3. Addison

Cody Walsh. A million questions linger in my mind after looking up his name online all last night. More questions scream in my head when I think about what Daniel confessed. They killed a man years ago who deserved to be hurt. They killed him because of what he did to me. They killed him.

How many moments have gone by where I’ve mentioned my childhood in passing? Or lack thereof, rather. We talked about how I was in home after home. When we found out I was pregnant, it was all I could think about. All I could talk about.

I was worried I wouldn’t know how to be a good mother, because I never had one. It opened the floodgates for all those memories. When I was young, I didn’t even think I’d ever be able to get pregnant. Just the thought makes my stomach churn; it’s because of what he did to me. The doctors said the scar tissue on my cervix could make it harder to open. I had problems and complications. All the aftermath of the man who was supposed to take care of me.

I brought it up maybe three or four times in the last two months when we found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t not talk about it. No matter how much I hate to go back to those times in my life.

Daniel had so many opportunities to tell me, but he never did.

I never asked, but how would I have even known to question it? Fear has been replaced by something else. Something larger than it. A dying need to know.

“Hey.” Aria’s tone is already consoling when she greets me, ripping me from my thoughts as I place the heavy porcelain plates on the counter.

I didn’t expect to feel this way toward her. There’s a gap between us now, when only weeks ago, nothing separated us. Now I’m careful with what I say and how I say it. I’m careful I don’t put this sadness on her. Just like she’s careful with me now.

“How’s it going?” she asks.

I can hear the emotions in her voice just as easily as the clank of the dishes. The sympathy, the guilt I know she feels because she’s still pregnant when I’m not. She and Chloe, Sebastian’s wife, are carrying so well. Glowing is the correct term. And then there’s me, dull with a forced smile as I turn to her, leaning the small of my back against the granite counter.

“Hey, yourself,” I answer her with enough pep in my voice to lighten the tension. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. It’s life. It’s death. It’s whatever fate has in store. I don’t want her to look at me and feel pity. I’d rather she look at me and see how happy I am for her.

That’s one shining light in all this darkness.

“We’re cooking for everyone tonight, if you’re up for that?” I ask her.

“Family dinner tonight?” Aria eyes me curiously as one perfectly plucked eyebrow arches. She knows something’s up, but she doesn’t ask. She used to always ask.

“Does that mean something’s going on?” Chloe asks as she enters, the faint sound of bags rustling carrying through the kitchen with her. Her husband is best friends with Carter and his right-hand man, but she doesn’t live in the main house of the estate like the rest of us. She and Sebastian have a place deeper in the woods; it’s still protected though. At first, I thought it was sweet for all of us to live so close. But the more I think about it, the fact that we need to be protected, the more it startles me.

I watch as she sets a large brown paper bag down on the table, her belly protruding, round and an obvious sign that she’s in her second trimester.

Taking off her light jacket, she lays it across the chair and then smooths her flowing cream blouse down her front.

“Carter told Sebastian and he told me,” Chloe says, answering the unspoken question. “I brought everything for cheesecake,” she adds easily with a genuine smile. She doesn’t look at me like I’m broken, but that’s because she doesn’t know me well. She doesn’t see how off I am like Aria does. She can’t tell that I’m damaged goods because she doesn’t know what I was like before. It’s comforting, really.

“So?” she questions. “Is something going on?”

“What do you mean?” I have no idea what she’s referring to. “Something is always going on.”

“Well, have you guys been doing family dinners where this is normal, or is this a way for the guys to keep us in line?”

“I never thought about it like that.” The murmured words are accompanied by a deep line settling into my forehead as I consider it.

“If something’s up, Bastian better tell me,” Chloe comments as she unloads the contents of her bag on the table.

“No, nothing’s up. It’s a little tense right now. But no more than usual. The only thing eating at Carter is a cop who’s getting to Jase. He caused a little stir yesterday.”

“How do you know for sure?” I ask her.

“Carter keeps me updated. We have a little ritual. It calms him and keeps his head clear to talk things out.”

“I can’t imagine how that could be calming.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken until the words are out there and the room goes quiet.

Chloe’s huff is amused when I look at her with wide eyes. “You’d be surprised how much a conversation is worth.” Her gaze falls for just a moment, but I see it happen. The haze of a smile falls along with it. “How have you been?”

Aria’s been popping grapes in her mouth, but she pauses when Chloe ventures into that territory. Her bump isn’t so visible. Our babies would have been about a month apart.

It’s hard to contain the deluge of emotions.

“You can say it sucks. Or that it hurts. Or that you’re better or worse… You can tell me to shut my mouth too and mind my own damn business,” she offers after rattling off a list of appropriate responses.

I feel like it’s my fault. Like I should have known better. I say the words in my head, because I can’t admit them. Not to Aria and Chloe. Not to Daniel. I don’t even want to know that’s how I feel. But I do.

“We should make dinner,” I suggest in a whisper. “Just because I’m suffering a loss doesn’t mean I can’t be happy for all we have,” I add and Chloe gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“The dinner for the non-worrying mob wives,” Chloe jokes.

“We are not the mob.” Aria hisses the admonishment before eating another grape. “It’s been hectic and there’s always something to worry about, but?—”

I don’t want the tears to fall, but I can’t hide them. My face is hot and my breath comes in short pants. The next inhale is harsh, and with it, both women come to me. “I’m sorry,” I say, and my words are strangled as I rush past them for a napkin on the table so I can stop it all.

“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry for crying. I’ve always thought that was the silliest of things.”

“It’s good to cry.” Aria’s voice is so soothing. She is my rock in all of this. She’s steady and we share so much in common. She grew up in this life though. She didn’t run away from it all. “Sometimes crying — showing mourning, showing vulnerability — leads to the best things.”

I respond with the one truth the last six months has taught me and say, “You can’t be vulnerable in this world.”

She counters my statement as I swipe the napkin under my eyes, drying them, calming my breathing and feeling foolish all over again.

“Of course you can,” Aria corrects me. “We all are. Trying to hide that isn’t going to fool anyone.” She emphasizes, “We’re all vulnerable.”

All I have in response is a sniffle and then I rest my head on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to cry though; I don’t want you to think seeing you guys makes me sad.” I can barely get the statement out, because it’s not entirely true. Still, I don’t want them to think it.

We hide truths like that, don’t we?

“So, weird thing,” I blurt out, cutting off Chloe, who no doubt has something sweet to say, and instead I help her move all the items on the table to the counter as I speak. It’s back to business, back to cooking for this non-worrying dinner. “Did you know Jase has a girlfriend?” I ask them and my tone is so much peppier than I feel. I heard once though, if you speak like you’re happy, you’ll start to feel like it.

“Carter told me a couple of days ago. She’s funny but with a dry sense of humor and she’s very blunt.”

“Sounds delightful,” Chloe jokes.

“She’s also coming to dinner, I think.”

Aria eyes me before grabbing a large bowl from the lower cabinet and I take that as my cue to unwrap Chloe’s cream cheese.

Looks like the dessert will be done before the actual meal at this rate.

“Bastian also mentioned she’s a nurse. Should be good to have one of those in the family.”

“Family,” Aria says and rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t mean in a mob way.”

“Her last name is Fawn,” I comment to no one in particular and unwrap the next bar of cream cheese. “I wonder if she knows if we’re related.”

“Like biologically? Or from… Is your last name your mother’s or did you get that from a…?” Aria stops mid-thought and it’s then that I realize from the look on her face that she was going to say foster family but stopped herself because she thought it would hurt me to hear it. She stopped herself because she knows about the fresh wounds.

She knows because Carter told her.

Or maybe she’s known since I came back. I wonder if Carter told her everything all the way back then.

“You know I still love you, right?” I question Aria and quickly add, “And that I’m happy for you, both of you?” I look between them both, hoping they know it’s true. I may be held together by glue and tape and questioning my decisions, but I know I’m happy for them.

“I know,” Aria answers with kind eyes. She repeats, “I know.”