CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The post-sex euphoria wore off sooner than he had hoped and reality came brutally crashing into his consciousness before he'd even finished sweeping up the mess of flour on the floor.

He emptied the dustpan into the garbage under the sink and turned to Vica. "I need to you know that I didn't expect that. I wasn't looking for sex from you."

The mushrooms had cooled completely, so she was busy portioning mushrooms and ricotta onto the squares for the stuffed ravioli. "I know that."

He stopped her hands and turned her to face him. "There were never any strings attached to me helping you. Not from day one, or now. I need you to tell me you understand that. That you know you didn't owe me anything."

Her gaze narrowed. "Wyatt, I know that."

"It wasn't why I offered to marry you. And if you're having second thoughts or regrets, and never want to do that—"

Her hand pressed against his mouth to shut him up and she smiled. "I know. It does take two to dance you know."

"To tango."

She shrugged. "Okay, fine. To tango." Her nose scrunched in a very cute way. "True, yes, because you can dance on your own. Anyway, what I'm saying is that I want you too. I am attracted to you. I feel safe with you and your family." Her cheeks turned pink and she broke eye contact. "And if it is all the same, I do want to do that again."

That made him grin. "Me too."

"Help me and we can be done faster so we can do it again." Her smile was coy and playful now and made his cock twitch in his boxers. It was only five thirty in the morning and judging by the night they had last night, his kids would probably sleep in. At least he hoped they would.

Working as a team, they were done with the ravioli in no time. He'd made them before, but definitely enjoyed having a tutorial from a real Italian. After they did a quick boil of the fresh pasta, they sautéed them in a pan with butter, more mushrooms, and herbs. Then they took their aromatic, homemade deliciousness up to his room, where they sat in his bed and shared a meal together.

He popped more ibuprofen after he finished his ravioli, then took Vica's bowl from her, moved it to the nightstand, and peeled her pajama bottoms off of her before he covered her body and filled her with his once more.

Nothing felt so right as being inside Vica. As being with Vica. Nothing felt empty, or lonely, or monotonous. Since she moved in, everything had more color and vibrancy. Even his kids seemed happier.

Rolling off of her once they were finished, he admired her taut, round ass as she climbed out of bed and went to the en suite bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Noises in the hallway pulled his attention and was quick to redress into a T-shirt, boxers, and sweats, and open a window to air the place out. The room smelled like sex, and leave it to Griffon to notice something like that and comment.

The toilet flushed in the bathroom, followed by the sink running, then Vica emerged.

"I think the beasts are awake," he whispered, causing her eyes to go wide.

"What do you want me to do? We don't want to confuse them."

He glanced at his phone. It could be either of them up. His money was on Jake though. Griff tended to sleep deeper than Jake. It would have been nice if his kids slept a little longer, but he wasn't going to force them to stay in bed.

"Uhhh …" His lips twisted. "Let me distract them, and you sneak past when you hear the safe word."

"What's the safe word?"

"Uhhh …"

"Ravioli?"

"Perfect."

"Okay."

He ducked out of his bedroom door, closing it quietly behind him and checking the boys' rooms. Jake was sitting up in his bed reading, but the bathroom door was closed, indicating Griffon was in there. "Hey, bud," he said to Jake, hanging out in Jake's doorway. "How'd you sleep?"

Jake sat up in bed and stretched. "My body is a little sore and stiff."

Wyatt nodded. "Mine too. Vica made ravioli," he made sure to increase his volume on that last word and blocked the doorway so Jake couldn't see out.

"When?" Jake asked.

Wyatt's bedroom door opened silently, and they were nearly out of the woods when the bathroom door flew open. "Oh, hey, Vica," Griffon said. "Do you need the bathroom?"

Shit .

Wyatt spun around to find Vica mid-tiptoe behind him, while Griffon and his wild brown hair had his head tilted to the side curiously.

"Uhhh …" Vica glanced at him.

"You can use mine," Wyatt quickly said to her.

"Thanks." She beamed. "I think I forgot my toothbrush in there anyway.

Griffon remained oblivious. "What was that I heard about ravioli? Can we have some?"

"Absolutely," Wyatt said. Crisis averted, at least for now.

"For breakfast?" Griff asked .

"Why not?" Wyatt followed his youngest downstairs into the kitchen, where the majority of their cooking mess had been cleaned and put away.

"Well, it smells good in here," Griffon commented, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Jake joined them a moment later, followed by Vica who wore a pair of black leggings and a gray, off-the-shoulder, slouchy T-shirt. She looked hot as fuck, and he wanted to do nothing more than sink his teeth into that bare shoulder.

"Dad, you're not going into work today, are you?" Jake asked.

Wyatt shook his head. "No. I'm too sore for that."

"Is this the first time you've taken two days off in a row since Mom died?" Jake asked, getting up from his seat and going to the counter where he grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl.

"Bring me a banana too, please," Griffon said.

Jake brought his brother back a banana and the boys dove in as Wyatt heated up some of the leftover ravioli.

"I'm sure I've taken two days off in a row since then," Wyatt argued, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized his son was probably right. Jesus, he really did spend way too much time working and not enough time with his kids. He was such a control freak in the kitchen though. It was impossible to completely hand over the reins to Burke.

Once his kids were eating, he and Vica got to work—like a well-oiled machine—making coffee. He loved being in the kitchen with her and that was saying a lot considering he rarely liked anybody in his home kitchen with him. He preferred to just be left alone since he had a process, and it was best to just steer clear. But she anticipated his moves, got out of his way, and didn't feel like an obstacle he needed to maneuver around at all.

The walkie-talkie plugged in on the credenza near the couch made a static sound, followed by a little voice. "This is Spiderman to Second Sparrow. Come in Second Sparrow. Over."

Griffon leaped up from his seat and raced over to the table to grab the walkie-talkie. "Hey Spiderman, this is Second Sparrow," he glanced at Jake, "and First Sparrow. Over."

"Are you okay after the car accident? Over."

It was Silas on the walkie-talkie asking if his cousins were okay. Wyatt and Vica exchanged smiles.

"We're okay," Griffon said. "Just sore. Over."

"Can we play later? Over."

"For sure. Just having breakfast. Over."

"Okay. Me too. Over."

Griffon set the walkie-talkie down and picked up his fork. "Can we play with Silas later?"

Wyatt smirked and sipped his coffee. "Don't you every day?"

"Yeah, but maybe you wanted us to stay home for some reason after the accident," Griffon said, shoving way too much ravioli into his mouth that half of it ended back up on his plate.

"Smaller bites, dude," Wyatt said, shaking his head. "And no. You're both fine. Enjoy your summer. Play with your cousins. I'll be fine." He went to take another sip of his coffee when there was a knock at the door.

Everything ached as he pried his ass out of the seat and went to answer.

"Hey, Justine," he said, welcoming her inside.

"How are we all feeling?" she asked, bringing her fingers immediately to the inside of his wrist and staring at her watch as she took his pulse.

"Great, thanks. And you?" he said blandly. "Can I get you some coffee? Ravioli perhaps?"

"Shh."

He rolled his eyes.

"Pulse is good," she said a moment later, following him into the kitchen. "And no, thank you, on the coffee." She focused on Vica and the boys. "How are the muscles?"

"Sore," the boys said at the same time .

"Yeah, that's to be expected after an accident. You're taking ibuprofen?"

"I just took more," Wyatt said.

"Me too," Vica confirmed.

"Need to given the boys some more now that they've eaten." Wyatt went to the kitchen and brought out the liquid suspension ibuprofen for kids, portioning off the right amount for each boy into the small, plastic measuring cups that came with the medicine.

"I like the grape better than the bubble gum," Griff said, slurping his back.

Justine made Wyatt sit down, and she checked his neck for any signs of swelling. Then she checked his mobility in his neck and arms, and finally, his eyes to make sure he still didn't have a concussion. "This goes without saying," she started, "but no work today. I'd say at least for the next couple of days."

"Good luck," Jake said not at all under his breath.

Wyatt shot his kid a look.

Jake was unfazed.

"I mean it," Justine said. "Just because you were extremely lucky and didn't break any bones, or get a concussion, doesn't mean your body didn't just undergo extreme trauma. You need to rest and recuperate. Working on your feet will put undue stress on your brain and body and could jeopardize recovery."

"I'll make sure he doesn't leave," Vica said.

"Me too," Griff piped up. "I'll tie him to the couch."

There was another knock at the door, but before Wyatt could get up, Bennett came in. "How are the patients?" he asked, joining everyone in the kitchen.

"Seem to be in good spirits and taking care of themselves," Justine said. "I've warned him to stay home and not go into work for at least a few days."

Bennett scoffed much like Jake did. "Good luck."

Wyatt glared at his brother. "You're one to talk."

"I heard from Myla and so far, nobody has seen a vehicle with front-end damage that matches what happened last night."

"It's still early in the morning," Wyatt said. "Any news on the paint color? It had to have rubbed off onto my truck."

"Yeah," Bennett said, his expression grim, "gray."

Vica's eyes went wide. "So it was probably the same car that tried to drive me off the road the other day."

Bennett nodded. "Most likely. But CCTV footage from the terminal going back to even before Vica was attacked the first night, doesn't show any car matching that description with the license plate she memorized."

That didn't make any sense.

"So wait, either the plates were swapped once the car was on the island, or the car has been here a lot longer and we're dealing with a local?" Wyatt scratched his head. "What local would have it out for Vica?"

Even though he'd just taken more ibuprofen, a headache was starting to rap repeatedly at the front of his skull, making his vision blurry and his gut spin.

"You don't look so well," Justine said, pressing the back of her hand to his head. "You feel clammy."

"A headache just came on out of nowhere," he said, swallowing down the rush of saliva to his mouth from the sudden nausea.

Jake and Griffon eyed him with mirror-image worried expressions.

"I'm sorry," Wyatt said, standing up, "but I think I need to go lay down."

Everyone nodded and Justine helped him upstairs where he collapsed onto the bed, curled up into the fetal position, and closed his eyes as tight as he could.

"You've been lying about how much it hurts, haven't you?" she said, sitting on edge of the bed and taking his pulse again.

"No."

"Bull."

"It hasn't hurt that bad. Just achy. But as soon as Bennett mentioned that someone from the island might be after Vica, it was like the pain in my body just exploded."

"Trauma response."

"Is that what it is? "

"Well, up until that moment, you always considered the island and the people on it safe. Now that it's not, your body is going into delayed shock. Or at least that's the only explanation I can come up with."

He still hadn't opened his eyes, but even just lying down with the whole world dark, things felt better. His brain didn't pound nearly as bad.

Did he have a concussion?

"I'm going to get you some acetaminophen too," Justine said, getting up and heading to his bathroom. "For the headache. The ibuprofen is for the aches, pains, and swelling, but this should help with the headache. They can be taken together." She disappeared for half a minute, then returned and told him to sit up, swallow the pills, and drink the water.

His head spun and there were more black spots in front of her face than anything else. But he did as he was told, then reclined back down and shut his eyes.

"Just rest, Wyatt. That's all you can do at the moment. Rest and let the painkillers do their thing. If Vica needs to rest too, we'll tell her she can send the boys over to our place. You guys have been through something incredibly traumatic. It's okay to be gentle with yourself." She rested a hand on his arm, gave it a squeeze, and then left, closing the door behind her.

Wyatt was asleep almost instantly, unable to handle the pain in a conscious state. He chose to hand the reins over to the unconscious and, hopefully, it did a better job at repairing him.

By the time he woke up, the sun was blasting through the bedroom window and he was drenched in sweat, even though the window was open.

Based on the position of the sun, it had to be about two in the afternoon. He'd slept for nearly five hours. But he felt a lot better.

Double-checking that his head wasn't still pounding and going to make him vomit, he slowly sat up. Everything was still achy, but it was a manageable ache. He took more ibuprofen and acetaminophen before heading downstairs.

What he found in the living room made him pause at the top of the stairs and just quietly observe.

Vica and the boys were sitting on the floor in the living room, surrounded by Lego pieces. One of their more complex Lego kits—an enormous firetruck—was half built. They were all laughing and working together assembling it.

A smile curled his mouth, seeing the light and joy in his sons' eyes.

"So you, like, get to build with Legos all day for your job?" Griffon asked in amazement.

Vica smiled and chuckled. "No. Not quite. Not Lego. I'm a mechanical engineer. So I build mechanical things. Like different machines and useful tools. The company I was working for designs solar energy batteries. Right now, solar panels are very expensive. We were working on ways to reduce the cost of them with different materials and stuff so that more people can afford to have them. Solar, wind, and wave energy are the way of the future. They just need to be more economical so everyone can have them. Not just the rich."

"That's really cool," Jake added.

Vica nodded. "It is cool. But I've always loved building things. Also taking them apart. It drove my dad crazy when I was a child because I kept taking apart things in our house just to see how they worked."

The kids chuckled.

"But you'd always put them back together. Right?" Jake asked.

She playfully bit her lip and winced. "Well … I tried."

Griffon was enthralled. "What couldn't you put back together?"

"I took apart the microwave when I was nine and couldn't quite put it back together. When we turned it on, it started to make smoke, then sparked, and all the power in the house went off. And my dad refused to buy a new one."

"You didn't have a microwave!" The concept seemed ludicrous to Griffon, and Wyatt smiled.

"Not after that," Vica said. "I've always loved Lego though. The building and creating. It's so much fun. "

Griffon leaned into her affectionately. "Me too."

Was this a glimpse of what life with Vica would be like? If they welcomed her into their family and home permanently? It brought warmth and peace into his heart at the thought of his sons having someone else in their life that loved them as much as he did. And he could see in Vica's eyes that she was already there.

He observed them for another moment, before finally making his presence known. "Looks like fun," he said, clearing his throat and descending the stairs.

All three of them glanced up at him. Vica smiled. "I hope you don't mind. We weren't too loud, were we? We didn't wake you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"Are you feeling better, Dad?" Jake asked.

"I am, buddy." He ruffled his son's hair. "A lot better."

"Did you barf?" Griffon asked.

"No." He rolled his eyes.

Griffon seemed disappointed. "Bummer."

"I beg to differ."

"Can I make you some tea?" Vica asked, standing up from her spot on the floor. She groaned just a little bit, but the cringe of pain made him acutely aware of the fact that she'd also been in the accident, and although he was the one who'd been pinned in the truck and overtly suffering the most, she was probably suffering too. Just in silence.

He shook his head. "No. But I'm going to make you some. Sit." He pointed to the couch and made sure his tone was kind but authoritative.

Smiling, she did as she was told. But he wasn't in the kitchen for five minutes before she joined him. "Bennett came over with some updates."

He lifted his brows as he poured hot water from the kettle over the tea bags in their matching green mugs. "And?"

"The police are compiling evidence against me regarding the ‘leaked' information and classified documents. Apparently, the company in New York is ‘cooperating'. Rumor is they're hoping to have enough to arrest me by tomorrow." Fear clouded her gaze as she watched him in the kitchen.

He brought the mug over to her where she stood on the bar side of the kitchen counter. "I won't let them."

"Not much you can do if they have a warrant for my arrest."

"Bullshit. They can't get through the gate if we don't let them."

Her smile held little hope. "Then they'll just arrest you too, for aiding and abetting a criminal."

"But you're not a criminal!"

Sighing, she blew across the top of her mug. "Immigration is also apparently getting restless and will come back tomorrow to check on the status of our marriage. Just because we're married doesn't mean they will believe it. Doesn't mean they'll process our application."

"It delays things though. You don't need a visa now."

Her nod was small and unsure. As she stood there, it was like the fire from earlier was burning away, leaving nothing but hopelessness.

"They could have hurt or killed the children, Wyatt."

"But they didn't."

"But they could have. They are not playing games. This is serious. And now apparently, they—whoever ‘they' is—are trying to get your family blacklisted from obtaining some dead man's land. What is all that about? Jagger told me a little bit about it. Said Gabrielle and her cousins, and Myla and her friends, want it too?"

Wyatt shoved his fingers into his hair and tugged on the ends.

For fuck's sake.

His headache was threatening on the fringes, and if anymore bad news came at him, he'd probably keel over with a migraine. "Bonn Remmen was an Island Elder."

Her nose wrinkled in confusion.

"This island was founded by hippies, squatters, and draft dodgers. Most of the land was never purchased but obtained through squatter's rights. They moved onto it decades ago and never left, and therefore it's now theirs. However, it needs to be passed down through family only. Inheritance is really the only way to keep the land free ."

She nodded, seeming to understand things. He could have switched to Italian, but given the bruised state of his brain, he wasn't sure anything coherent would come out.

"We managed to get this land because the family that inherited didn't want it. So they sold it. Land on the island is very difficult to come by. It's almost impossible to buy anything and it's very rare anything comes up for sale. We got this place out of sheer luck.

"We wrote the sellers a very long, heartfelt letter telling them our plans and how we wanted to raise our families here. Even though we weren't the highest bidders, apparently our story won them over."

"Ah, I understand now."

"Bonn Remmen was an Island Elder. One of the original squatters. Only he never married. He had no next of kin, or heirs. Which meant that technically, his land was supposed to revert back to the government. However, he managed to find a loophole. He was very anti-government and would have burned the land to a heap of ash before he allowed the government to step foot on it."

That made her giggle. "My dad was similar in some ways."

"Then they probably would have gotten along great." He peeled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply before replacing them back over his eyes. "Anyway, Bonn intrusted his land to the Island Elders. They are to decide who gets it. And it is to be a gift. No money is to change hands for his land. Which, in some ways, is good. Because we wouldn't be able to afford it. However, all interested parties must submit a proposal for what they plan to do with the land to the Island Elders, or Island Council, and they will decide who gets the land."

"And a lot of people want it?"

He nodded. "Nearly everyone we know wants it. "

"Why do you want it?"

"We want to expand. We want to start growing our own hops for the beer, maybe even some of our own herbs and food for the restaurant. His land is right next to ours, so it's perfect. We can put cabins on it so we can offer more rentals for guests and tourists, expand that side of our business. We hosted a wedding a few weeks ago, and we'd love to build a proper facility, like a pavilion with wisteria or grape leaves all around, to have the reception. It has a great beach—better than ours—so you could even have the weddings down in the sand at low tide. We're building a legacy for our children and in order to do that, we need to expand."

Vica continued to nod. "I love all of that." Her lips dipped at the corners into a frown. "But me being here is compromising that for you."

"Enough," he said. "I don't want you to keep thinking that. You're my wife now. Whether they like it or not. You're stuck with me until all of this blows over. My brothers and I will figure our own shit out."

She didn't seem convinced. "And you don't think it complicates things at all that Gabrielle and Myla both want it too?"

He shook his head. "We're all able to put our differences aside. That's business. What's going on with you is personal. And even though we're in competition for the land with them, we're islanders and we take care of our own."

Exhaling deeply through her nose, she took a careful sip of her herbal tea. "Who else wants the land?"

"Oh, about a dozen or more people, and/or businesses. There's a group of guys who run a distillery on the island and they've outgrown their space. They don't have the luxury of living where they work like the rest of us. So they want to create something like what we have, where it's a ‘live and work in one place' situation."

"Understandable. They have young families as well?"

"They're four single dads of young kids, so yeah."

"Who else wants it? "

"I've heard whispers that some big developers are going to throw their hats into the ring, but the Island Elders will probably burn their proposals before they even open them."

"If Wyndham Croft hears of this, he could make things difficult."

Wyatt sipped his tea. "Oh, I'm sure he has heard of it and I'm sure he's the one trying to get us blacklisted. But we know the Island Elders. They won't listen to anybody they don't want to listen to. They're a group of the most … how do I say this without being disrespectful?" He scratched at his stubble for a moment. "Eccentric, stubborn, whimsical, and strange group of old people I've ever met. They're very anti-establishment. They're anti-big corporation. Anti-rich. Anti-government. Anti-inscription. Anti-everything." He held up a finger. "Actually, that's not true. They're pro-vaccine and pro-choice. A lot of them even rally for those causes. They say that they all would have died if it wasn't for the polio vaccine."

"I think my father would have liked all of them."

That made him chuckle. "Every solstice and equinox you can find them dancing naked around a big bonfire. Some of them claim to be witches, and I'm pretty sure a lot of them participated—and some still do—in big, old-person orgies. There was a lot of free love back in the sixties and seventies. As well as a lot of drugs."

She was smiling and giggling now, and thank fuck for that. He wasn't sure he could bear to see her sad any longer.

"Bennett and Justine are working on our proposal. They're due soon, but the Island Elders have given themselves no deadline to choose the recipient."

"So everyone will just have to stand on needles?"

"Stand on needles?" Wyatt tried to process the phrase. Then it hit him. "Oh! You mean sit on pins and needles? Yes. Basically. It's very stressful." Then an idea popped into his head. "I'll see if Jagger can come over and watch the boys tonight once they're in bed, and we'll wander over to Bonn's land. I can show you our plans and where we'd put everything."

Her smile told his headache to take a hike. "I'd like that."