The Problem with Peace: Greenstone Security #3

by Malcom, Anne

  A tear trailed down my cheek. “How long were you going to carry that around for?” I asked.

  “Forever if need be.”

  Another tear trickled out.

  “But thanks for not making me wait forever,” he murmured. “My beautiful Polly, will you marry me?”

  It was simple. No poetry. But he didn’t need it.

  “Yes,” I choked out.

  It was only then that he slipped the ring on my finger.

  * * *

  Rosie went in to have her baby as scheduled two weeks later.

  And she was sure there wouldn’t be drama.

  But she was Rosie.

  So there was drama.

  Drama that nearly broke Luke.

  That nearly broke the entire club, who were sitting in the waiting room.

  Luke had first emerged, in full scrubs, telling everyone about his son, grinning from ear to ear. There was a low roar from the men in leather who had taken over the entire waiting room. But then a doctor rushed to Luke, pulled him aside and murmured something.

  Then Luke froze.

  Then all color, all joy drained from Luke’s face.

  I wasn’t the only one who saw it.

  Cade, Rosie’s brother, had all but tackled the doctor.

  And then the joy drained from his face.

  We waited in that room for three more hours. There were no more smiles, no more roars. Nothing but ugly and painful silence.

  Something had happened.

  Complications.

  Rosie had to be rushed into surgery.

  “This can’t be happening,” I whispered, Heath’s arms tight around me. “She’s had enough. We’ve had enough. It’s time for peace. She deserves it.”

  Heath kissed my head. “I know, baby.”

  He didn’t placate me then either.

  Because it was bad.

  Really bad.

  But she was Rosie.

  And she pulled through.

  And there was a fragile, chaotic peace once more.

  * * *

  Eight Months Later

  We didn’t rush into the wedding like everyone thought we might.

  I didn’t want to rush.

  I wanted to enjoy it.

  Plan it.

  Just live for a little.

  And we did.

  We moved into our house.

  Into our home.

  I opened my yoga studio ‘The Problem With Peace’ where I helped people find peace, but I also encouraged them to find it in chaos.

  I babysat when my sister was going out of her mind. Treasured and spoiled my niece and nephew.

  I healed. Slowly. But surely.

  And now I was getting married.

  In a church.

  Heath hadn’t even blinked when I told him I wanted to, despite the fact I knew he wasn’t religious. Not one word was said about it as we did weekly meetings with the priest, who was kind and easy to talk to.

  He hadn’t had one single opinion on a dress, the flowers, the location.

  “I’m marrying you for you,” he murmured when I’d asked him if it bothered him, all of the plans that he wasn’t in control of. “Don’t care about the wedding. As long as it involves you in a dress, promising forever and then me taking off that dress and fucking you all night.”

  Then we hadn’t talked about the wedding. We were intent on recreating the wedding night.

  I smoothed my dress.

  Though it didn’t work since the dress wasn’t exactly smooth. It was white, hand-beaded silk.

  Sheer organza covered my collarbone and turned into long flowing sleeves. Tiny lace flowers were scattered atop the organza, heavy at my shoulders and then fading down my arms. The organza was draped across a tight, strapless, beaded bodice, with more flowers stitched atop.

  It flowed down from my waist, long and whimsical, with a long train behind me.

  It was the dress.

  My dress.

  “Holy fuck.”

  I turned around.

  “Sunshine,” Heath ground out, eyes feasting on me. “Never in my life have I seen a more beautiful woman.”

  I didn’t speak, didn’t spout crap about the bad luck of seeing me in my dress. He’d already seen me in one wedding dress. We’d had the bad luck.

  So instead of all that, I ran to him, into his arms.

  He caught me.

  Of course.

  I didn’t hesitate to press my lips to his.

  He didn’t hesitate to kiss me back.

  “I just wanted to see what it was like to kiss you,” I murmured against his mouth.

  “And now you’ll never have to know what it feels like to stop,” he growled.

  And then he kissed me again.

  I was late for my own wedding.

  But I was Polly.

  So they expected it.

  * * *

  Two Months Later

  We were sitting on the sofa, me with a glass of wine, Heath with a beer. He was reading, and I was doing some research for new versions of meditation at the studio.

  It was a normal night.

  Whatever passed for normal for us at least.

  “What do you think about Luna?” I said, snapping my head up.

  Heath glanced up. “For a girl or a boy?”

  I scowled at him. “For a girl, of course.”

  “You suggested Malin for a boy yesterday,” he shot back.

  “It’s a unisex name!” I protested.

  “Any unisex name is a girl’s name,” he muttered.

  “That’s such an alpha male thing to say,” I snapped.

  He grinned, yanking me in for a kiss without spilling our drinks. “I remember you seem to like all of the alpha things I do to you.”

  I blinked once he was done kissing me.

  “What were we talking about again?” I whispered.

  “The name for our daughter,” he reminded gently.

  “Right,” I breathed.

  We had been talking about names since I’d broached the subject a month ago. I’d expected him to be tense, tentative, to mention it being too soon.

  Instead, he’d made slow, beautiful love to me, then he’d made an appointment at an adoption agency. We’d gotten on a list quickly and without hassle, which was strange considering it was notoriously hard to get on such lists.

  But Heath was Heath, so we got on.

  Judy, our caseworker, warned us it could be a long wait.

  “It’s okay, we’ve got time,” Heath had murmured, yanking me to his side.

  And he was right. We did have time.

  The ringing of my phone jerked me out of the past. And then of course I had to dig around in the sofa to find it.

  “Hello,” I answered on the last ring, about to sip my wine.

  “Polly? We’ve got a baby for you.”

  I froze, the glass halfway to my mouth.

  Heath was instantly alert.

  “I’m going to warn you,” Judy continued. “She is currently suffering from Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. She’s in an incubator since she’s premature and will be for the next three weeks at least. She will be hard,” Judy said, her voice hard as if she were trying to prepare me. “And not in terms of her health, but that will be a struggle too. But because we’ve seen various behavioral and mental health issues. This is a big commitment. This is harder and uglier than the reality of a normal baby. There will be no judgment if you say no.”

  I had put the phone on speaker the second she spoke her first sentence, so Heath had heard everything too.

  “We’ll take her,” Heath said immediately, snatching the words from my mouth, and my heart.

  If there was ever a moment when I thought my love for him might kill me, might literally explode my heart, it was then. It was his lack of hesitation, the look on his face, the love he had for a child that we hadn’t seen, that was full of all the ugly realities of the world and that would be the most beautiful thing we’d ever seen.

 
; Our child.

  * * *

  “I will never get right with the fact that I lost my baby for a reason,” I said, looking at the little baby in the incubator. She was so small. So small but somehow she took up all the space in the room. “But I think if there ever was one, it’s lying right there.”

  I nodded at the tiny, helpless, damaged human being.

  Heath’s arms tightened around me.

  “It’s because the universe knew that there were little beautiful people like this that needed us. And that we’d need them,” he murmured the profound words with enough force to bowl me over, if he wasn’t holding me, that was.

  We continued to watch the little being in the incubator.

  Our daughter.

  Epilogue

  We found our son only three months after we brought our daughter, Skye, home. Everyone said it was too soon. Especially with the extra care Skye needed. A lot of people thought it was because we were sleep deprived and delirious.

  “I bought kitten heels in the first three months of Amelia’s life,” Lucy said. “It’s like when Mercury’s in retrograde, no big decisions. And the kitten heels, thankfully I could return when I was lucid...ish. But a child, you cannot—well, not without people judging you, at least. Not me. There have been times where I would’ve returned Amelia for a houseplant or something that didn’t cry for six hours straight if I could. Of course, I love her more than life, but they don’t tell you about how fucking insane lack of sleep can make you.”

  Lucy was right, we were sleep deprived. But I operated off little to no sleep as it was, and Skye seemed to like being awake in the night, just like her mom, so it worked out.

  And I was her mom.

  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t mine biologically.

  “Blood doesn’t determine who your parents are,” Dad said, cradling the peaceful baby in his arms—Skye was always peaceful when she was given love and tenderness. “Love does.”

  And Heath and I loved our little girl with all the pieces of ourselves.

  She was ours. In more than blood.

  But she was a lot. She did have problems. But we seemed uniquely qualified to handle them.

  She cried a lot. Screamed, in fact. But her father was cool, calm under pressure, and he cradled her restless and fragile little body, laid it upon his bare chest, and somehow, it soothed her.

  Like it had soothed me when I was broken.

  I walked with her strapped to my chest, up and down the beach at three in the morning. She liked the witching hour.

  Now I knew that everything happened for a reason. Everything ugly, horrible and unthinkable Heath and I had been through in our lives gave us the tools to give our daughter beautiful peace.

  But she was still a newborn baby.

  And they didn’t like sleep.

  So we were tired when we pushed the stroller into the shelter. It was now one of three in the city, with Jay expanding. I helped manage when I could, but I was also building my second yoga studio inside the next shelter he was converting.

  It was safe to say that the people of L.A. liked my particular brand of peace.

  And people liked Greenstone dealing with their chaos, so Heath was busy. Not busy enough to miss feedings. To give me time to do things like shower, brush my hair and remember to put on deodorant.

  He was a hands-on dad.

  Skye was his princess.

  So we were busier than ever, yet we made sure to volunteer once a week. Heath came every single time, not just for security. But to contribute. Because he wanted to be involved. Because of his past. Because he found that a lot of people had parents like his, and those people didn’t react the same way as him. Didn’t have the opportunity to react in the same way as him and they ended up on the streets.

  He worked with them to find jobs.

  And that’s how we found our son.

  He was too skinny for a start.

  He was jumpy.

  Didn’t talk to anyone.

  Didn’t let anyone touch him.

  But he touched my heart the second I saw him. I had a reaction, one I couldn’t explain then, and I wouldn’t be able to explain at his high school graduation or his wedding.

  Because I believed in love at first sight.

  That people belonged to each other.

  And he belonged to me.

  I didn’t tell Heath immediately and he didn’t have the same reaction as me. Not until Skye started having an episode. One that was common with babies like her. It was something more than a crying jag. It was horrible, heartbreaking to watch. Because nothing could calm her down. She had to cry it out.

  People at the shelter knew this, knew us, and they understood Skye.

  And they knew that it was made worse when people tried to comfort her. She barely quietened when Heath gently rocked her—and she had a special bond with her dad already.

  Heath froze as the skinny, bruised boy came up. He was on high alert when his daughter was involved. But something gave him pause.

  Skye’s screams silenced the second he put his hand on her tiny chest.

  Utter silence.

  Heath gaped at the boy.

  And he was a boy. Upon closer inspection even younger than I’d thought.

  Ten, at the most.

  And he was at a homeless shelter, wearing dirty and torn clothes, sporting a bruise and a sadness in his eyes that broke my soul. And he gave my daughter peace in the midst of chaos even Heath and I couldn’t calm.

  He was ours since then.

  It wasn’t easy getting him to trust us.

  To realize we weren’t going to hurt him, leave him, scar him more.

  It wasn’t easy getting the adoption to go through.

  But it was worth it.

  Acknowledgments

  This series is different than all of my other books. I seem to write each book when I need to write a real story. A painful story. Full of flawed characters and the uglier side of love. I need to write it because then it shows me (and more importantly, you) that it’s okay to be flawed. To make bad decisions. To learn from them. That the pain will seem unbearable sometimes, and love won’t be like books and movies promise, but it’ll all work out in the end.

  I am so thankful for the people who helped me through all my struggles, to get me here, to the end of this book. I’ll forever treasure the wonderful people I have in my life.

  Mum. You’re always going to be here. Right at the top of this list. Because without you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have turned my love of reading into writing if you hadn’t told me I could be anything I wanted to be. You’re the one I can call at one in the morning, in hysterical tears and you tell me it’s all gonna be okay. You’re also the one that makes sure there’s a basket of cheese and wine at my front door the next day. Thank you for your faith in me. Thank you for always being my best friend.

  Dad. Another person that’s forever going to be at the top of this list. A list you’re never going to read, but I know you’re around, somewhere. You taught me to be a bad ass little girl before the world stole you away. I carried those lessons with me and now I’m a bad ass woman. Because of you. I miss you every single day.

  My girls, Polly, Harriet, and Emma. The truest of friendships take no notice of postcodes, of time spent without speaking, and that’s what I’ve got with the three of you. I am so very lucky to have girlfriends who are always there for me as a shoulder to cry on, a partner in crime, or someone to drink wine with.

  My #sisterqueen, Jessica Gadziala. What would I do without you? No, seriously, what in the heck would I do? You are always there with support, wisdom and a kick up the ass when I need it. I can’t wait to take over the world together.

  Amo Jones. I’m so lucky to call you a friend, a sister, a soulmate. You’ve been with me since the beginning and I’ll be with you till the end. Ride or die.

  Michelle, Annette, and Caro. You ladies are something special. I cannot tell you how much your support has meant to
me this past year. I love you all, to the moon.

  Ginny and Sarah. Thank you for putting so much work into this book, for helping me turn it into what it is now. You ladies are everything to me.

  Ellie. Thank you for taking me on and for staying true to my voice while editing this book. Thank you for being awesome. I love you. Strong independent women for life!

  And you, the reader. Thank you for reading this book. You have made my dream come true just by taking a chance on me. I will be forever grateful.

  About the Author

  ANNE MALCOM has been an avid reader since before she can remember, her mother responsible for her love of reading. It started with magical journeys into the world of Hogwarts and Middle Earth, then as she grew up her reading tastes grew with her. Her love of reading doesn’t discriminate, she reads across many genres, although classics like Little Women and Gone with the Wind will hold special places in her heart. She also can’t get enough romance, especially when some possessive alpha males throw their weight around.

  One day, in a reading slump, Cade and Gwen’s story came to her and started taking up space in her head until she put their story into words. Now that she has started, it doesn’t look like she’s going to stop anytime soon, with many more characters demanding their story be told as well.

  Raised in small town New Zealand, Anne had a truly special childhood, growing up in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. She has backpacked across Europe, ridden camels in the Sahara and eaten her way through Italy, loving every moment. She’s currently living London, loving life and traveling as much as humanly possible.

  Want to get in touch with Anne? She loves to hear from her readers.

  You can email her: annemalcomauthor@hotmail.com

  Or join her reader group on Facebook.

  Also by Anne Malcom