Our girl-hug session is broken up by a booming voice. “Everyone ready to get this show on the road?”
I pull back first to see Chase standing just inside the bedroom in black dress slacks, a linen button-up, and an orange Gerbera daisy matching the one Bree put into my hair pinned to his shirt. He looks alive, tan, and healthy. In his arms is a tiny bundle of love wrapped in a blue blanket. Gillian leaves the huddle and wraps her arms around her husband’s waist, leans up as he leans down, and kisses him softly on the lips.
“Everyone ready downstairs?” she asks, eyes focused solely on her husband, love shining all around them.
“Yeah, beautiful. Will you take Clay so I can get the bride-to-be handed off to my cousin?” He grins and kisses her one more time.
“Yeah,” she says dreamily, putting her hand into the hair at his nape, tugging him forward, and kissing him with a bit more depth than the previous two pecks before finally pulling back. She then takes their three-week-old son into her arms.
The girls shuffle out, and Chase walks over to me and sets both of his hands on top of my shoulders. We look at one another in our reflections in the mirror as I assess myself one more time before becoming Mrs. Carson Davis.
“You ready to become a Davis?” He smirks.
I put my hand over one of his. “Damn straight. Take me to my man.”
He chuckles, hooks his elbow with mine, and leads me through my house and out across the porch to the private beach. A path has been created out of flower petals, and our beautiful gazebo is decorated in a mixture of orange daisies and other wildflowers. Swags of fabric fall down each side, providing the most beautiful arch. At the top step are the preacher and Carson.
His eyes are as blue as the sky, and his smile is bigger than ever before and filled with so much love it makes me stumble. I want to get to him faster. Chase holds me up and grins as we walk up the two steps it takes to get to the entry of the arbor and the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. Chase hands me off to Carson, who holds both of my hands.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers only for me.
“You’re sweet,” I counter.
“You’re everything.” His voice is filled with unending emotion.
“Everything I am is yours.”
CARSON
“Baby, you were amazing. I’m in awe of you,” I tell my wife after experiencing the most death-defying act known to man. How a woman survives childbirth is a mystery.
Kathleen sighs, petting our son’s cheek with her thumb. Yes, Maria was right, as usual. She sure knows how to take the fun out of the we-want-to-be-surprised game with our first child. Still, I can’t be mad right now. I’m looking at my wife and our son. Twenty-one inches and seven pounds of perfect human being.
“He’s perfect,” Kat says, tears clogging her throat.
“Yes, he is.”
A knock sounds at the door. “It’s time to introduce him.” I make sure she’s covered from her first nursing session, which went surprisingly well considering she’s new at it.
Kat swallows and looks at the door nervously. “Do you think he’ll be happy?” Her caramel-brown eyes flicker with worry.
“Only one way to find out.” I know this is going to floor the man entering the room.
“Everyone decent? Can we come in?” Chase asks, Gillian tight to his side.
Kathleen chuckles. “Come in, guys.”
Kathleen adjusts herself, sitting up in the hospital bed. Chase comes to her right side first, Gillian a few paces behind him. He’s always eager to hold the babies. The man is a baby magnet, and I have a feeling he’s going to have a very special connection with this one. At least I hope so. My little guy is going to need all the love and strength of his family.
“My, my, why look at our little bruiser,” Chase murmurs, getting close.
Gillian leans over Chase’s side to get a gander. “And a brunette with blue eyes like his Uncle Chase. What’s his name, or does he not yet have one?” Gigi asks, petting his foot.
Kathleen clears her throat, and I tighten my hand on her shoulder, giving a squeeze so she knows I’m here for support.
Gingerly, using her newfound strength in her injured arm, she lifts the baby toward Chase. “I’d like you to meet Chase William Davis the Second.” Shivers ripple down her arms and sear into my hands. Tears begin to fall down her cheeks.
Chase’s eyes whip up to me, to Kat, the baby, and back to my wife. “Kathleen…Carson…I don’t… I-I don’t know what to say.” He’s clearly shocked by this gesture.
Kathleen puts her hand over his, which is cradling our son. Gigi puts hers on his back, silently crying what I can only believe are tears of joy.
“If you hadn’t risked your life that night, he wouldn’t be here. And neither would I. This is our gift to you for making such a sacrifice.” Kathleen struggles through what I know she’s practiced a hundred times over the past few months since we made the decision.
Chase shakes his head. “Not a sacrifice, Kathleen…Carson…” Again, his words are stilted and thick with emotion.
She places her hand on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers. His eyes fill with tears, and one spills over the edge. It’s the first time since Aunt Colleen’s funeral I’ve seen him shed a tear. To see this powerful man filled with such emotion and allowing it to be seen is something I’ll never forget as long as I live.
Chase swallows and clears his throat. “I’ll strive to be a good role model and show him and both of you how honored I am by this gesture. He’ll want for nothing,” he says with finality.
“Oh no!” Gigi shakes her head, and it falls forward against his back. “Another one bites the dust. Good luck, guys. He’ll be buying your kid every toy, car, house, whatever it is. It’s now his. You should have thought of that before you dropped this kind of bomb,” she jokes, lightening the situation.
Chase is not at all fazed by it. He lifts the baby toward his face, nuzzles his neck, inhales deeply, and kisses his forehead. “It will be me and you, Chase-ter. I’m going to teach you everything there is to know about money and how to control the universe with it. Isn’t that right?”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the smile as my cousin carries on.
“And look at your Auntie Gigi. Later, you’ll understand how gorgeous she is. I’ll teach you how to secure your own babe. Yeah…”—he paces around the hospital room—“me and you, kid. My namesake. Not a more fitting name. Just me and you…”
Gillian leans over and pulls Kathleen into her arms. “The gift that keeps on giving.” She laughs.
“Yeah, kind of the point.” Kat chuckles too and hugs her friend tighter.
“Nothing’s ever going to reach this level of awesome. You realize that, right?”
“Best sister ever!” Kat grins, and the three of us chuckle.
“He may never let you have your son back.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder at Chase, who does not seem at all eager to bring the baby back.
I walk over to him. “That’s enough. Give me back my son.”
“He’s my namesake. We’re bonding,” Chase rumbles and holds the baby closer.
I put a hand out in a hand-him-over motion. He grumbles and carefully transfers the baby to my arms.
The door opens, and Bree and Phillip enter, all smiles. Maria and Eli are behind them. Chloe pulls up the rear with my dad. Cooper will be here soon, and Craig and Faith are flying in with the kids in a couple weeks when things are settled.
Everyone greets my son, Kathleen, and me with well wishes, hugs, and pats on the back. Each girl cries when they hear we’ve named the baby after Chase. The laughter ensues when Kathleen asks Maria what she’s having. She pets her four-month-along bump.
“No lo sé,” she admits, and everyone stops laughing.
“Wait a minute. With every single one of us you could tell what we were having before we had it, but you can’t on yourself?”
Maria shrugs and Eli grins, putting his arm
around her. “Guess it doesn’t work in reverse. We have an appointment to find out Monday.”
The rest of the group laughs and carries on until it’s clear Kathleen is tired and the baby needs to nurse. Plus, I want to spend time with my whole family alone.
Just as everyone is leaving, Chase and Gillian’s nanny brings Cora into the room. I hand off baby Chase to Kat before picking up Cora and settling her on the bed next to Kat. The nanny leaves silently.
“Mommy, dis my baby?” she asks Kathleen.
Once Misty had been out of the picture for a couple months, Cora instantly switched to calling Kathleen “Mommy.” Neither one of us asked her to do it. We never stopped her. And Kathleen has never shied away from the role, much to my heart’s content. She’s shown nothing but love for Cora since the minute she met her.
She runs her hand through Cora’s blond hair and taps her nose. “Yep, honey. This is your baby brother, Chase.”
Her nose crunches up. “But dat’s Uncle Chase’s name.”
“I know. We named the baby after him. Isn’t that great?”
She nods and leans forward and kisses his forehead. “Hi, Chasey. I your sister, Cora. Say Cooooorrrrrraaaa,” she drawls out. She waits a moment and looks up. “Nope, he no say it yet.”
Both Kat and I laugh. “No, honey, because he can’t speak. It will be a long time before he learns how to talk the way we do.”
“He tired. Look, he closed his eyes,” she says with glee, as though she won the lottery by guessing what he needs.
“Yep. How about you lie with Mommy and Brother and rest awhile.”
“Okay.” She leans against Kathleen and focuses on her brother quietly.
I press against Kathleen’s side, a boulder of emotion so big pressing on my chest, I’m not sure how I’m going to get it off, or if I ever want to.
“Kathleen, how did we get so lucky?” I kiss the top of her head and stare down at our beautiful son and daughter sitting on the bed, Cora petting his wispy brown hair, proving that we did in fact name him well. He may even end up looking like my cousin.
Kat is silent for a moment, just staring down at our son. Then she looks at Cora and then back up to me. Her brown eyes are so soulful, and I plan to spend every day of my life looking into them.
She smiles softly. “There’s only one logical explanation.”
“And what’s that?” I lean down and press my forehead against hers.
She responds with her lips touching mine so we both can physically feel her answer.
“It’s fate.”
THE END
This concludes the Trinity Series by Audrey Carlan.
* * *
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Misadventures of a City Girl
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CHAPTER ONE
MADISON
Pop!
My heart leaps at the sound. A rush of fizz pours from the top of the champagne bottle, dousing my hands. I curse inwardly and mop the mess off the counter. Not bothering with a glass, I take the bottle with me to the couch and curl up for another quiet night in. I flip through the channels and settle on a made-for-TV movie. All I need is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s to complete my look as a miserable divorcée.
I thought when all the paperwork was finalized today, something would change… I would change. I was no longer Madison Cleary, the wife on the arm of a rising star. I was officially Madison Atwood again. The new Madison should feel happy and relieved and free. But something about this celebration feels so incredibly empty.
I close my eyes and exhale a tired sigh.
Goddamn him. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to let go of my anger.
Rejection. Hope. Failure. Determination. Yes…determination is here and fighting for ground too.
I put the bottle down and reach for my laptop. The Internet has answers and surely this isn’t the end for me. The failure of my marriage has been a devastating blow, without a doubt. But I can’t let my famous and infamously unfaithful husband—ex-husband—jeopardize my future.
Sometimes it feels like he’s everywhere, though. Clients, gigs, and friends still exist in our shared circles. If I ever want to feel completely myself again, I need a break. I need to get away from LA, the whispers, and the chapter of my life that I’d just signed into the past.
A trip to Baja, maybe. Meet a sexy, rich producer who would blacklist the fucker I’d stood by so faithfully through his rise to fame. We’d sip expensive champagne and eat just enough decadent food to fuel our back-to-back sexcapades. And of course we’d kill time in between by frolicking in the clear blue ocean.
I let that fantasy play out for a few minutes before tugging my thoughts back to reality, or at least a more realistic getaway. The last few months of marriage to Jeremy and the subsequent months negotiating our divorce had produced the most anguished dry spell I had experienced since high school. Jeremy and I had met as naïve, fumbling teenagers. We’d been together ever since. I’d been stupid in love with him then.
The memory hits me, but the pain hits me harder—deep in my gut, before it travels up my esophagus causing a painful burn. Goddamn. All those memories are tainted now, and I hate him for that more than anything.
Maybe it won’t always be this way. Maybe one day I’ll heal. He’ll be a memory, but a distant one. I won’t always feel this way…
Emotionally charged, I start a new search for spa retreats. As much as I wish I could fuck the feelings away on a tropical island with a beautiful stranger, I know no good will come from that. I need a real break. Something restorative. Something that can heal all the tears in my heart.
The first few search results return locations in northern California. Far enough from LA, but close enough that I could come back for work in a pinch. I click through website after website. The options are either too dated, too crunchy, or tout a brand of spirituality I’m not ready for. I don’t want to be converted. I just need some quiet time, maybe a few massages, and some fresh mountain air.
Pure determination brings me to the second page of results. I click on the website for Avalon Springs Retreat. My heart lifts and brings some hope up with it. Avalon Springs is basically a spa in the mountains. Home-cooked meals, yoga classes, a few outdoor excursions, and big blocks of time meant to help people re-center. The owners look like legit hippies. The accommodations appear clean and comfortable. And it doesn’t seem like a convoluted tourist trap for the prima donnas I’m hoping to take a break from.
I check my schedule, ignore the pricing—because I deserve this no matter the cost—and book a four-week stay.
Today I am Madison Atwood, and the next chapter of my life is going to start at Avalon Springs.
* * * *
“Here’s your room key. You have a king suite in the Olive Annex, which is that way. It’s only the next building over, so you’re not far from the dining room and the classes.” The young girl with flawless skin and thick blond dreads points to the front entrance of the retreat. “Every Saturday we do an orientation session here in the main house. That’ll start in about an hour.”
“An orientation?” I lift my gaze from the paper nametag where Indigo is written in sloppy script to her pale gray eyes.
She smiles loosely, as if she hasn’t experienced an ounce of tension in her life. “Yeah. It’s kind of like a meet and greet. You’ll introduce yourself to the other residents, do some breathing exercises and stretching, and Vi and Lou will talk a little bit more about the springs.”
“Great,” I mutter, not bothering to disguise my lack of enthusiasm. I doubt this easy-breezy flower child will pick up on it anyway.
I tuck the cool metal key into my back pocket, a small sign of my commitment to this getaway that I already fear is a complete and utter mistake. The reception area is noisy as a pack of people linger outside what appe
ars to be a yoga class. Or maybe it’s the beginning of the orientation gathering. Anxiety hits and the familiar burn in my stomach follows.
There is nothing quiet about this. Nothing restorative. Sure, this is a definite break from the city scene, but these are not my people. I can rub shoulders with Hollywood’s rich and famous, but five minutes with this enlightened collective is sending me into a tailspin.
I cut Indigo off before she can finish her intro speech, grab the check-in paperwork, and head out the front door a lot faster than I came through it. The journey from my Beamer to my room is mercifully short, although I’m not thrilled to be staying so close to the epicenter of this “quiet mountainside retreat.”
I send up a tiny prayer of thanks that at least the room delivers. It’s all as advertised—clean, cozy, and spacious. After a quick tour of the room’s amenities, I peek out the window to see what or who is making the noise. A stream of apparently eager “residents” are filing into the main building. Yoga pants and head bands seem to be the uniform. I stare down at my outfit—torn jeans, a tight V-neck, and a pair of well-loved Chucks.
Decidedly out of my element, I grab my key and the map of the property that I’d all but torn out of Indigo’s hand and head out. I walk briskly past the small crowd and keep moving until they are only a quiet murmur of activity behind me.
The landscape here is different than anything I’m used to. I’d been an East Coast girl all my life, always working on my career, and—once we came out west—his career, so I rarely made it to the more scenic places in California.
As I follow a wide, worn path that weaves into denser areas, my thoughts are loud. Doubt. Regret. Hopelessness. They shout and cling to me. If I walked into that orientation right now, I’d be wearing it all over me. I’d be a beacon of not belonging. That lost woman whose husband left her because she wasn’t the quintessential arm candy he needed her to be. The rejection and the pain feel like a big, ugly tattoo that no amount of time will ever be able to wear off.
Fate: A Trinity Novel: Book Five Page 25