Chapter 5 Chaos

D ecember 8 th —

Skyla groaned as I rubbed her back, leaning backward into my chest as she wiped her mouth. “Pregnancy sucks.”

“Aww, I think that’s just the morning sickness part.”

“It’s not just mornings, Babe. I can’t keep anything down.” She sighed as I helped her to her feet and picked up her toothbrush, swiping toothpaste over the bristles. “It doesn’t matter what time of day or night.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t contradict her. She could eat dinner most days and it rarely came back up. It seemed most of her nausea happened earlier in the morning and into the afternoon.

“Here. You’ll feel better with a clean mouth.” Maybe.

I didn’t remember Cindi being this sick with Zara, but maybe I just forgot. Cindi had loved being pregnant. Skyla was miserable. I wasn’t comparing the two women, but I did worry about the woman who helped me love again after loss and her lack of nutrition. “Should we call the doctor? Do you think you need stronger meds?”

Skyla already took something to help with the vomiting, which slowed it down a bit. Still, she got sick most days, and it took a toll. She seemed pale, and my Reaper grew agitated that she was unwell. Not to mention our baby in her womb and how this could affect him.

No, we didn’t know the sex yet. My Reaper insisted I would have a son. Nothing persuaded him to consider a daughter. He already had Zara, and he wanted a boy.

I’d kick his ass if he wasn’t thrilled with whatever we ended up having, regardless of his desire. He only grew amused by my thoughts, not at all threatened.

“I don’t think I can go to the daycare today.”

“No problem. I’ll see if one of the other ol’ ladies can cover it.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

I helped Skyla into bed and left her to rest. “I’ll take Zara to The Crossroads and give you a peaceful day off.”

“Good. She won’t get bored.”

After a kiss on her forehead, I made a couple of calls and arranged staff for the daycare. Zara played in her room until I bundled up my daughter and brought her to the clubhouse. She loved going to the daycare, and I didn’t think dropping her off would be a problem. I was wrong.

My little three-year-old princess had a serious attitude today.

She stopped in the bar before we could go far into the building and released my hand. Her little pink boot stomped on the ground as she glared at me. “I wanna have a tea party.”

“You can have one in the nursery,” I promised.

“No, Daddy. Right here.”

“Zara,” I gently replied, “I have to finish some work today. You have to play in the daycare with your friends.”

“Mama promised me a tea party.”

It took a long time for me to accept that Zara would never be able to call Cindi her mother. When she grew older, I’d explain about Cindi’s death, show my daughter pictures, share memories, and hope Zara would get to know her.

But right now, as a little girl, the only mother she understood was the woman who loved and cared for her daily. They weren’t related by blood but had bonded in a permanent and loving way.

“Skyla is sick, baby. She’s resting,” I tried to explain.

“I want a tea party!” Zara hollered at the top of her lungs, and I knew this was about more than the tea, animals, and pretend parties.

I lowered to a crouch, staring into her eyes. “If I have a tea party with you, will you tell me why you’re feeling angry?”

Her big blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m sad, too.”

I tapped my chest because hearing that hurt my heart. “That makes my heart sad that you feel that way. Why don’t we set out your tea party so we can talk about it?”

She nodded as I slid her backpack off and reached for Zara’s hand, leading her to an empty table in the bar. No one was around, and I didn’t care if anyone had been. My little girl needed me, and nothing else mattered.

I helped Zara arrange her stuffed bears and dolls in empty seats, leaving two open so we could sit beside each other. Once she poured tea for everyone and added sugar, I picked up my cup and took a drink. “This is delicious.”

“It’s Mama’s favorite.”

Skyla? She didn’t like tea much. Of course, she pretended for Zara, but it wasn’t her preference.

“What flavor?” I asked, trying to get her to talk.

“Mama loves cinnamon.”

I inhaled sharply, wondering how the hell Zara would know which tea flavor Cindi loved. “Who told you that?”

“Your Reaper.” When she said it, she pronounced it weep-uh .

I was surprised. No, shocked. I didn’t know when that would have happened since I had no memory of it. “Does he talk to you a lot?”

“Yes, when you’re sleeping.”

Wow.

“He sits with me when I have bad dreams, Daddy.”

My Reaper spent time with Zara. I didn’t know why that seemed so unbelievable since I knew other Reapers did the same for my club brothers’ offspring.

“Are you sad and angry because of him?”

She shook her head.

“Then why?” I asked, genuinely concerned about what could cause such a reaction to my little girl.

“Cause my first mama isn’t here for me to give her a Christmas present.” Her glassy eyes pooled with unshed tears.

Got. The pain that zipped through me. My hand flew to my chest as I exhaled, punched in the stomach and lungs with an invisible force. Gutted. That was how I felt. My heart stuttered as I tried to speak and couldn’t form words.

“Can we put a present under the tree for my Mama Cindi?”

Tears pricked my eyes as I breathed through the pain, knowing I had to watch Zara grow up without her mother. But this? The reminder that she wasn’t here, and at the tender age of three, my daughter already missed her. I cleared my throat. “We’ll do a special present. I promise, Zara.”

“Really?” Her sad smile faded, replaced by a brighter, happier one. Children were so resilient.

“Of course. I’d love to give Cindi a present.”

“You’re the bestest Daddy ever!”

I laughed as she tackled me and hugged her close, thankful for this beautiful blessing in my life and the brief time I had shared with Cindi. I’d always be grateful for the daughter she gave me, and miss her sweet, vibrant spirit. I thought I had to say goodbye to her forever when she died, but I realized that Zara kept the best parts of her alive, and it was okay to let that into our lives.

Skyla often said that Cindi would always be a part of our family. She was right. We didn’t live with her ghost as much as the reminder of her gift, a beautiful daughter to cherish.

“I love you, Zara.”

“Love you, Daddy!”

“Do you want to go to daycare now?”

She slid from her seat, gathering stuffed animals into her arms until they spilled over and landed on the floor.

“Can I help?”

“Yes!”

I helped pack her things and brought her to the nursery, relieved when she rushed off to play with her friends. Her smile showed no trace of anger or sadness, and I relaxed.

Crisis averted.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER , I stood alone in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Frustration and anger built inside me as I wondered why my Reaper got involved.

What right did he have to tell my daughter about Cindi? He didn’t love, fuck, or marry her as I had. It was none of his fucking business.

You want to do this right now? His surly voice replied.

“Yes,” I barked from pursed lips.

In the mirror, a dark gray cloud of smoke slowly filled the room. Within the smoke, I saw my face transform, and the face of my Reaper appeared. I had yet to learn his name. He avoided the subject, but I felt he kept it from me intentionally, which only increased the tension between us.

“I do not avoid it, Chaos.”

The voice that spoke wasn’t mine, even as my lips moved. His reflection in the mirrored glass revealed the monster beneath my flesh. A demon of sinew and bone who thrived on blood and the carnage of his reapings. I held no animosity for what he did, what we did together, only his interference in my life.

“Your offspring needs to know about her birth mother.”

“That’s not your call,” I spat, fuming.

“It is,” he insisted.

“No,” I argued. “She is my daughter. I’m the one who loved her mother. Not you .”

Rage filled my body, and his eyes glowed red.

I didn’t give a fuck. “I had to find her corpse and cut her down after she was murdered. YOU DIDN’T STOP IT!”

I shook with fury, the force of the pain and anger fueling us both. His image flickered in the mirror before I was hit with an agony that I couldn’t control. The overwhelming ache in my heart staggered me, and I had to grip the edge of the porcelain sink to keep from sinking to the ground. I’d never felt anything like this, so visceral that it lashed at every nerve in my body, ripped inside every cell. I felt torn apart and gutted as nausea swirled in my gut. Panting, I could barely draw air into my heaving lungs.

My lips curled into a snarl, pulling back from my teeth as I shook with agony. Every breath I managed to take felt like shards of glass. I wanted to beg for it to end, but I fought it instead, glaring at my Reaper.

“What is this?” I hissed.

“Losing her!”

What? Was he saying. . . no.

“Yes. Now you know,” he shouted as his voice broke, shattering the anger that had bound me for two years. “I FELT EVERY BIT OF HER LOSS!”

His roar, honest as it was brutal, knocked my feet from under me. I dropped to the cold floor, resting on my knees as my fists unclenched. I didn’t move except to drag air in my lungs and push it out, shocked to my core.

“You loved her too,” I finally whispered.

Yes. He no longer spoke from my lips. I couldn’t see into the mirror; too low to the ground to glimpse my reflection. Your Cindi. My female. Our mate.

Fuck. All this time, I had blamed him for not saving her. I never realized that until now, but it was the truth. In my pain, I pushed him away, turning my anguish and loss inward. Before now, I didn’t realize the depth of torment that caused my Reaper.

Bhedlam.

“What?” Half delirious, I didn’t know what he meant.

My name.

An almost smile twitched the corner of my lip. “It’s a good companion to Chaos.”

It is , he agreed.

“I’m sorry, Bhedlam.”

We both have regrets.

And I knew exactly what he meant this time.

Neither of us saved Cindi. We both had to live with it.

Our daughter should know her.

“I know,” I whispered. “She will.”

Peace spread through me, filling every cell, repairing all the damage that had torn me apart since the moment I found my ol’ lady and her lifeless body. I would always miss her.

She will be remembered.

Yes, she would.

This Christmas, Cindi would have a present under the tree, and maybe, with that act of giving, her spirit would find peace too.