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His phone starts beeping incessantly, breaking this trance that’s holding us both captive. A puff of angst and regret tumbles out of me as he checks the source.
“Fuck,” he mumbles. In a blink, he scoops me up like a toddler and bolts toward the door Rex is guarding. My heart sinks into my stomach, but the distress melts when he bellows, “Baby’s coming. Ivy’s water broke.”
He glances up at me and beams a thousand pinpricks of veneration and awe for the family he claims, and my throat constricts at the sight.
It’s such dramatic whiplash that my body sinks into his with a strange blanket of exhaustion, comprising both excitement and dejection.
Loss and gain.
“Why are you carrying me?” I ask as my security team rushes alongside us, Dante chuckling at me being carted out.
“No time to risk you digging your heels in, Ace,” Liam quips. Moments later, he stuffs me into the front seat of the G-Wagon, next to Arnold.
“Ivy’s in labor,” I explain as he stares back at me in bewilderment, which is only exacerbated when Liam swings open the driver’s door and drags Arnold out like he’s a crash-test dummy.
“I’m driving,” he announces to both Arnold and my bodyguards. Some objections from Rex ensue, but Liam bulldozes those. “I don’t give a fuck if you come, follow, or throw a goddamn party. I’m taking Celeste with me to see my family. Now.”
Rex climbs in the back seat while the other three tail us in my SUV. Liam drives like a Grand Prix professional on crack. It’s just the dose of adrenaline I need to keep the creeping numbness at bay.
When we barrel into the maternity hospital, it’s organized chaos at its finest, which is hilarious because Ivy is the only patient in this wing. Wells has the place locked down and under his command, a staff of ten nurses and doctors all dedicated to his Little Storm.
An uncanny dissociation washes over me as I watch all the guys bustle around her, pampering, spoiling, cherishing. I’ve never felt so happy for someone else and so wrecked at once. It’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing I’m sixth or seventh on Ivy’s most cherished list. And I might never experience a fraction of the adoration encircling her every moment.
I’m not typically so self-absorbed, so I abhor myself for even allowing those thoughts to hatch. It must be the result of being depleted from a day ripe with sheer pandemonium. That’s all. Everything is as it should be.
Natasha joins me on the love seat in Ivy’s room, slipping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close in that motherly way. I love my parents. Before the harshness of loss cloaked them, their warmth was lavish and plentiful. It’s still there, only caged in an invisible box—that not even they can see—that keeps it from flowing freely. But Tom and Natasha have always been the steaming hot chocolate and fluffy down blanket that subdued the chill.
“They’re really something, aren’t they?” she says, admiring the scene unfolding before us.
“It’s baffling.” I laugh, ignoring the lump in my throat. “Transfixing. I can’t seem to look away.”
She nods, squeezing my shoulder. “Truly. Tom wished for his little girl to be loved beyond all comprehension, and somehow, it took flight and manifested in those four men.”
Her finger dabs at the corner of her eye. Natasha has shown more emotion in this past year than in all the time I’ve known her. Grief has a way of upending a soul.
“Tom always knew what was best,” I agree, the lump slowly inflating into a boulder. “When I hugged Ivy, she seemed in good spirits. Has she struggled at all?”
“She cried in the car, but the guys were able to calm her down.” She drops a jagged breath, calming her own anguish before she continues, “Wells becomes nearly as distraught about Tom, especially when Ivy breaks, so Ty and Gage took over. And now that Liam’s here, I think she’ll be okay. Wells is her rock, but she relies on them all.”
“They really do take care of her,” I say with a quaver.
Natasha’s hand comes up to my hair, smoothing it over the slicked strands. “So do you, Celeste. She needs you, too, just as much as she always has.”
I suck in a breath to steady myself, realizing how much of my identity, my self-worth, has rested on that very belief—that I’m someone Ivy needs, just as I am. “I know that.”
“It’s lonely for me too,” she confesses, her hands toiling, as they tend to do when she thinks of Tom. “Nursing your own grief or heartache doesn’t negate the joy you feel for another’s blessings. You can love Ivy, miss your brother, and struggle with the particulars of your situation, all at the same time.”
That simple sentiment frees the tears I’ve been caging for what feels like a lifetime, the boulder finally swelling to a mountain that refuses to be ignored.
I pull out my updo and dip my head so my hair curtains my sorrow-streaked face. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”
“Of course,” she says. “Let’s go.” Keeping an arm braced around my shoulders, she ushers me out into the hall to another room. “Lie down in here, honey. Wells had all of these made up in case we should need to rest. It’s late, and these things take time.”
I don’t say anything, but simply unbuckle my heels and let Natasha tuck me into bed, like she did so many times years ago when mine felt anything but warm.
A hand strokes my hair, fingertips grazing my forehead. “Hey, Lettie. Wake up.”
My eyes spring open to see Ty staring down at me with the tenderest expression. “Hi.” I pop up, wiping the sleep from my lids. “Ivy?”
