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“Only for you, my love. Only for you.” Planting his hands on her shoulders, seriousness filled his tone. “You know I’d do anything for you, right, Nerida? Whatever you’re dealing with at the moment, you can tell your silly ole’ Dad, and I’ll do anything to make you happy again.”
Neri sniffed, and Anna clutched her hands to her chest, sending soapy bubbles from doing the dishes down her garish shirt. “Ah, Jack. You still know how to make my heart skip.”
Jack threw her a wink. “Fancy making another one of these, my darling? I know we said we only wanted one, but this one’s flying the coop, and I don’t think I’ll cope with an empty nest.”
Anna chuckled. “I’m over the hill, and you’ve had a vasectomy. No more. Besides.” Anna stepped toward me, wiping her hands on the tea towel hooked in her shorts pocket. “We already have another one. Right here.” Wrapping her arms around my waist, she slotted into my side, tiny to my height, slim to my size. “We have a daughter and a son. One born for the ocean and another delivered by it.”
Neri sucked in a breath, locking eyes with me.
Jack gave a fierce nod. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I hope you realise you’re one of us, Aslan. I’m sorry for pushing you before. I know better than to dredge up the past. But I hope you know that we’ve grown to care for you like you’re our own.”
Everything inside me howled and clawed.
All the pain, all the grief, all the secrets and the ghosts and the hiding—it all crashed over me like a drowning tsunami.
I buckled.
I couldn’t catch a proper breath.
Extracting myself from Anna’s embrace, I bowed my head. My legs threatened to crash me to the floor, and I was so close, so fucking close to blurting out everything.
I’m in love with your daughter.
I want to marry your daughter.
I want to be your son...just not in the way you think.
I looked over my shoulder at the ring box just waiting for me to spill out my entire heart, and I couldn’t do it anymore.
Rocking on the balls of my feet, I went to turn. To grab the ring. To drop to bended knee. But Neri rubbed her wrists again, swiftly, inconspicuously, and the smallest smear of concealer came away.
And what I saw beneath made my heart wrench to a godawful stop.
Just stop.
Dead.
Mortified.
Horrified.
Broken.
I grunted as if she’d sucker-punched the entire life out of me.
Because she had.
She’d fucking slaughtered me.
Her eyes met mine, and the ice-blue clarity darkened with fear.
She knew.
She knew I’d seen.
She knew I was so close to breaking.
“Neri...” I cleared my throat, trying to speak around the shattered glass inside it. “Can I...can I talk to you alone for a minute. Please.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, but his faith in me, his blind fucking trust, had him grinning as if my inability to accept his yearly invitation to be his wasn’t unusual.
“Planning covert Christmas shenanigans, huh? Fine.” Swooping toward Anna, he grabbed his wife and carried her giggling down the corridor. “Tell you what! Let’s all dress up! Make an occasion of our last family dinner under the same roof. Go raid your closet, Aslan. Anna and I will be a while.”
Anna squealed as Jack buried his face in her neck, marched her into their bedroom, and kicked the door closed. Her throaty laugh hinted exactly what they planned on doing.
I didn’t care if they were planning on making out or dressing up, the only thing I cared about was Neri.
My moon-married wife.
The girl who’d just torn out my heart and left it bleeding all over the damn kitchen.
“Neri...” I breathed, drifting toward her, cursing the remnants of alcohol and the fog of day-drinking. I reached for her damaged wrist. “What did you—”
“Not here.” She reared back, not letting me touch her. With a thin breath, she braced her shoulders and strode with a ramrod spine all the way to her bedroom.
I followed with my shredded heart dragging all the way behind me.
Chapter Fifty-Three
*
Aslan
*
(Moon in Ganda: Omwezi)
I DIDN’T SAY A WORD AS SHE waited for me to step into her girlish decorated bedroom.
I stared at the mermaid bedside light and mosquito net draped over her bed while she quietly closed the door. Her teal blankets and lacy pillows clashed with the pink-lacquered dresser and chipped lemon tallboy.
A lifetime she’d spent in this room.
Evolving.
Becoming.
I’d been inside her on her bed. I’d rutted into her against her door. I’d believed we were fated, all while we’d laughed and kissed and made promises to each other in snatched moments when her parents weren’t home.
All that preciousness. All that belonging tore itself into pieces and crushed beneath our feet as I turned to face her.
She stayed by the closed door, clinging to the handle.
No lock.
No way to stop her parents from coming in.
