by B. B. Hamel
We break off the hug. I kiss her softly. “I love you,” I say.
She smiles. “I love you too.”
I kiss her again. She heads off toward the bathroom and I feel something growing inside of me. It’s strength, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and dedication. I’m dedicated to Mia and my baby now, and I’ll never let them go.
I kneel down and Jones comes up to me. I press my forehead against his and he licks me once. “You’re a good boy,” I say softly. “The best boy in the world.” I kiss him and he licks me again. “I love you, too.”
His tail wags and I stand up. He follows me as I gather what we need, warmer clothes, blankets, and fuel. I get it all stacked out back, plus something quick to eat, just crackers from the cupboard. I try not to look at the Bear’s body, but it’s hard to ignore.
I find Shelly and Mia still in the bathroom. They look up at me as I come in like they were just talking about me.
“Ready?” I ask.
Mia nods. “Ready.”
“Remember what I said,” Shelly calls out as we go to leave. “Got it, Mia?”
“I got it.”
I linger in the doorway. “Thanks,” I say to her. “I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you, but if you ever find me… well, I’ll try.”
She grins. “I’ll hold you to that, rich boy. Now go take care of that girl.”
I nod once and turn away.
Jones wants to follow us, but I get him to stay. It hurts like hell, leaving him behind, but I know he’ll be fine. I have a sneaking suspicion that Shelly’s going to take good care of him, and hell, I think she probably needs him more than I need him now.
We trudge back to the snowmobiles in silence together, keeping close. We refuel only one, deciding that she’ll ride with me still. We get on and I look back at her.
“You ready?” I ask. “There’s no turning around now.”
“Let’s go,” she says softly, nuzzling up against my neck, her arms wrapping tight around my waist.
I smile, start the engine, and start driving back into town, back toward my life, the uncertainty of the future, with the only person in the world that matters to me. Despite the fucked-up shit that just happened, I’m so oddly happy that I don’t know how I’ll ever live up to this moment, but I’ll try.
I’m dedicated to Mia and my baby. I love her more than I can say, and I’m already starting to love my unborn baby. This is what I needed, maybe not the violence, but a reason to bring me back into the world.
I’ll do whatever I can to stay here, right here with Mia, in the happiest place I can imagine.
25
Mia
Two Years Later
“And how long, exactly, was this going on, Mr. Reid?”
Ethan smiles, his charming and confident grin, and I can tell the reporter is starting to warm up to him. He looks so damn good in the studio, with his crisp, clean suit and his handsome face. He looks incredible on camera, which is definitely part of why our story has gotten so much attention.
“From the start, Joan,” he says. “I was young, inexperienced, and yes, maybe a little stupid. I thought that if I could pay them back, they’d let me go.”
“And you found out that you were wrong,” Joan says, smiling. She’s young, blonde, and pretty in that bland way most on-camera reporters are. I hate her right away.
“Pretty quickly,” he says, laughing softly. Joan even cracks a smile. “The thing is, once these people have their hooks in you, they’ll never let go, no matter what. I made mistakes, but I’ve worked hard to make up for them.”
“Which is why you wrote this book, along with your wife, and why you’ve been donating so much money to charity?”
“That’s right,” he says. “Every dime we make from this book goes to charity.”
“An admirable goal.” Joan adjusts in hear chair, looking down at her notes. “But what do you say to your critics, accusing you of being negligent and getting people killed?”
This is the question I was worried about. We both knew she was going to ask it, and I know he’s been preparing himself for this over and over again, but it’s never easy. I can see the pain in his eyes every single time those seven men are brought up.
“I pay for that every day,” he says softly. “Those people aren’t wrong. I just hope that the good I can do in this world outweighs the mistakes that I’ve made in the past.”
“Thank you, Ethan Reid, for being here.”
“Thank you, Joan.”
They both smile and the lights come up. The director walks on stage, calls time, and the set breaks up.
Ethan chats briefly with Joan before he wanders away from the set. I catch his eye and he grins at me, looking exhausted.
He has every reason to be tired. This is maybe his twentieth interview in the last week, and we have a ton more to go. We’re on a whirlwind tour, promoting our book, Life and Lumber, the story of how the Russian mob bought a rich billionaire.
Public response was immediate and intense. There were lawsuits early on, and Ethan settled all of them out of court. He was incredibly generous with the families of the seven miners, so generous that they’ll never have to work again, and he’s giving them part of the book sales revenue. He’s taking care of them, even if they hate him, and he can accept that. I know he still punishes himself for what happened, but he’s trying to move on.
There was a criminal investigation, but that went nowhere. I’m not sure why it was stopped, but Ethan’s sure that the Russians decided to squash it. They have that kind of power, which is terrifying, of course.
“How was that?” he asks me as the set bustles, prepping for their next segment.
“Perfect,” I say. “You were great.”
He grins and kisses me softly. I can feel that chill again, running down my spine.
“Where’s Micah?” he asks.
“With Jen in the green room.”
“Great. Let’s go see them.”
He links his hand in mine, something he does after every interview. I can tell his eyes are haunted and he despises all this public scrutiny, but we both know it’s for the best.
When we made it to town after leaving Shelly behind two years ago, we had to make a choice. We could go on the run, but that would make having a baby impossible. We had no clue what to do, but we knew we had to move. We started down toward the south, moving into California, never staying anywhere longer than a day or two. We were all over California for a few weeks before we turned east, heading inland.
Until finally, somewhere in Arizona, I had an idea. Part of the power of the Russians and men like them is the silence of those that they bully. We could break that silence, tell the truth about what happened to Ethan, bring it all into the light of day. That way, if they did try to kill him, the police would have no choice but to investigate.
So we started writing articles and blog posts, getting the information out there the best we could. All of that lead to a book deal with Harper Collins, and now here we are, two years later, finally publishing it.
It wasn’t an easy journey. There were hard, terrible times for us, where we were convinced the Russians were coming again. I keep seeing the Bear’s head shatter as Shelly shoots him. I keep seeing Shelly’s mangled body, silverware jutting from her flesh. I wake up sweating even to this day, but Ethan’s always there, calming me down.
We move through the studio, Ethan’s hand in mine. I look up at him and smile, and he tries to smile back, but he’s so tired and in so much pain. People hate him, despise him really, think he’s a weak, pathetic man for getting pushed around by the Russians. Of course, everyone has their fucking opinion, and none of them know how strong Ethan really is. How incredible, how brave. He’s been punished enough as it is, but the public is intent on punishing him even more.
We make it to the green room and step inside. Micah, our little baby boy, just over a year old, is sitting on the couch playing with Jen, our nanny.
Jen lo
oks up and smiles. “Took you long enough,” she says in her grating voice. “What, did you get lost out there?”
Ethan grins and releases my hand. “Just a little bit.”
“I hope that went better than the last one. You know, I keep telling you, that suit looks too rich. You need to dress it down. My employers always said—”
“I think he looks handsome,” I interrupt her before she gets going. Jen grumbles at me, but she doesn’t press the point, since she’s told us this a hundred times already.
Jen, of course, isn’t her real name. We don’t really know her real name. She used to be Shelly before, and she was something else before that. All we know is, this old ex-Soviet spy saved our lives, and now we owe her everything. The least we could do was take her in and give her a job for as long as she wants one.
She came back to us one day a few weeks into writing the articles. She appeared out of the blue, Jones on a leash, a big grin on her face. I didn’t expect to ever see her again, and clearly Ethan didn’t either, but as soon as she appeared, we were both so relieved. She’s been a huge part of all this ever since then, acting as our nanny to help with Micah, but also strategizing the release of information and generally helping to keep watch in case our plan suddenly fails. She walks with a limp now, and has some nasty scars, but she’s still the old, angry, great woman she was before this happened.
Micah gets up and runs over to me, hugging me. I lift him up and kiss his cheek before passing him to his daddy. Ethan laughs as Micah kisses him too, and I smile to myself, loving this moment.
“Well, I’m ready to go home,” Ethan says finally. “What about you guys?”
“Home!” Micah says.
Jen grunts. “Sure, why not? The animal must be lonely.”
She means Jones, of course. She and Jones have become best friends. We don’t know what happened to her after we left her cabin that night, but whatever happened bonded her and Jones together tightly.
We get up and head out. The producer talks with Ethan a bit, but the hard part is over. We travel uptown, and we’re back in our townhouse by one in the afternoon.
We have two townhomes side-by-side that Ethan purchased and had rebuilt into a single unit. From the outside, it looks like two normal places, but the inside is totally different.
It’s our own little heaven. Jones comes running up and Ethan pats him before Jen scratches his ears. Micah totters off toward his playroom as we gather in the kitchen. Ethan sits down and pours himself a drink, looking weary.
“Easy with that,” I say to him. “You have a few phone interviews later.”
“I know,” he says. “Just one, to keep me sane.”
I nod and don’t argue.
“I’ll watch the brat,” Jen grunts, and heads off after Micah, Jones at her heels.
I look at Ethan for a bit, not saying anything. The process of writing the book was hard enough for him, really baring his soul and letting out all of his most awful secrets, but this is worse. I can tell it’s taking its toll… but it’s also helping.
He isn’t a recluse anymore. He stepped down from his lumber company, but he’s actively starting to get involved with other projects. He has friends again, he goes places, he smiles more. He seems light on his feet. He’s not always afraid we’re on the verge of getting murdered.
But the demons are still there. I think they always will be.
I walk over and put my arms around his neck. “You’re doing great, you know that?” I say.
He shrugs. “Just getting by, honestly.”
“You’re killing it.” I kiss him softly. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he says, and smiles. “You always know how to make me smile, don’t you?”
“Someone has to,” I say.
He laughs and kisses me again. I let that kiss linger for a second, basking in it. I feel so good with him, every time we’re around each other, and that feeling hasn’t dwindled at all these past two years. In fact, it’s gotten stronger.
He’s such a good father. He loves Micah so much. He takes care of us, financially and otherwise, and I don’t know what my life would be without him. I keep thinking it would be empty, and I think that’s true.
He fills me, keeps me light and happy, keeps my world spinning. He’s the axis we all revolve around, even Jen and Jones. I don’t think he even realizes how important he is.
Not so many years ago, he was a recluse, killing himself slowly with drink and living alone on a mountain. Now he’s a father, a husband, a lover, and he’s trying his best to make amends for what happened in his past.
I couldn’t be prouder of him. I couldn’t be happier to be by his side.
He pulls me a bit tighter and grins. “We have some time, right?” he says softly.
I arch an eyebrow. “I think we do.”
“Jen can watch Micah…” He trails off, that smile still on his lips.
“I think she can handle it.”
He laughs, stands, and pulls me along. He takes me upstairs, and he reminds me why I love him so much.
The passion hasn’t died down, not even a little bit. I doubt it ever will. I can’t imagine Ethan without passion, because that would somehow be a different man. He makes me sweat, makes my body bend, makes me feel so good it’s hard to imagine.
We’ll have more babies together. We’ll get past this Russia thing, move on from his darkness, and build our own little world here. He’ll fulfill me in more ways than one, and I can’t wait to find out what else he has in store. It’s going to be amazing, whatever it is.
I never thought I’d have perfection, but it’s here and it’s Ethan, and Micah, my whole entire life.
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Lovemaker: A Secret Baby Romance
1
Cora
There’s not a lot of mourning at my brother’s funeral.
I don’t really blame them. Atticus was a problem for most people, the kind of guy that you slowly steered clear of until one day, he was a total stranger and you were warning people about him. He was an addict, an asshole, a dangerous guy.
But he wasn’t always. I remember Atticus the way he was before drugs ruined his life, when we were just kids. I looked up to Atticus and his friends back then. I thought my older brother was the coolest guy in the whole world, and his friends were even cooler. He and his best friend, Wyatt, used to spend hours down by this creek near our house, trying to catch fish and frogs and whatever else they could get their hands on, but mostly just messing around. And they’d let me tag along on those lazy, young afternoons, back when we were still just kids, before puberty, before responsibility.
If people remembered that Atticus, they’d be sad. Instead, they all remember the drug addict, the junkie, the thief, the asshole. That’s the Atticus these people remember.
All except for him. I look across the gravesite as the priest says his words. There aren’t many people here, just my mother looking distraught, a few of her friends, a few other distant relatives I barely remember, and then him. The guy I remember so fondly, the guy I’ve thought about so many times over the years.
Wyatt Reap, my brother’s best friend.
He’s tall now, a lot taller than I remembered. The last time I saw him was in high school, and he’s probably grown a few inches since then, definitely put on more
muscle. There’s stubble on his handsome face, the sort of face that girls used to go insane over back when we were younger. His full hair of thick hair is styled neatly, though cut short, and his black suit fits him perfectly. He stands straight, a frown on his face, looking like he actually gives a shit that my brother’s being buried.
Wyatt and Atticus were as close as you could possibly be with another human being from the time they were six or seven up until Atticus found drugs. That was sophomore year of high school, when they were only fifteen. I was three years younger, an awkward twelve-year-old on the verge of growing up, and I still remember it all vividly.
The fights they used to have, how angry Wyatt would get when all Atticus wanted to do was sit around and smoke pot, sometimes drink stolen liquor, sometimes drop LSD and stare at the wall for hours. Wyatt was a star football player, and eventually Atticus started hanging out with the other troubled druggie kids, and their relationship was basically dead by senior year.
I’m honestly surprised to see him here. I didn’t know he kept in touch with Atticus, although he might not have. It wouldn’t surprise me if Wyatt just heard about Atticus’s death and, despite all the bad shit that happened since they were last friends, he decided to show up and do the right thing.
When the service ends and the casket is lowered, I wander away from my mother and her annoying friends. She’s already half-drunk anyway, and there’s nothing I can say to her right now that won’t come off as me trying to start a fight. It’s pretty insane of her to be drunk at her son’s funeral, especially considering substance abuse is a huge reason he’s dead, but try explaining that to her. She only drinks, Atticus had the real problem.