“Are you ready?”
Theo sticks his head into Ouray’s office, temporarily turned into my dressing room. A little unconventional with the large Arrow’s Edge insignia on the wall behind his desk, and the massive old barn wood table surrounded by a mismatched collection of chairs under the picture window.
It had been Luna’s idea, when she heard we were planning a quiet civil union in the La Plata County Clerk’s office on the same day as the MC’s annual spring barbecue, to combine the two and have Ouray officiate. I was about to pass when I caught the big smile on Dylan’s face. Turns out, my husband-to-be is a bit of a motorcycle fanatic. I learn something new every day.
Just over a month ago—when Dylan and I were at the bank to open savings accounts for the boys and the manager addressed me as Mrs. Berger—I told him I was sick of people calling me by that name.
We were walking out of the building when he turned to me and asked whether I’d have an issue if people called me Mrs. Barnes.
It was that practical. We were standing on the sidewalk, he stopped and turned to me and simply said, “Be my wife.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Back in January, Jeremy had been given the choice either to face the charge of aiding and abetting in the commitment of a crime, or enter a plea that would mean reduced time and included signing off on his parental rights to all his children.
After everything that happened, I shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t waste time signing away his kids to save his own hide. Typical.
Today I’m getting a name I can wear with pride, and someday if my boys bring it up, they may choose to go with a different name as well. That’s up to them.
“I’m ready, Bub,” I tell my son with a smile.
Five minutes later, my three boys walk me down the aisle running right down the center of the clubhouse main room. I know either side is full with our family and friends, but all I can see is a grinning Dylan in front of the large window, his pop and son standing in for him, all in black jeans and white dress shirts, while on my side Kerry and Mom are waiting in pretty summer dresses.
“Be happy, Mom,” Theo says, kissing my cheek.
Harry is next and as he always does, he wraps his arms around my waist, crushing the pretty flowers Luna and Ouray’s son Ahiga picked for me. “Oopsies,” he grins up at me sheepishly. “Love you, Mom. I’ll pick you more later.”
“Okay, buddy.”
“Are you happy?” I turn to Liam, who whispered his question.
“So happy, baby. I have the five best men to love and they all love me back. How could I not be?”
He nods his face serious. “I’m happy too, Mom.”
I’d kept it together all the way up the aisle. Not anymore.
Those innocuous words are a meaningful statement coming from Liam.
“Hand over your mom, Kiddo. She’s losing it.”
Liam untangles himself from my bone-crushing hug, takes my hand, and offers it to a still grinning Dylan.
“Stop laughing,” I hiss, trying to get my happy tears under control.
“Not laughing, I’m just deliriously happy.” He leans down, his mouth by my ear. “Sweet dress, and I really dig those boots, Sweetheart.”
“All right, I ain’t got all day. Let’s get this show on the road,” Ouray grumbles, but he does it with a grin. “We’ll keep this short and to the point. We’ve got a pig and cold beer waitin’.”
Loud cheers go up around us. I turn around and find a sea of familiar smiling faces, but Ouray quickly calls the place to order.
He’s right; the official part is short and sweet, aside from a moment of hilarity when he called Dylan, Bullseye. An inside joke I’ll have to get to the bottom of.
As I had anticipated, my husband doesn’t just kiss me; he devours my mouth to loud cheers and whistles.
It took no time at all for the clubhouse to empty out into the large yard, where picnic tables were set up with a ridiculous amount of food, a whole pig was roasting over a big outdoor grill, and the first cold beers were being drawn from one of the kegs.
“What are the odds we can get out of here soon?”
I turn to smile at Dylan. “Sorry to disappoint, honey, but we’ll just be going home with the kids.”
He leans closer. “Wrong. The boys are having their first tree house sleepover of the season. They’re going home with Ma and Pop.”
I immediately get to my feet and grab his hand.
“In that case, as soon as we say goodbye.”
THE END
Keep reading for an excerpt from my upcoming novel
When Hope Ends
by Freya Barker
This will be released as part of a Single Parent Collection: Then There Was you.
Coming August 13, 2019
14 Authors. 14 Stories.
Sexy Single Dads. Strong Single Moms.
THEN THERE WAS YOU features single parents who weren't looking—didn't need anyone—until the right someone came along.
Experience the highs and lows of parenthood, love lost and gained, and new beginnings with this collection of stories. They’re sure to leave you with a full heart and a smile on your face.
AVAILABLE FOR A LIMITED TIME
Proceeds will be donated to Family Promise, a non-profit organization that addresses family homelessness.
Gianna Gabriela, Alex Grayson, Angel Devlin,
Anna Brooks, Author Evan Grace, Dani René,
Esther E. Schmidt, Freya Barker, HLNighbor,
Heather Lyn, Kally Ash, Kathy Coopmans,
Lauren Dawes, L.A. Cotton
WHEN HOPE ENDS
By FREYA BARKER
PROLOGUE
Mika
“I’m sorry Mr. Ainsworth, but on this I have to agree with Ms. Spencer.”
The relief I feel at Judge Winslow’s words, walking out of the courtroom, is short-lived. The reality hits me in the face the moment I step into Kenny G’s Holiday Classics streaming into the otherwise empty elevator cab. My knees buckle and I end up on my ass, sitting on the floor with my back against the side.
The frenzied battle waged in and out of the courtroom these past five days suddenly seems insignificant in the face of what’s ahead. Today, in fact. The judge ended up giving Emmett and his family until four this afternoon to say their goodbyes, and after that it will all be up to me.
The heaviest of responsibilities my knees clearly can’t hold up under.
The moment the door hisses open I’m blinded by flashing lights.
Stupid. I’d all but forgotten they were here.
I scramble to my feet, a feat made harder by the microphones and recording devices shoved in my face, and block out the questions that come at me from all directions. Hard to believe I was part of the pack not that long ago.
I should’ve let Sam come. When I talked to her briefly this morning and she mentioned Demi—her youngest—had been sick all night, I insisted she stay home and look after her. I regret it now. Sam would’ve plowed her way through the small crowd of my peers and hustled me out of there.
I will myself not to show emotion, a copy of the judge’s order getting crumpled in my hand from the effort. I fight the panic crawling up my throat as they hold the elevator doors open but block me inside. My eyes aim over their heads to look for help.
It comes in the form of a gray, potbellied security guard who comes to my rescue. He forces himself through the throng and grabs me by the arm. I follow behind him like a frightened child as he drags me into a small room beside the security checkpoint at the door.
“Breathe,” my good Samaritan orders. “Where the hell is your lawyer?”
“Another case,” I manage trying to control my breathing.
“Do you have a car or should I call someone to pick you up?”
“Just a taxi, please.”
I’d left my car at the hospital. Driving in Boston is a nightmare on the best of days. I had no desire to get stuck finding a parking spot so I opted t
o cab it.
Ten minutes later, the same kind guard leads me down the courthouse steps and into the cab waiting below.
“Tuft, please.”
“Which entrance?” the driver asks.
“Emergency,” I quickly say, hoping to avoid the press likely to be hounding the main entrance as they have the past few days since Emmett made our battle a very public one.
My job, not so long ago my passion, has turned on me these past weeks. Even after being out of the spotlight the past nine months, unfortunately I’m apparently still newsworthy. Of course Emmett and his parents are mostly to blame for that, probably thinking I would cave under public pressure.
I haven’t. Not when the only redeeming outcome in this nightmare was dependent on my strength.
The emergency entrance to the otherwise busy hospital is blissfully quiet and I send up a brief thank you to whatever power up there. For one who’s not particularly religious, I’ve sure sent up my share of prayers these past nine months and even more so the past week. Pretty sure no one is listening, but even knowing intellectually there’s no avoiding what is coming, I’m not willing to leave any stone unturned.
On the third floor, I force myself to grab a coffee and a sandwich, knowing I’ll need to keep up my strength. Besides, Emmett and his parents are probably with him already. They left the courthouse while I was waiting for a copy of the order.
They have another hour before it’s my turn, time I need to set the wheels in motion. Lives may depend on it.
“ARE YOU READY?”
Swallowing hard, I’m only able to nod.
It’s probably been close to an hour since Emmett was escorted out by security. His parents were already gone, but he’d lingered, waiting for me to arrive. He didn’t hesitate making an ugly scene, flinging accusations I rationally know were without foundation in the truth, but he cut me nonetheless.
Deep.
His hurtful words teased the exposed nerve of guilt I couldn’t help but feel and I needed some time to reflect. Staff kept a respectful distance for a while, but with the clock ticking, I couldn’t fault them for prodding me along.
The sudden silence in the room is deafening as I’m given a few moments alone with him. I stroke my fingers over his impassive face. It used to be the only thing that would soothe him, make him fall asleep.
I lean over the bed and kiss his face.
“Sleep tight, my love.”
Then I walk out of the room, leaving my world behind.
JUDE
“What?”
I surge up from my chair and my heart stops in my throat at Cassie’s words.
“They may have a heart,” she repeats.
My body drops back down as I process what she’s saying. “For Kelty? Oh my God.”
“I know.” Her voice is soft and I can hear her tears.
“I’m taking her right now. They want her in as soon as possible so they can start prepping, but it’ll probably be hours yet. How long will you be?”
I look around my messy office and for once I wish I’d picked Boston instead of Cape Cod to open my restaurant. “An hour,” I answer, much too optimistically.
“Jude, please. You don’t do anyone favors if you get pulled over, hurt, or—God forbid—killed because you’re speeding. Maybe you should ask Steve to drive you.”
Steve is one of the reasons I ended up in Orleans. I went to college with the guy and being a real estate agent on the Cape, when he got wind I was looking for a location he started sending me prospective listings. I fell in love with a cove-side property just north of town right away and signed the papers just days after seeing it.
That was thirteen years ago and I’ve never regretted it until today.
“Mandy!” I call out as I grab my coat. It’s fucking cold out with a stiff wind blowing in off the water. Snow is expected after this weekend but I suspect I’ll be holed up in Boston.
I hope I’ll still be in Boston.
“Yeah, boss?”
Amanda Ross is my restaurant manager. She’s a local who was the first to respond to my ad looking for staff thirteen years ago. Then a new high school graduate without a lot of prospects on the Cape. What she didn’t have in formal education she made up for over the years, learning on the job and in a few courses I paid for her to follow. Now thirty-one, Mandy is married to a local commercial fisherman—a great guy who happens to supply the restaurant with fresh catch—and she runs the day-to-day of Cove Side Cooker. On top of that she’s become a friend.
“I’m off to Tuft.”
Her eyes go wide. “Kelty?”
“She’s good. It’s...” Suddenly my emotions get the better of me and I struggle to get my next words out. “They may have a heart for her.”
The next instant my manager throws herself in my arms and drenches me with her tears, chanting, “Ohmigod, ohmigod...”
“Mandy, honey. I gotta go.” My own eyes wet, I pry her away from me and kiss her forehead. “I gotta know you’ve got this place.”
“Right.” She wipes her sleeve over her wet face, fighting for composure as she starts shoving me out of the restaurant. “I’ve got it, boss. Best get going. I’ll let everyone know.”
That gives me pause and I stop in my tracks.
“Maybe hold off on that? Until we know a bit more, okay?” I quickly add when her face shows immediate concern.
Maybe I’m being overly cautious, but if I’ve learned anything this past year it’s that nothing is guaranteed. Especially not good news.
“Of course,” she immediately responds. “Keep me in the loop, though. I’ll be praying for you all.”
I’m one of those non-practicing Catholics who still believes in the power of prayer. Nothing wrong with sending that positive energy out into the universe.
“Appreciated.”
I give her a nervous smile and dart out to my Traverse in the parking lot.
“DADDY!”
My heart gives a jolt, seeing my nine-year-old, blue-eyed, blonde-haired princess back in a hospital bed. The only difference is this time her smile is wide compared to the last time I walked into Tufts finding a sickly girl hooked up to too many machines.
Since being diagnosed with acute cardiomyopathy, she’s had a VAD—a ventricular assist device—surgically placed to give her failing heart a break. The last seven months, waiting on a viable heart, had been a lot better for her than the couple of months prior to that.
“Hey, Pooh.” I close the distance to the bed and inhale her scent as I bend down and she wraps her little arms around my neck.
“I’m getting my new heart today.”
I love the sound of her girly, Tinker Bell voice and smile down on her. “So I hear.”
My eyes immediately dart up to Cassie who has her arms wrapped around her husband Mark, both showing the overwhelming emotions I feel in my chest. Hope, apprehension, relief and stark fear for what might lie ahead.
I kiss Kelty’s curls before I get up from the bed and walk over to her mom.
Cassie lets go of Mark and hugs me back as hard as I’m hugging her. Mark does the same when I turn to him.
We’ve been lucky.
Cassie and I never intended to have a child together. Ours was an occasional, convenient, and purely physical connection, but a pregnancy was the result of our friends-with-benefits arrangement. We weren’t destined for anything more and we both knew it. Agreeing to focus on co-parenting our child, and remain the friends we were without the benefits part, was the best decision.
It was a year after Kelty was born Cassie met Mark, and although I’d been hesitant at first sharing my daughter with him, he proved to be a good man, a good step-father to my daughter. The fact Kelty has three parents firmly in her corner has proven to be invaluable. Especially since early March of this year.
That’s when Kelty first became sick.
“So it’s official?” I ask, after everyone sits down. I’m perched on the side of our daughter’s bed.
&nbs
p; “Yes,” Mark states firmly when Cassie only manages to nod.
I blow out an audible breath, hope and fear now dominating anything else I might feel.
We distract ourselves with inane chatter about the weather, sports, our respective jobs, interspersed with visits from the lab, an administrator with paperwork to sign, the anesthesiologist, and an OR nurse prepping Kelty. Finally the surgeon makes an appearance, reminding us he’s done this surgery for many years to reassure us.
Not that it does, since this is and hopefully will be our first and only time, no matter how many of these transplant surgeries he’s done over the years.
Still, when my princess is taken to the OR, and a nurse suggests we wait in the small surgical waiting room, I feel more hopeful than fearful.
“None of us have eaten. Why don’t I go grab us something?” I offer, needing to do something. I’ve never been a particularly restful or patient person, I do better being active in some way.
“I don’t think I could eat,” Cassie voices.
“Something,” I urge. “Even just some fruit or a yoghurt. We’ll likely be up all night watching over her. You don’t do her any favors if you collapse.”
Throwing her own words back at her earns me an irritated glare. “Fine,” she bites off.
“You stay,” Mark suggests, getting up. “I’ll grab us some sandwiches.”
“It’s okay. I need something to do,” I assure him, resolutely walking out of the waiting room.
Straight into the path of a distraught-looking woman.
She looks vaguely familiar, although it’s difficult to tell with her messy blonde tresses covering half of her face. Her business-like attire doesn’t match the state of her face and hair.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that is visibly racking her body.
Not sure why, but my hands immediately go to her shoulders to steady her. Her eyes shoot up and I see sheer torment in her pale-gray, swollen eyes.
“Is there something I can do? Someone I can call, maybe?” I offer, my chest constricting in the face of her pain.
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