AllFreeNovel
Share Us
What I never got until Wells and the guys. Until Ivy. And now, this teeny doll who will get anything her heart desires from Uncle Liam.
We’ve been at the maternity hospital for eighteen hours, and I can’t stop staring at Felicity’s angelic face or miniature fingers and toes. Or fighting for a turn to hold her. But it’s been a long couple of days, and there’s another girl I’d like to shower with attention.
Of course, it isn’t lost on me that about the time I decided I wanted Celeste to be mine, she declared that I could never be her endgame. It’s a familiar wounding—albeit not one I’ve faced in well over a decade—but her wielding that machete of candor was far more gutting than I had been prepared for.
Too bad for her, I refuse to accept it. I’m not a fucking kid anymore who can be cast aside for some bullshit reason. If she walks away from me, I’ll be damn sure she’s haunted by it for the rest of her days. That I’m the face she sees, the voice she hears, and the touch she craves when she’s lying awake beside her sorry fuck of a husband. Just the thought turns my stomach.
“Time’s up, dipshit,” Gage snarls. “You’ve hogged her for the last thirty minutes.”
I curl Felicity closer to me even though I was prepared to pass her on. “Nah. It was an even trade. You got to feed her.”
“One fucking bottle,” he growls.
Seeing Gage like this is sure as hell one of the pinnacles of my existence. His metamorphosis after Ivy was nothing short of miraculous, but the man is absolutely smitten with the pint-sized princess. I plan to capitalize on that any chance I get.
“Language, Big Guy,” I scold, brows furrowed and head shaking in disapproval. Moving Felicity’s itty-bitty fist to her ear, I extend my empathy. “Did the mean bald man scare you with his horrifying potty mouth? Earmuffs, sweet girl.”
Gage throws a soiled burp cloth at my face, Ty cackles, Ivy beams with her eyeballs following the exchange like a tennis match, and Wells grumbles a string of expletives, all amounting to the fact that he’s surrounded by morons—his Little Storm excluded, of course.
This family was well worth the wait.
Ty swoops in, arms curling under the baby, and snatches her from me. “It’s actually my turn with Fliss.” He’s been trying out nicknames all day. Apparently, none of them feel quite right.
“Only until after we eat, Ty,” Wells says, glancing at his phone. “Food’s here, and then I’m taking a nap with my girls.”
On cue, Celeste breezes through the door with takeout bags, a bright smile illuminating her face. Although her eyes are red-rimmed from either lack of sleep or crying. I hope it’s not the latter. Hard to know because she’s kept her distance from me today, which is for the best. We don’t need everyone else’s input before we’ve even started.
After our early dinner, she announces that Rex is driving her back to the house for the night, so I use work as an excuse to join them. We extend our sappy goodbyes, and something catches in my throat when I witness the guys each embrace Celeste—all of them with some inside joke or connection. Her hug with Wells wrecks me the most though—a palm on her head, some whispered encouragement in her ear. Mentor mode.
Fuck. Does she see it? She’s not just Ivy’s anymore. She fits.
Celeste disappeared as soon as we walked into the house. I hadn’t pressed her to talk in the car because we always have someone around us. But tonight is different. Rex and the guys are in the guardhouse. And everyone else, including Natasha, is staying another night at the hospital. So, I’m on a mission—to break through that fucking armor she wears. Among other things. But I have to find her first.
At the moment, I’m flying blind. A strategic plan of action would be best. The problem is, I never know which version of Celeste is showing up to joust with me. Not that I’m the most even-keeled person. She’s certainly had me acting insane on more than one occasion, but it’s her approach and demeanor that baffle me. Most people who wear a mask choose the same one. Not Ace. She switches them out with her designer shoes.
I’ve covered every goddamn square inch of this massive house, Modelo in hand, attempting to tame my eagerness. But I’m growing agitated as I head outside to the grounds. The sun just set, the amethyst sky a warning that the clock is ticking. Thankfully, I spot her in under a minute.
My chest tightens as I pause to drink in the scene before me. She’s by the pool, silky maroon shorts hiked up, feet dangling in the heated water, wineglass in hand. The strap on her matching camisole has fallen to her bicep, dangerously close to revealing the whole of her full, perky tits. And her thick, lustrous hair cascades down her back in soft espresso waves.
Sexy as fuck. Like always.
But something about her feels different here. Different in the way of what she revealed last night when she paced and ranted in that restaurant. Cracking into a gorgeous mess before my eyes, until she straightened her posture and plastered the fractured mask back together.
I loved it and hated it, all at the same time. Hated that she seemed so distraught—that she wouldn’t let me hold her through it. Loved that she lost herself enough to show me. It was a piece of that treasure trove she hides. And I’m on the hunt for more.
Once I make my way toward her, neither of us speaks a greeting. Instead, I quietly slip into a chaise lounge behind her, kicking out my feet to wait. The fire bowls are blazing into the twilight, water spilling from the fountains to plunge into the pool with a gurgling splash. Twinkling lights on a timer kick on to bathe the tables, lounge chairs, and daybeds in the entertainment area with the ambience of speckled fireflies. Peaceful and serene.
But Celeste looks lost. That’s a feeling I recognize. Witnessing it on her is a bit distressing though. She’s a little like Wells, how she always seems to be in charge of the navigation of a moment. She owns a room, whether it be with her sex appeal, her snappy comebacks, her smooth confidence, or her premeditated maneuvers. She’s a natural commander, but none of that shows now. Tonight, I recognize her weariness.
She looks abandoned.
I whip out my Zippo and casually flick the flame on and off. “It’s dark and chilly, Carver. We have a whole big house to occupy.”
This winter has been mild. For Louisiana, that amounts to spring-like weather. We kept the pool open for exercise purposes, but it isn’t an obvious place to be lounging in January.
She doesn’t turn around to acknowledge me, just sips her wine and starts talking. “My favorite time of day is when the sun finally dips beneath the horizon. Not such a win for a photographer, but it’s a reminder that goodbyes are inevitable. That nothing is permanent.”
Her voice is flat and detached as she stares vacantly into the distance. “The only person I’ve actively tried not to part with is Ivy. Separating from my parents is expected. Healthy. But Ivy … I’ve only ever wanted to be someone she needed while secretly knowing that I needed her more. She steadies me.”
