Chapter 19

Rhokar

I stand before Ella's front door, feeling an odd, fluttering sensation below my diaphragm.

Nerves? Am I nervous?

I scoff and bang on her door loudly, shifting the bag of groceries in my hand. I'm an orc, I come from a long line of warriors, and I am absolutely not nervous to see a woman I only just had a coffee with a few minutes ago. No matter how that coffee date went.

Ella opens the door, looking flustered as she holds her wailing little girl in one arm and a ladle in the other, kicking the door open further with her foot. "Hey, Rho, could you just…"

She dumps the little one in my arms and rushes back to the kitchen, and I blink down at her scrunched, chubby face.

"Hungry , " she wails, pushing her tiny fists against my chest as if she could brute-force her way out of my arms. "Mamma!"

Fat tears roll down her plump, green cheeks, which are beginning to redden with the effort of her cries.

"Uh…" I step inside and kick the door shut behind me, and have no idea what to do next.

"Hungry!"

"Ro, baby, come into the kitchen!" Ella calls out, and I feel my brows raise into my hairline as my stomach does an odd flip-flop. Rho, baby? "Come and eat with your sister."

The fluttering immediately drops straight to the pit of my gut in disappointment. Huh. Apparently, I quite like the idea of her calling me ‘baby'. I watch as the boy waddles out of a room to my left and makes his way to the kitchen.

But then another thought slides through my brain, one I don't quite know how to process, as his name registers in my mind.

The little one in my arm wails louder, wriggling so intensely that she nearly slips out, and I clear my throat and stride after… Ro.

"Uh, where do you want her?" I ask Ella, putting the plastic bag I carry on the far edge of the counter and wrapping both my arms around the wriggling toddler, who immediately tries to do a screaming back-bend over my forearms without the slightest fear of dropping headfirst to the cold hard ground.

"Get them both in their highchairs if you can, please!"

Ro is standing placidly beside one of the chairs, staring up at me with huge, curious dark eyes as he waits his turn, but try as I might the girl absolutely will not allow me to get her into her own seat.

I feel a frown form, frustrated at myself that I can't do something so simple. "I don't understand," I mutter gruffly, as she kicks desperately away from the highchair. "Isn't this what you want? Aren't you hungry?"

"Mamma," she wails, and it's now the only word coming out of her. "Mamma!"

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm coming." Ella hurries to the table with two plastic bowls of pasta, popping them down before gently prying the girl from my arms, who immediately turns to bury her face in her mother's neck. Ella throws me an apologetic look and gestures towards Ro as she soothes the girl. Feeling extremely flustered, I turn and eye him.

"Do you, uh…" I huff through my nose as we stare at each other. How am I already screwing this up? "I'm going to put you in your chair," I snap, although I don't mean to. I'm frustrated at myself, not him.

But he doesn't seem at all fazed as he gazes at me, and when he lifts both his arms up, I grunt.

He's so light when I lift him, so delicate and small in my arms, it makes my chest tighten for some reason.

Ella is still trying to sooth the crying girl, so after I get Ro in his chair, I sit awkwardly and pick up his bowl. There's chopped spaghetti and Bolognese sauce mixed inside, and a small spoon poking out the side.

I look between the boy, and the bowl dwarfed between my fingers.

"Can you…feed yourself?" I ask as I pop it in front of him, and then wonder if he even understands me. How much does an eighteen-month-old know? Should I feed him? Should I just wait for Ella?

Ro's dark eyes are keen as he looks at me, but he doesn't say anything, the complete opposite of his sister who I can now hear muttering nonsensically to her mother. He just lifts up his spaghetti, stretches his mouth as wide as it will go, and carefully directs his unsteady spoon into his mouth. Or at least he tries to, although he hits his tooth and drops half his cargo on the first go.

My lips stretch in a smile, I absolutely can't help it. My son is just…

A shiver runs through me, and I can't even finish that thought in my own head, it still barely even feels real. I have a son.

And a daughter with a warrior's set of lungs, apparently.

I gently take the cutlery from him as he smears sauce all across his cheek while he chews, and he just gazes at me with his gigantic eyes, watching what I'll do next. I wipe his cheek with a napkin, and when I scoop up another spoonful and move it towards him, he opens his mouth as wide as it will go again, and waits.

My heart feels warm as I feed him. I want to do this every night.

"Ugh, Rhokar, I'm so sorry," Ella says as she finally brings the sniffling girl back and gently inserts her into her chair, before immediately grabbing her bowl and feeding her without even sitting down herself. "She got hungry as soon as we arrived, and if I don't get food in her now, she won't take it later and then she'll go to sleep hungry and I…"

"Ella, it's alright," I say quietly, and my soft smile remains as I look at her. "Really."

She bites her lip and absentmindedly stirs her bowl, before finally sitting. "I was going to make creamy chicken pasta for us," she mutters morosely, before my daughter calls out and Ella gives her another mouthful. "But when I saw the way she fussed I knew what would happen, so I threw some Bolognese I'd frozen the other day into a pan and quickly got the spaghetti going. It's their favorite…"

Then her shoulders slump and she pouts as she looks at me. "It was going to be impressive. My creamy chicken pasta is a showstopper."

I can't help but laugh and reach across to squeeze her fingers. "You managed to get a complete meal done in less than the ten minutes it took me to head to the grocer and back. I am impressed."

She snorts and squeezes my fingers back, before slipping away so she can go back to feeding. "Shut up. It's not the same."

"Well," I say, as I turn back to Ro, "you can make the pasta for me next time."

I deliberately say for me instead of us, without being subtle about the ‘next time' either, and my heart beats stronger with hope when all she does is nod absently and say, "You'll love it, trust me."

I take a slow breath and will my hope not to shoot up too high, as I feed my son another mouthful. Ella has taken back the ‘yes' she'd given me on Saturday, when I'd told her to be mine. That was entirely my fault, I see that now.

But she hasn't replaced it with a no.

I'll be damned to the lowest pits of hell if I don't do everything in my power to change her mind, to agree once more to be mine. My heart tugs within my chest, and I resist the urge to rub it. If there's even the slightest chance with Ella, I'll keep trying.

We feed the toddlers in silence for several more minutes, with the girl constantly grabbing at Ella's spoon to try and feed herself, while Ro continues to calmly accept every mouthful I give him without a fuss. I feel contentment seeping through every fiber of my being. I wonder if this is what the rest of my life could be like.

Now that there's calm once more, my mind turns back to the little boy's name, and I spoon him another mouthful before putting down the bowl.

"Ella, did you name our son…" after me? I almost say, but for some reason the words stick in my throat. She looks at me, and I try again. "Did you name him Ro?"

"Oh, god , I haven't introduced you to them yet! Sorry, Rhokar!" She blushes— actually blushes , which for some reason has my cock stirring in my pants, although I try to ignore it. "His name is Rowan. Ro for short, though."

She puts the half-empty bowl down in front of the girl, who immediately grabs the spoon and messily begins to feed herself, so I follow suit for Ro and turn to give Ella my attention.

"He's…named after you, actually. Sort of." She offers me an awkward smile and shrugs one shoulder. "All I knew of you was the half-name you'd given me, so I looked up names popular in the orc community that started the same way, and settled on Rowan. I didn't think I'd ever find you again, so I sort of… I don't know. Wanted him to have as much of a connection with his father as possible, I guess?"

My heart thuds painfully against my chest as I stare at her, and I feel a surge of… something rip through me. Something hot and powerful and overwhelming.

If I'd had any lingering doubts when she'd told me she quickly regretted leaving me behind that morning two years ago, they were completely dashed to smithereens now.

"And the girl?" I ask quietly, not trusting myself to speak above a whisper.

"Her name is Rylah," she says, and I grip suddenly at the table between us. "None of the girl names that started with ‘Ro' felt right, so I stuck with ‘R names', and we ended up with Ro and Ry."

"W-what?" I stutter, but I can't even find it in myself to care. "What did you say?"

"Her name?" I nod stupidly, and she smiles in a confused way. "Rylah."

"That's my grandmother's name." I stare at her in shock, and her smile grows.

"Really? Wow, what are the odds!"

But there are no odds. This didn't happen by chance. We didn't meet again by chance, either.

Our encounter in a city we both hadn't been living in; these children growing inside her when she'd been told she couldn't get pregnant; even now, this moment, our sitting for dinner in such an amicable way, after all the ups and downs we've been through—this isn't chance .

We're Fated. I feel it in my heart. I have been

feeling it all along, but I've been too afraid to face it, to hold on to that thought instead of constantly pushing it away and pretending I didn't understand.

I feel all the pieces crashing together over me, and I'm stunned.

I love you , I think as I look at her, and nothing has ever felt more right.

***

We ate what was left of the spaghetti after the kids were done, plus the two whole charcoal grilled chickens I'd brought from down the road—one and a half for myself, since I wasn't that hungry tonight, and a thigh for her. Then we cleaned the kitchen together and put the kids to bed.

She'd told them to "kiss daddy goodnight," without any warning, without preamble or explanation, and they'd complied without hesitation and gone to sleep with smiles.

Then she'd laughed at my shocked face, and I'd nearly pushed her against the wall in that very moment, kids or no kids in the room.

I didn't want to leave, so I pulled out the bottle of red I'd also bought, poured us both a glass, and now we sit on the couch together as she finishes her wine and I realize how late it's getting. I still don't want to go. I never want to leave her side again.

"Well, anyway, it's getting late," she says as she puts her empty glass on the coffee table and turns a mischievous smile my way. "Get out of my house."

I snort and raise my brows. I have half a mind to just say no and see what she'll do, but instead I rest my elbow on the back of the couch and give her a considering look.

We're both sitting on the opposite side of her longest couch, turned to face each other, me with my ankle resting on my knee and her with shoes off and both feet tucked under her. I'm a little larger than the average human her furniture is designed for, so despite it being a three-seater, my knee almost brushes against hers.

"Before I go," I say, as I consider the small space between us, "I have a question. I want you to promise to be both honest, and open minded."

"No butt stuff," she says without skipping a beat, and I have to hold my breath for half a second to control the way my brain immediately wants to spiral.

"Ella," I growl, and now my eyes are raking over her every curve without my consent.

She laughs, stretching back against the couch as she shifts her feet to tuck her toes under my thigh. "Sorry, sorry, no

any of that stuff, of course. That's what I meant to say."

She's teasing me. She knows it, I know it, and she knows I know it.

I drop a hand to rest over her bare ankle, curling my fingers possessively. A million suggestive responses—or better yet, a command for her to come and sit on my lap—run through my mind, but I take a slow breath and clear them away.

"This is important to me," I say instead, and her expression softens.

"Alright, sorry."

"Do you believe in Fate?"

Her smile turns confused, and she tilts her head, her shiny brown locks brushing gently against her shoulders right where my lips want to run. "How do you mean?"

"Are you aware of the fae understanding of Fate, as a higher power?"

Her brows crease, and she nods. "Vaguely. It's a sort of deity, right?"

"Sort of." Her toes shift beneath me, and I begin to circle my thumb against her warm skin. "Each race has their own belief system, with distinct deities and cultures. But The Fates are above them all, a sort of unifying power, indistinct but stronger than all the rest. Even those who don't believe in the old gods anymore know that Fate, or The Fates—however you want to think about it—are real on the deepest level. It's where our magic comes from. It's the moving pieces of the universe, the power behind everything. Are you still with me?"

"Yes," she says quietly, and her eyes are warm and content as she listens.

"Have you heard of Fated Mates?" My heart beats steadily against my chest as I watch her watching me. "Fated Matches?"

"No," she says slowly, "but I can guess what that means."

"Matches that were always Fated to be. Two people who have come together by design."

Her scent changes as she remains silent, shifting minutely from her baseline towards the slightly acrid twang of fear, although nothing shows on her face. As if she knows already where I'm heading with my speech.

When she withdraws her foot from me, I ache to reach out to her again, but force myself to remain still. Calm and relaxed against the couch.

She clears her throat and looks away, dropping her feet and leaning forward to fiddle with her empty wine glass. "What was your question?"

"I want to know what you felt when you first met me," I say quietly. "In your body, what did you feel? What do you feel, even now?"

From her profile I see her brows scrunch.

"When I first saw you," I murmur, stopping myself from leaning forward and touching her hair, "I felt an undeniable pull of desire towards you. I had been trying to avoid females, but I couldn't keep away from you."

She snorts and sends me a wry look. "That's called being horny, Rho."

"Oh, it was definitely that." I smirk. "I took one look at you and felt hornier than I had in years."

She lets out a laugh and smacks my knee. "Shut up."

"But it was more than just that," I continue. "Scent is important for an orc, and yours was like nothing I'd ever experienced before."

"I remember that," she murmurs, sending me a considering look. "You made me stop just so you could sniff me in an alleyway."

"Do you know what you smell like to me?" Her eyes remain locked to mine as I finally lean towards her, tucking a lock of hair over her shoulder. "You smell like forever."

Her hands drop away from her wine glass. "Rhokar…"

"And right here?" Slowly I move my hand down to brush my knuckle just above the swell of her breast, where her heart beats rapidly. "There's a tug, a feeling of being pulled towards you, sometimes seemingly against my will. As if a string has been tied around my heart, yanking at me to get closer to you."

Her eyes are wide now as she stares at me, and her breath whispers from between her lips quickly.

"I've been trying to deny it, but my heartstring has been tied to yours from the start. You feel it, too," I tell her, knowing from the look in her eyes that I'm not wrong. "It's like nothing your heart's ever experienced before, that tug. Terrifying, physical, real."

I feel it now, a gentle tug, tug, tug in time with each beat of my heart, and when I turn my fingers to press more firmly against her skin, I feel her heart thumping in rhythm with mine.

I take her hand and press it over my chest, and a gasp tumbles from her lips.

"We're in sync," I say quietly. "Do you feel that?"

She pulls her hand quickly away from me as if burned, and her blue gaze darts from my chest to my eyes and back, looking frightened.

I smile and brush my knuckles over her cheek. "It's alright."

"I…um, Rho…" She looks away, rubbing her hands together as if she could rub the memory of our synchronized heartbeats away. "It's—It's late…"

"I know…" I murmur, because I know exactly what she's feeling. It's a lot to absorb. Hells, it took me this long just to admit it to myself, and I've been raised on the concept.

She needs time, and I'm willing to give her all the time in the world. But when she herds me to the door and makes as if to shut it in my face without more than an awkward, "Goodbye," I move my arm up and stop the door from closing. Step back inside, closer to her, and slip my fingers to the back of her neck, curling loosely within her silky locks against the base of her skull.

"Goodnight, beautiful," I whisper, before kissing her gently on the forehead.

Because I'll give her all the time she needs, I won't push.

But I won't let her forget about us, about what we could be. I won't let us slide into a platonic, co-parenting relationship, losing what spark we have only to get stuck there. I don't want platonic. I don't want co-parenting.

I want everything. I want to give her everything. And I'm willing to fight for it.

Even if it means I have to learn to fight gently.