies the area by the window. Mum likes to read there in the winter when the warmth of the sun hits the cushion-covered seat.
Evie and Quinn are sitting on it right now, and Grace and Mum are perched on the edge of her bed. They give a collective sigh at my image. Mum’s is heaviest of all. She’s in heaven right now. She has a grandbaby to obsess over and another on the way. She has her three daughters-in-law by her side (she adopted Grace into the family a long time ago), and she has me. The hellion child. Though not so much a hellion anymore. Well, maybe a little.
I stare at my reflection. “I look like a whale.”
They all protest but it’s true. I’m swollen and puffy. I have no jawline anymore. It’s vanished because fluid retention has swallowed me whole. My original plan when I eventually married was to wear the beautiful red dress Mitch bought me, but my bloated body would tear it apart. Instead, I wear a strapless ivory dress. The style is empire line, so it fits snug around my boobs and drops neatly to the floor. It’s overlaid with intricate floral lace and finished off with little lace-cap sleeves. The dress is elegant and ridiculously expensive, but I couldn’t resist.
My hair is done in light, beachy waves and hangs down my back. Two small pieces on either side have been swept off my face and hold together at the back with a jewelled pearl comb. The same one my mother wore on her wedding day. On my feet rest an elegant pair of thin strapped beach sandals in ivory because it’s all I can bear wearing.
The overall effect is very romantic when I usually opt for severe, but the change feels perfect, if just for today.
A tap comes at the door.
“Who is it?” Mum asks as the girls hover, twitching bits of my dress into place and realigning strands of hair.
“It’s me!” Dad booms.
“Come in,” she calls back.
The door pushes open with force and Dad strides in, along with Travis. I half turn to look at them, and Dad’s lips mash together. The pride in his eyes is so bright it’s a wonder I’m not blinded.
“Everyone out,” he barks. “I need to have a talk with my little girl.”
“It’s a bit late for the birds and bees talk,” Travis quips, taking hold of my elbows as he leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. “You look incredibly beautiful today, little sister.”
“Not so little,” I grumble. My belly tightens with a cramp and I wince. “But thank you.”
His green eyes light with concern. “Are you okay?”
Heat pricks at my eyes. “I’d be better if Mitch was here.”
Travis sighs heavily and steps back as I’m hugged in turn by my friends, and then by mother. They step out of the room and the door clicks shut. It’s almost time.
“He’s not coming?” I ask, looking to Dad.
“No, love.” My father shakes his head sadly. “He’s not.”
I hiccup, but it somehow turns into a sob.
“It’s not you,” Travis reassures me as Dad grabs my arm in vice-like grip and drags me toward the daybed. “Sit down,” he says.
I sink to the edge, wondering how I’ll ever get back up again, and I wait, looking up at my father as he gathers his thoughts.
“Mitch is …”
Struggling.
“Sick. That’s right.” Dad paces. “He has a cold. Errr flu.”
A scowl fixes on Travis’s face. “Dad.”
“He doesn’t want anyone else to get sick. Especially you, Mac, being almost due.”
Mitch woke from his coma after several weeks, but only to a minimally conscious state. He had limited awareness that came and went. He came around gradually, but then we broke the news about Gabriella and now it feels as though he’s lost the will to live.
He picks fights with me. He picks fights with Jared and Travis. He picks fights with our parents. His rehabilitation is regressing as he slowly, but surely, gives up on life.
Travis shakes his head and crouches, bringing him eye level with me. “Mitch doesn’t have the flu.”
“I know, Trav,” I say softly. “He’s not sick. He’s broken.”
My brother nods. “Deep down inside he wants to be here. He loves you. You’re his favourite sibling. He’s just not able to take that step yet. He needs more time, and we have to be patient in giving it to him.”