I clear my throat, praying my words come quickly and before pain overtakes her again. “We’re about to have this incredible little boy. I don’t want him coming into this world wondering if his daddy loves his mommy. Fate brought us together. Fate had me put on these pants so I could give you this ring at this very moment.” My voice cracks and my vision becomes blurry with tears. “And fate will have me loving you and Aaron until the end of time.” I eye the monitor and see the line starting to go up again, indicating another contraction is coming. I quickly blurt out, “Skylar Mitchell, will you marry me?”
Tears flow from her eyes as her smile changes into a wince, her face scrunching up as she pulls her hand away and tightly grips the sides of her bed. Through her gritted teeth she grunts, “Are you seriously asking me to marry you when I’m in fucking labor?”
Trying not to laugh, I say, “Don’t say fuck, Sky.”
Instead of focusing on the picture, her eyes bore into me for the entire contraction. We silently stare into each other and I swear we become one, and through her eyes, I can almost feel the pain ripping through her body.
When the pain retreats, she nods to the ring in my hand. “How long have you had this?”
“I had it made weeks ago. I was going to propose last night at the party, but it wasn’t meant to be.”
Her hand comes up to wipe a tear. “Oh, God, Griffin. When you walked off the stage and came over to me. You were going to propose right then, weren’t you?” Her eyes go sad. “I ruined it. I’m so sorry.”
“You ruined nothing, Sky. It wasn’t supposed to happen then.” I turn the ring over, pointing to the inscription. “Anyway, it was too dark last night to read the inscription.”
She smiles, taking it from me, squinting to read what I had inscribed on the inside.
Fate ~ Faith ~ Family
I reach out to catch more of her tears. She starts to tense up and I glance at the monitor, confirming another contraction. “So are you going to fucking marry me, or what?”
Her answering grin flashes white teeth before her face falls into a grimace from the oncoming contraction. “Yes,” she grunts. “I’ll fucking marry you, Griffin Pearce. Ahhhh…” She squeezes my hand so hard, I’m sure I will suffer some sort of paralysis.
“It’s a good thing I didn’t video this moment. We’d never be able to show it to our kids,” I joke.
“Kids?” she shouts out in pain. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
I laugh, slipping the ring on her finger when the contraction subsides. I rise up and lean over the bed, placing a kiss on her salty lips as I hear people enter the room behind me. “Come on,” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Let’s do this.”
~ ~ ~
After twelve hours of labor, my fiancée is getting some much-needed sleep. My tiny-but-healthy son lies still in my arms, his mouth puckered and making little sucking noises as he sleeps. He is the perfect little version of Skylar. He has a heart-shaped face and a full head of hair that can’t decide on a color. I can only hope his baby-blue eyes will one day turn green.
Family and friends have come and gone, leaving a room full of blue balloons, teddy bears and, of course, white lilies. Along with the decorations, sits a letter from Erin. One that Baylor raced home to get once hearing of our engagement. While the nurses cleaned up Aaron, Skylar and I read the letter together, both rejoicing that Erin got to somehow be a small part of this joyous occasion. Both crying that she couldn’t be here in the flesh.
“He’s perfect,” Skylar whispers, looking at Aaron and me through sleepy eyes.
“Just like his mom.” I reach over to touch her arm.
She fiddles with the new ring on her finger and something dawns on me. “Sky, will you go on a date with me?”
She laughs quietly through her beaming smile. “Wow, we really do things backwards, don’t we? First we get knocked up, then we get engaged, then we go on a date.”
I raise my eyebrow at her. “Well, if you want to make it even more interesting, we could just go ahead and get married now, before we go on that date. I’m sure they have a chaplain here in the hospital.”
Her hand comes to her chest. “My parents would kill me, Griffin. Plus, Piper promised to not only come home, but plan my entire wedding if I ever got hitched. I wouldn’t give that up for anything. Imagine, a whole three months or more with my little sister.” Her eyes light up.
“I have to wait three months to marry you?” I joke.
“Or more,” she adds, laughing. “I only plan on doing this once, Griffin, so if it’s okay with you, I’d like to do it right.”
“It’s more than okay.” I look down at our sleeping son. “It’s perfect.”
“I wish I could take a picture of you right now,” Skylar says, beaming at me. “You look so happy.”
“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.” I lean down to kiss his little forehead through the striped blue hat he’s wearing. “I don’t need a photo to remember this, Skylar. Everything I want for the rest of my life is right here in this room.” I look at the tattoo on my right arm and realize that for the first time, I said those words without feeling guilty. I said them knowing it’s what Erin would have wanted. I said them knowing she loved me enough to give me away. I said them knowing this little boy and the amazing emerald-eyed woman that gave him to me are everything Erin said they would be.
My fate.
epilogue
Dear Aaron,
My name is Erin Pearce. I guess I’m your namesake, but please don’t take it personally that I’m a girl. We both have cool names. But you can call me Saint Erin. Because as far as I’m concerned, I performed a miracle.
The greatest gift I could ever give you is the love of two incredible parents. You may have started out as a dream of mine, but it was their fate to raise you. To love you. To always be there for you.
Be patient with your mom. She’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. She also has the kindest heart and the sweetest soul. If you grow up to be like her, you should consider yourself a lucky man.
I’m sure by now you know that your dad was once married to me. He saw me and your grandma through some very tough times. You can rely on him when things in your life seem out of control. He will be your rock. He will never waver in his undying love and support of you.
I want you to remember if life gets tough, you need to have faith that everything will work out the way it should. Trust in your family to be there for you and help guide you through life. Always follow your heart. Believe in fate. Fate is what brought you to this earth. It’s what brought your parents together. It will make you the man you are intended to be.
Most of all, I want you to trust in the fact that you will always have a guardian angel watching over you.
If I only have one piece of advice to give you, it is this—let your parents love you. Let them love you hard. Let them love you forever.
Your friend in heaven,
Erin
THE END
black roses
chapter one
piper
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I turn up the already blaring music in my ears, hoping it will drown out the sound of the plane engines catapulting me closer to the one place I don’t want to go.
Home.
Can I even call it that anymore after all this time? What is home anyway? According to Google, it’s ‘the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.’
So by definition, I’m homeless. A wanderer. A gypsy.
And that’s exactly how I like it.
Why did I make that stupid promise to Skylar last year? To come back for her wedding; plan it even. What the hell was I thinking?
I re-read the conversation Charlie and I had during my London layover.
Charlie: You okay?
I smile, thinking how it hadn’t even been three hours since I left her at the airport in Barcelona. She flew there with me from Istanbul. She was going to sh
ack up with a guy we met there earlier this year. I begged her to come with me, even though I knew she wouldn’t.
She hates home even more than I do.
Me: Yeah. Wish you were with me.
Charlie: You know I can’t go back.
Me: I know. I still wish you were with me.
Charlie: I am in spirit. We’ll talk every day—every hour if that’s what you need.
Me: Gotta go. They’re calling my flight. Love you.
Charlie: I love you, too. You can do this, Piper. I know you can. Six weeks will fly by.
Six weeks. The words bounce around in my head like a pinball. I know I’ve gone back before. But it was a day here and a day there—manageable mostly by large quantities of alcohol, something I tend to stay away from normally. Baylor’s wedding was the last time I dared to cross the Atlantic. But six whole weeks back home? Away from Charlie. Away from my comfortable life. Away from the possibility of—
I startle when someone touches my shoulder. I look up to see the flight attendant handing me my drink. I turn the music down so I can hear her.
“Would you like some pretzels with this?” The statuesque brunette with a pasted-on smile hands me a tiny bottle of Jack and a plastic glass filled with ice and Coke.
Ignoring her question, I stare at the glass as she places it on the tray table in front of me. I reach for it clumsily, toppling it over the side of the tray knowing it will probably stain my new white shoes. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I lean over and pick up the glass as she pulls a towel from her apron, looking slightly irritated, but still managing to keep the fake smile on her face.
“No problem.” She wipes up my tray. “This happens all the time. I’ll just run and get you another.”
“Maybe you should just bring me the can this time.” I shrug and smile sheepishly. “Less likely to spill.”
“Of course.” She hands a couple bottles of water to the people sitting next to me.
A few minutes later, she returns with a can of Coke and glass of ice, placing them carefully on my tray. She raises a brow as if to say ‘you’ll be more careful this time, right?’
“Thanks.” A sigh of relief exits my lungs when I hear the sweet ‘phsst’ sound of the can opening. I then break the seal on the tiny bottle and proceed to pour them both over the ice. I catch the flight attendant before she’s out of earshot. “When you have a chance, I’d like another,” I say, waving the empty bottle of Jack in the air.
She nods as she walks away. I turn the music up again and wait for the liquor to calm my nerves.
~ ~ ~
Four hours and three drinks later, the plane makes its descent into JFK. The whiskey has dulled my anxiety, making me brave enough to collect my things and be herded into the airport along with the hundreds of other travelers; people who are happy to be returning home or going on vacation; people who are complete strangers to me. People whose faces are unfamiliar, yet I wonder if I know any of them. Or if maybe they know me.
My eyes catch those of a man. He appraises me seductively from head to toe, causing bile to rise in my throat. I quicken my steps, rudely bypassing many of the other people heading to customs. I look back over my shoulder to see that his attention has turned to another pretty face and I take a breath. Maybe I didn’t have enough liquor after all.
As I stand and wait for the carousel to start delivering suitcases, I peruse the crowd gathering beyond customs. I see women jumping into the arms of men. Children being scooped up and plastered with kisses. Businessmen and women scurrying to car-rental booths, and sign-carrying limo drivers waiting on their assigned fares.
I don’t, however, see my big sister.
I quickly send Baylor a text telling her I’m waiting on my luggage. No doubt, she’s running late as usual.
Once I have my bag, I rest against a pole, stretching my legs while I await my ride. A few other people have done the same thing, most of them pulling out their phones, oblivious to the world. Not me. I’m a people-watcher. I like to know what’s going on around me.
It makes my stomach turn when I watch some of the men come through customs. They stare at beautiful women, undressing them with their eyes. Ogling their breasts and asses. Even following them to try and arrange a hookup or a date. Whenever one of them looks in my direction, I give them my look. My look that says ‘fuck off.’ The look I’ve perfected over the years.
I check the time and text Baylor again, contemplating getting a cab to take me to Mom and Dad’s on Long Island. Baylor invited me to stay at her house in Maple Creek, which also happens to be the house we grew up in. My other big sister, Skylar, offered me a room at her and Griffin’s townhouse in the city. But both of my sisters have new babies. Not exactly my idea of a fun vacation. Not that any of this will be fun. More like six weeks of torture.
God, I wish Charlie were here. She gets me. I think she’s the only one who does.
I look across the arrivals terminal and see a guy who’s people-watching like me. He’s leaning casually on the wall, a foot pressed up against it behind him. He’s wearing a ball cap that’s covering what I think is blonde hair, but it’s not pulled low enough to hide his recklessly handsome features. He’s very tall, crick-in-your-neck tall. His chiseled good looks lean towards rugged and unruly, and the broad chest beneath his crossed muscular arms exemplifies power and strength. The short beard on his face is so light, it’s easy to miss if you don’t look closely.
Why am I looking closely?
Unlike a lot of other men, he’s not ogling women. He’s simply regarding each person he sees as if he’s trying to figure out their story—why are they here and where are they going?
I see a woman with super-model looks walk by him. I watch intently as they make brief eye contact. He acknowledges her with a lift of his chin and then moves his attention to the next person who walks by. I don’t miss the fact that the model turns her head and gives a longing look to the people-watching stranger. I snicker inwardly. I’ll bet she’s used to a lot more attention than he gave her.
A moment later, he springs off the wall and sprints over to a crying child. I gather from the boy’s hysterical demeanor that he’s lost his parents. The stranger gets down on his knees and within seconds, has the boy calm—smiling even. Shortly after, a woman runs up and scoops the child into her arms. It looks like she thanks the man as the boy whispers in her ear. She gets something out of her bag and the man scribbles on it. He gives it to the boy, and I’m not exactly sure why, but the boy is very excited about his mom getting this dude’s phone number for a hookup. The boy and the stranger high-five before he walks away.
Then something peculiar happens.
He looks at me. He looks at me and my knees go weak. They actually almost fail to hold me up. My heart thunders and my breath catches. My skin heats up and the hair on my arms stands on end. Good God—why am I having this reaction to a total stranger? Why am I having this reaction period? In all of my twenty-one, almost twenty-two years, this has never happened. I sit down on the nearest bench, wondering if maybe I picked up a flu bug on the plane.
I mean, he could be an axe-murderer. An axe-murderer who hangs around airports and gives his number to single mothers of scared little boys. Maybe he’s a pedophile who sits around looking for kids—that’s why he doesn’t pay much attention to women.
For some inexplicable reason, I can’t pull my eyes away. He doesn’t look at my boobs. His eyes don’t even stray from my face. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to figure out my story as he’d done with all the others. Then a slow, smug smile full of masculine arrogance creeps up his face.
I avert my eyes and send an all-caps text to Baylor asking where the hell she is. The tension of the flight and the toxins from the alcohol are getting to me. My head hurts. I reach up and free my hair from its constraints in the hair tie. I rub my temples and stretch my neck. Then I hear it.
His voice. The voice that slices into my skin like a knife through butter, permeating
my entire being against every ounce of my will.
“Piper, right?”
Despite the smooth yet rugged sexiness of his voice, I start to panic. Oh, God. Who is he? How does he know me and what the hell does he want?
I can’t speak. Along with my wits, I try to gather my things as I contemplate running. But with my luggage, it’s not really an option. He must think I’m crazy.
He briefly removes his cap, running his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. “I’m your ride.”
chapter two
mason
She’s gorgeous. It runs in the family, of course, and she’s a carbon copy of Baylor with the exception of her intense green eyes. They are the color of sparkling blades of grass in the sunlight just after the rain. But Piper has an exotic beauty that the others don’t have. Maybe it comes from her travels abroad. Maybe it’s her unusual hair. I normally don’t give a second look to women. Not ever. But right after I recognized her; when she reached up to pull the band from her hair and it fell down around her shoulders, my goddamn heart stopped. The tips of her honey-brown hair look like they’ve been dipped in black ink, framing her heart-shaped face that surely belongs on the cover of a magazine. Her wavy hair falls just below her collarbone and looks slightly longer in the front than in the back. Before I walked over to talk to her I had to step back. Compose myself. Take a breath. Much like I do right after the huddle and before the snap of the football.
“My ride?” Her face is pale and haunted. She looks at me like I’m the Grim Reaper. Her doe eyes assess me and I can almost see the questions racing around in her head. She pulls her shoulder-bag close against her body and looks behind me. “How do I know you’re my ride and not some psycho killer?”
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