Ever After Always (Bergman Brothers Book 3)

by Chloe Liese

  Just how he did twelve years ago, Aiden glances my way and holds my gaze for a long moment. Electricity zips through me as his eyes flick down my body once, hungrily, like he can’t help himself, before he turns back to the guys, tossing his water bottle aside.

  “Look at you, muscles,” Oliver says, poking Aiden’s round bicep. “What’s Freya been feeding you?”

  Aiden grabs his towel and brings it to his hair, rubbing it fiercely. “Feeding me?” he says, running his hands through his hair to fix it as he tosses the towel aside. “I cook most nights. Freya’s the breadwinner now.”

  Surprise jolts me. The last thing I expected in all his I-must-work-to-provide urgency would be for him to announce that I now make more than him, especially in front of my father and brothers.

  Our eyes lock. His smile is tentative yet brimming with pride. My heart twists sharply.

  “Freya Linn!” Dad yells from his chair. “Why didn’t I know this?”

  I blush and drag my foot through the sand. “I don’t know. It’s no big deal.”

  “It’s a big deal!” Mom says, beaming at me. “Congratulations, Freya. Champagne with dinner tonight, to celebrate.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Turning back to my brothers, I say, “Now can I kick your asses at soccer?”

  Ziggy scoops up the ball and juggles, before sending it to Viggo. “I’m with Frey. Let’s play ball.”

  Decades of playing for most of us has us splitting intuitively across our sandy field—Viggo joining Ziggy and me against Ren, Aiden, and Oliver, which is pretty fair. Axel sets himself in the middle. He’ll play a central position and switch to offense with whatever team has possession, to even it up.

  Frankie presses a button on her phone, making a whistle noise for kickoff.

  And it becomes clear very quickly that Aiden’s either feeling extra sporty or he’s looking for a brawl, because immediately he’s there, hands on my waist, fighting me for possession. His intensity, the heat of his body hard on mine, feels like coming full circle. Just like the first time we met, he’s on my ass.

  Literally.

  And now I’m reminded how much he can piss me off when we’re playing on opposite teams. We’re much, much better when we’re on the same side, going after the same goal.

  “You’re awfully handsy,” I tell him.

  “It’s called defense,” he says, reaching for the ball.

  “Some of us manage to play defense without groping others,” I mutter. “Kissing me like that in the ocean, now this. I should break your glasses again.” Spinning, I try to cut around him.

  But Aiden’s faster than he once was, or maybe he’s stronger, or maybe I’m slower, or maybe we’re just so connected in that odd way long-term couples are that he anticipates my every move. His hands grip my waist, and for just a moment, I want to lean into him, to feel every bit of his big body snug against mine.

  “It was a habit,” he grunts, when I throw my butt into his groin. “Sorry I’m used to kissing my wife.”

  “Because we’ve been kissing so much lately,” I say sarcastically.

  Aiden grips my hip harder. “I’ve been—”

  “Working. Trust me, I remember.”

  His breath falls on my sweat-soaked skin, and the fiery snap of desire floods my body. I pass Ziggy the ball and take off, trying to get open for a give-and-go, but Aiden’s still on me. “Dammit, Freya, I don’t want to do this.”

  “Makes two of us.”

  The ball comes back my way, but Aiden steps in and takes it, dribbling along the sand. When I catch up with him and reach for the ball, Aiden passes it to Oliver before I can stop him.

  Time slows as Aiden’s eyes widen, and he grips me roughly. I watch fear play across his face, a hard determination in his eyes, before the world lurches forward at warp speed and he throws me behind him.

  And then I watch my husband take a close-range power strike straight to the nuts.

  14

  Aiden

  Playlist: “Varieties of Exile,” Beirut

  Holy God. My balls.

  “Aiden!” Freya drops next to me. At least I think it’s Freya, based on the sound of her voice and the familiar, summertime scent of her skin. I can’t see for shit. Having my nuts murdered by a soccer ball has blinded me.

  “Damn, Aiden.” That’s Oliver. “I’m so sorry, man.” He sounds zero percent sorry. “I was in beast mode and got all turned around. I wasn’t even shooting at the goal. I’m just glad I didn’t hurt Freya. Thankfully, you protected her.”

  I crack open an eye, glaring at him, before my gaze travels over the brothers and suspicion dawns. They didn’t do it…on purpose, did they?

  But then I think back to the moment that Viggo interrupted us when Freya and I were in the ocean, when I was about to lose my cool and dig myself deeper in our argument. Now this…

  Shit. They’re meddling again. Or, as I’m sure they think of it, helping. Helping crush my balls. At this rate, Freya and I will be lucky if we can ever have kids.

  Freya’s hands slip through my hair. “You stepped in front of me.”

  “You sound surprised,” I wheeze as my eyes lock on hers.

  She doesn’t say anything, and I won’t lie, that crushes me. She should never doubt that I’d put myself between her and anything that could hurt her.

  What if that anything hurting her is you?

  The truth seeps in, a poison that shoots straight to my heart and makes it seize. I feel sick.

  Freya runs her fingers through my hair again, smoothing it off of my forehead, looking at me how she hasn’t in so long. She looks like she almost took me for a stranger, and now she’s second-guessing herself. As if finally, she’s seeing me again.

  Ten seconds ago I’d say nothing would make this pain worth it, but now I know that’s wrong. I’d take a nut-shot a thousand times for this moment all over again, to see just a sliver of recognition in her eyes.

  Viggo smirks over Freya’s shoulder. I take a deep centering breath as dread sours my stomach. Because if this is how this week is going to go, and this is the Bergman brothers just getting started, I’m honestly scared of how it’s going to end.

  My eyes crack open to faint violet light pouring through the billowing curtains before they shut again. For a second, I’m not sure where I am. The bed feels different, but I could swear Horseradish or Pickles are kneading my chest with their paws—a light, alternating pressure walking up my ribs.

  “Hey, hot stuff,” the parrot squawks.

  My eyes snap open. She ruffles her feathers and lays a beat, swaying her head.

  “Esmerelda,” I hiss. “Don’t even—”

  “Bounce on that dick! But first you gotta lick. Lick it gooood.”

  Freya moans in irritation and elbows me in her sleep. I sit up, making Esmerelda hop back and ruffle her feathers in annoyance.

  “Asshole!” she squawks.

  “You’re the asshole,” I whisper. “You’re going to wake up Freya.”

  Suddenly the door to my bedroom bursts open. Esmerelda sees herself out, flying past Viggo, to whom she offers a polite, “Top o’ the morning!”

  I slump back on the bed and flip onto my stomach, burying my face under a pillow. Esmerelda and Viggo is too much to ask of anyone before they’ve had coffee.

  “Is my sister naked?” he asks. “Knock twice on the headboard if I can open my eyes.”

  Before I can answer, my face drops to the mattress. I hear the thump of a pillow connecting with a human body.

  “Oof,” Viggo says.

  Peering up, I see Freya’s now burrowed under her pillow and blankets. Based on the bare space where my pillow was, she hit Viggo with my pillow.

  How nice.

  A second later, Freya starts snoring.

  Viggo’s eyes widen. “Is she snoring?”

  “She’s snored for years, since the last time she broke her nose at Sunday pickup soccer. If you even think about teasing her, I’ll twist your nipple until you cry. She’s
self-conscious.”

  “Look at you,” he says. “Very husbandly of you to defend her.”

  “Viggo,” I mutter tiredly, “what are you doing here? And what the hell are you wearing?”

  He flashes a smile and strikes a model pose, then another. “Bike shorts. Spandex. You like? I bought them right before the trip, and I’m obsessed. Breathable. Flexible. They’re like a second skin.”

  I shudder as I shut my eyes. “I really didn’t want to know that much about your anatomy.”

  “I understand if you’re jealous. Bergmans are notoriously well endowed—”

  “Viggo,” I groan. “Shut up. And go away.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. This is your wake-up call for Brother Bonding Day. Let’s go. Mush-mush, up you get.”

  I glare at him. “I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

  “You did,” he says.

  “Nope. Definitely didn’t.”

  “In spirit, you did.” He claps his hands quietly, rightly wary of waking Freya, who continues to snore beneath the blankets. “C’mon. The women have their own plans. Ryder and Willa got in about an hour ago, so Willa’s sleeping, but Ryder’s wide awake and grumpy as ever, so best not keep the mountain man waiting.”

  “I’m wide awake and grumpy, too,” I mutter, scrubbing my face. The pillow connects with my head. I drop my hands and death-stare at Viggo. “There better be coffee.”

  He grins. “There is. Report to the kitchen in five. Coffee and granola bars provided.”

  Then he’s gone, and I’m very tempted to flop back and burrow under the covers. But I don’t. Because I’m sure Viggo would pull some retributive prank if I played hooky. And maybe, even more than that, I’m curious to see what these Bergman brothers have cooked up.

  Easing out of bed, I pull on clothes quietly, then slip downstairs.

  And twenty minutes later, I’m in a very uncomfortable position on the deck, feeling very positive this was not worth waking up for.

  “Ow.” My leg is not supposed to bend like that. Makanui, our visiting yoga instructor, heartily disagrees.

  “Breathe,” he reminds me, like it’s not an autonomic process.

  “Can’t really help but keep doing that,” I mutter, trying not to groan in pain.

  Oliver glares at me, mid-chaturanga. “Aiden, I don’t feel like you’re invested in this. You’re not the only one who would have liked to sleep in this morning, but you don’t see me being a smartass, now do you?”

  Makanui smiles at me calmly and pushes my leg farther. “Your pelvis is very tight,” he says. “Breathe from your pelvis.”

  I stare up at this guy. “Um. What?”

  “I think what he’s inviting you to do,” Ren offers, looking annoyingly serene, “is to connect your awareness of that part of your body to your breath. Often it helps us release tension and welcome our bodies into deeper openness and receptivity. Flexibility isn’t just in the body, Aiden. It’s in the soul.”

  What the actual fuck?

  Makanui nods. “Exactly.”

  I know Ren and Frankie do their own yoga routine every morning, but come on. Flexibility is in the soul? Also, I cannot understand voluntarily starting your day suffering this kind of pain. I stare over pleadingly at Axel, who I feel like I can count on to call this for what it is—torture—but he’s staring at the sunrise, hands behind his head, looking blissed. I would be too, if Makanui wasn’t giving me his undivided attention.

  Makanui tsks. “Your neck, too. Breathe, Aiden. Breathe.”

  “I’m breathing!”

  “Shh!” Ryder says, eyes shut. “For once I don’t want to throttle a single one of you ass-hats. Let me enjoy it.”

  I frown at Ryder, surprised by his calm expression as he holds the pose Makanui showed us. The pose I stoutly said my body did not do.

  Well. Makanui proved me (painfully) wrong.

  Then there’s Viggo and Oliver, shirtless and in their matching bike shorts, doing what appears to be chaturanga competition, going through the motions of the flow Makanui showed us as fast as possible, in some frenetic, yoga-meets-pushup challenge.

  “Aren’t you concerned about those two?” I ask, hoping it’ll get Makanui off my case.

  He shakes his head. “Some men are still boys. They cannot be helped.”

  A laugh jumps out of me. “Fair enough.”

  After another moment, Makanui decides he’s put me through enough. We transition to another flow sequence that I manage to get into, before we move on to a cooldown that’s surprisingly relaxing. Lying on my back in shavasana, I peer at the glowing sunrise and take a deep breath. My heart isn’t pounding, my thoughts don’t feel like they’re pinging around my pinball machine brain. And even though I know it won’t last, for just a moment, I savor it—the rare quiet in my head, the heavy calm weighing my limbs to the deck.

  Makanui invites us to sit up slowly and conclude.

  Namaste.

  I stand, running my hands through my hair and stretching my arms over my head. I feel loose everywhere, including my pelvis. It’s one of those places I didn’t realize held so much tension. But as I think about it, with a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach, I probably should have.

  After saying our thanks to Makanui, we roll up our yoga mats.

  “Good job, Aiden,” Ren says, clapping me gently on the back. “You eventually got into it.”

  “Thanks. Wasn’t so bad after a while. Well, okay, kids. This has been fun—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Oliver says, wrapping an arm around my neck, which is so foul. He’s dripping with sweat.

  “Get off.” I shove him away. “You’re soaked.”

  “You thought you got to do yoga, then call it a day?” Viggo shakes his head and sighs. “Aiden. Aiden, Aiden, Aiden.”

  Ryder sips his water, unsuccessfully hiding a smile.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “We,” Viggo says, turning and spinning me away from the house, “are on an all-day brother bonding adventure.”

  I stop in my tracks, causing a collision of Bergman brothers, domino-effect style.

  “Idiots,” Ax grumbles from the back. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

  I turn and face them. “I’m not your brother. Don’t you want to do this stuff, you know…without me?”

  They all fold their arms across their chests and tip their heads the same direction. It’s beyond weird. And also…shit, it’s kind of endearing.

  “So that right there,” Oliver says, “is exactly why we need today.”

  Viggo pins me with his sharp stare. “Somewhere along the way, you forgot the day you became Freya’s, you became ours, too.”

  Ah, man. My eyes blur with tears. I stare down at my feet and blink them away as I clear my throat.

  “So to answer your question,” Ryder says. “No. We don’t want to do this without you.”

  Ren grins. “Today’s for all six of us. Brother time.”

  “You’re in this for good,” Ax tells me. “You don’t get to act like you’re somehow outside this merry-fucking-go-round that is being a Bergman. If I have to deal with this madness, so do you.”

  And before I can say anything—not that I even know what I’d say, because words are stuck in my tear-thick throat—Viggo lets out an ear-splitting Tarzan shriek and takes off along the wooded path beside the house.

  A sigh of resignation leaves my chest. “I’m supposed to follow him, aren’t I?”

  “Yep,” they all say.

  After a moment’s pause, I suck in a breath. And as my own Tarzan bellow leaves my lungs, I take off after him.

  15

  Aiden

  Playlist: “Olympians,” Andrew Bird

  “Everything hurts,” Oliver whines.

  “Now you understand how I’ve been feeling since Makanui went at my groin like a drill sergeant.” I throw a marshmallow at Oliver. It bounces off of his chest, but he catches it and pops it in his mouth.

  Chewing, then sw
allowing, Oliver cranes his neck and stares up as daylight fades, a watercolor sky painted in streaks of forget-me-not blue, tangerine, and lavender. “Sometimes hurting like hell is worth it, though,” he says. “If it’s the right kind of hurt. Like conditioning. That blows. But I wouldn’t be game-ready, I wouldn’t get better at soccer, if I didn’t do sprints until I puke and lift weights regularly, which I will always hate.”

  “True that.” Ryder lifts his thermos. “Well, except I like weights. And running. But to your point, yes, pain can have a purpose.”

  The flames pop and snap, drawing us close to the fire pit, huddled against the impending darkness. As a sea breeze whips around us, I glance among the Bergman brothers. Axel, pensively staring into the fire. Ren, smiling as he crunches on a s’more. Ryder, lost in thought, poking the fire. Oliver, searching the sky. And Viggo, whose pale Bergman eyes are locked on me.

  “How are you doing, Aiden?” he asks.

  I ease back in my chair, propping one foot on my knee. “Sore as hell. Between mountain biking and the swim to our trust fall.”

  “I’m still mad about that,” Oliver grumbles.

  Viggo’s mouth twitches as he fights a smile. “I got sidetracked. A bird made a noise, and you know how distractible I am.”

  “Oh, do I ever. So does my bruised ass, from dropping like a sack of potatoes to the ground instead of being caught.” Oliver scowls. “I can’t believe I entrusted this priceless body of soccer glory to you.”

  Ryder coughs a laugh into his arm, then straightens his expression. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Viggo, that was shitty.”

  Viggo’s not paying attention. “I want to hear from Aiden.”

  One by one, their eyes fix on me.

  “I told you, I’m sore. Otherwise, I’m…I’m fine. And uh…” I glance away and swallow the unexpected emotion tightening my throat. “This has been a good day. So. Yeah. Thanks.”