Ever After Always (Bergman Brothers Book 3)

by Chloe Liese

  Even though he has a beautiful voice. And when he plays guitar, I feel like I see a part of him that only comes out when we share music.

  Viggo rests his butt on the back of my chair and fixes the hibiscus in my hair. “When did that happen?”

  I swallow, my eyes dancing to the front of the room where Aiden stands with his back to us, talking to the band. “Years ago.”

  “Hm,” Viggo says. “That’s a long time. Maybe he’s overcome that fear.”

  “Or maybe—” Oliver looks up from my poke bowl, which he stole, and takes another bite. “Maybe he still does get stage fright, and he’s a nervous wreck, but he’s doing it anyway.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Viggo tips his head. “I wonder.”

  The low rhythmic chords to a song I know that I know but don’t yet recognize cut through the air. I peer up just as Aiden’s voice hits the microphone, and our eyes meet, two live wires once again connected, arcing in a band of surging current. The visceral sensation that I can feel Aiden again—his nerves, his intensity, his love—bursts, white hot and crackling, a straight shot through that connection rocketing beneath my skin.

  He has a beautiful voice—rich and low, a little gravelly. When we dated and were first married, he used to fool around on his guitar, and we’d sing for hours. When we had no money to go out, just a fixer-upper falling down around us, two rescue cats, and all the time in the world for the two of us, we’d get projects done, then sit in the backyard, overrun with wildflowers and a lemon tree dripping with sunshine-yellow fruit.

  I made so much lemonade, we got sores in our mouths.

  And Aiden sang this song.

  I recognize it as the drummer comes in, my heart pounding just as hard and fast. Aiden’s eyes hold mine as he strums and plays from memory. And when he hits the chorus, singing a promise that nothing will stop him from finding the woman he loves, I feel the earth tip beneath me.

  Everything but Aiden disappears. The world becomes soft and unfocused, a blur of night sky and warm wind and torchlight. Each breath I take is hot and sharp, tinged with tears. It feels like the pain of what’s broken slowly knitting back together. It hurts like the first tender, terrifying step toward healing.

  Aiden’s eyes still hold mine as the softest smile tips his mouth.

  I smile back. And a small bud of hope blossoms in my chest.

  The song’s done, but it reverberates through my body as Aiden’s eyes remain locked with mine, even when he lifts the guitar strap from his shoulder and hands it to Marc. Faced with a dense gathering of people who’ve clustered to be close to the band, a few women leaning toward him in interest, Aiden glances down only momentarily to sidestep them. I hope they see the thick wedding band on his hand. I hope they know he’s mine.

  Mine. The intensity of my response unnerves me, and my stomach swoops as a memory fills my thoughts: the saleswoman ignoring me, shamelessly flirting with him. While he was wedding band shopping. Because everyone flirts with Aiden. It’s my cross to bear, marrying a charming, beautiful man.

  “What can I help you find today?” she’d asked.

  She batted her eyelashes and leaned on the jewelry display. But Aiden was staring at the bands beneath the glass. He didn’t look up once, his hand holding mine, thumb sliding in slow circles around my palm. A habit that soothed him as much as me.

  “Something,” he’d said, “that screams ‘taken.’”

  He chose a wide, flat band. A band that my eyes find now, brushed white gold, stark against his tan, work-worn skin, flashing in the warm lights as Aiden’s fingers glide through his hair, pushing sweat-soaked waves off his forehead. From here I can see his hands are shaking.

  He was nervous to sing in front of all those people. But he did it anyway. For me.

  “You pressured him,” I tell Viggo, even though my eyes hold Aiden’s.

  At the edge of my vision, I see Viggo lift his hands. “He’s the one who went up there—”

  “But you told him he should. You all did, I’m sure.” Protectiveness wooshes through me. I want to grab my brothers and knock their hard heads together until they finally listen to me when I say to keep their noses out of my business. “He doesn’t have to make himself sick to his stomach to show me what I mean to him.”

  Viggo folds his arms and glowers. “No one made him do anything.”

  I don’t answer him. I watch Aiden, whose eyes hold mine as he makes his way toward me, knifing through the crowd that dies down when Marc hits the ukulele and picks up a reggae tune. My heart thunders in time with the drummer as Aiden draws closer like a big cat stalking through the jungle grass. And when he’s only a few feet away, I shoot out of my chair, take an instinctive step back, prepared for him to crash down on me.

  Except as he does, it’s gentle, tempered. A wave built to a daunting height that breaks unexpectedly into a soft, lulling crest.

  “Freya,” he says quietly. Rough, unsteady hands cup my face as his body brushes against mine. The softest kiss sweeps over my lips, warm and gentle, the whisper of mint leaves and rum. It’s reverent. Careful. Like our first kiss, which I still remember because he kissed me like he couldn’t believe it was happening.

  Tears spring to my eyes as I clasp my hands over his, then slide my touch along his forearms. Aiden slowly walks us back into the shadows. Glossy dark leaves whisper over my skin as he presses me against a column hidden from eyes and tiki lights. It’s cooler in the moonlight, and I shiver.

  “Why did you do that?” I whisper. “You hate singing in front of people.”

  His hands drift down my neck, his thumb softly tracing my throat. A shower of sparks bursts inside me. “It’s called grand gesturing. And groveling.”

  A surprised laugh jumps out of me. “What?”

  “Music speaks to you, Freya. It makes you feel. And it’s something we used to share, a way we connected. I wanted…I wanted to show you what you mean to me. I wanted you to feel that again.”

  “I did,” I whisper. “I did feel it.”

  Aiden steals another soft kiss, then pulls away, his expression growing serious. “Yesterday, you said something that was hard to hear. But…I needed to hear it. That my actions haven’t shown you that I desire you, for too long. I hate that I haven’t shown you what you mean to me, Freya. I’ve been trying, but in my way, I realized, not yours. All my work has been for us, but it came at the cost of doing what makes you feel loved. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get that. I want to fix it, to do better.”

  Hot tears blur my eyes. “Then what, Aiden?”

  His face tightens in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll reel me in with your…way that you know you have, and I’ll fall for it, and then I’ll want it from you, Aiden. And, sure, that’ll be possible here, while we’re in paradise, but when we’re home, the phone will ring, and the emails will come and what if you’re just as busy and—”

  “It’ll be different,” he whispers. “I promise. I’m talking to Dan tonight. Soon as we’re home. I’m going to figure out how to release some responsibilities. And yeah, that’ll stress me out at first, and no, it won’t be an overnight success. I’m sure I’ll screw up again somehow, but I get it now, Freya. I’m committed to changing it.”

  Tears blur my eyes. God. It’s every word I wanted. Everything I hoped I’d hear. But how can I know? How can I trust that he won’t hurt me again?

  I search his eyes and bite back tears. My stomach’s in knots. I’m so scared, as I teeter on the edge of free-falling. Because that’s what trust is—a free fall of belief that your faith is not misplaced, that the rope you’re relying on will catch you, and the precipitous drop won’t crush you but instead end in a rush of relief, a stronger capacity to be brave and fearless.

  I have to see past what Aiden’s done and believe what he says he will do. I have to choose him, to take a risk, not because of what the recent past dictates, but because of who I believe Aiden is, truly, at his core—
his best self.

  I stare up at him, moonlight painting the angular beauty of his face, his eyes glowing a fathomless, starlit blue. And my heart thunders against my ribs.

  Aiden’s eyes search mine and read me too well. “Please, Freya.”

  I can’t explain why I do it, what makes me brave enough to wade into waters that already nearly drowned me once. Except that I look into his eyes and there’s a glimpse of the man I married as much as the promise of a man who’s grown and changed, who I’ve barely begun to understand. Our vows echo inside me, and I clutch them tightly for courage.

  I promise to hope all things, believe all things…

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Air rushes out of Aiden as he carefully wraps me in his arms. His mouth is soft, his words punctuated with caressing kisses. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  18

  Aiden

  Playlist: “August (Acoustic),” Flipturn

  Freya’s stretched along her towel on her stomach, reading, chin propped on her hands.

  I can’t stop staring at her, at the soles of her feet swinging as she flips the page, at the bows at her hips that flutter in the wind. The fine blonde hairs on her body glittering in the sun. I want to do filthy, worshipful things to my wife’s body, and none of them are possible right now. At least beyond my mind, where they stay, building in detail and creativity.

  Which means, much as I’d like to be reading the book Viggo gave me, I’ve read the same line ten times now.

  My mother-in-law shifts in her beach chair and smiles over at me. “You’re reading a romance, Aiden?”

  Freya tips her head and peers up at me.

  I slap the book shut, caught red-handed—minded?—as a blush heats my cheeks.

  “Yep. Viggo lent it to me.”

  Alex, my father-in-law, glances up from his book, too, and squints at the cover. “Ah. Kleypas. She’s good.”

  My eyebrows lift in surprise. “You’ve read her?”

  He grins. “I read romance to Elin every night.”

  She smacks his arm. “You’ll scar them.”

  “What?” he says. “I said I read to you, not that I—”

  “Alexander,” Elin says, clasping his jaw and kissing him. “You need a swim. You’re being naughty.”

  “Am I?” he asks, leaning in for another kiss.

  Freya drops her head to her book and groans.

  It makes them both laugh as Alex stands and drags Elin to her feet. And not for the first time, I marvel at them. Seven kids. A life-changing injury. Three decades together. And they still look at each other like they hung the moon.

  I swallow the acrid taste of disappointment crawling up my throat. Because I feel that way about Freya, and when I think about growing old with her, having built a life, I imagine still wanting her, desiring her, treasuring her like that. Yet somehow, a rough bout of high anxiety, the pressure of planning a family, and I nearly ruined our marriage for good.

  I kick that defeatist line of thought to the curb. I can’t even let it make a pit stop in my brain. Freya’s giving me a chance to make it right. She told me so. I have to hold on to that.

  “I need the restroom, Alex,” Elin says, gently stepping out of his arms. “I’ll swim later.”

  “Aiden,” my father-in-law says briskly.

  I fumble with my book. “Yes.”

  “C’mon, son.” He smiles warmly. “Let’s have a swim.”

  I couldn’t say no to him when he calls me son if I tried, and he knows it. Standing, I set down my book and join him, watching his careful steps on the soft sand as we approach the water. Alex has a cutting-edge, water-friendly prosthetic for his left leg, which was amputated just above the knee back when Freya was little and he was an active military field physician. I watch him walk—spine straight, the slight lag in his left leg as he negotiates the sand—praying he doesn’t trip.

  “I’m all right, Aiden,” he says.

  My gaze snaps up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I thought otherwise.”

  His sharp green eyes search me for a moment, the sea breeze rustling his copper hair that he gave Ren and Ziggy, streaked with luminous white, the color of crisp paper pressed over a fresh penny. He sets a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Your worries run deep because you love deeply, Aiden. I don’t mind your concern. I just wanted to reassure you.”

  “I appreciate that.” My throat feels thick as I swallow. “But I’m aware it can get overbearing.”

  “So can a plant that hasn’t been pruned. Doesn’t mean the roots are bad. It just needs help staying in check. I’ve always thought that was an important similarity between you and Freya.”

  I glance over at him. “What?” Freya and I are such opposites, the remark catches me completely off guard. “How are we similar?”

  Alex grins at me. “You both love deeply and live out your convictions from that. Yours braids with pragmatism, and of course, yes, your anxiety. Freya’s tangles with her need to please, her desire to heal. It’s just like the flower and leaf of a plant can be entirely different but grow from the same soil, the same root system. That’s how I see you two.”

  “I…never thought of it that way. But that’s the deepest compliment, that you think I’m like Freya in any way.”

  We ease into the water, and Alex dives fluidly into an oncoming wave. I follow him just in time before we come up on the other side of it, wiping water from our faces. He rolls onto his back and floats the way Freya did the first time we came into the ocean. Even though she’s a dead ringer for her mother, for a moment I see her in his smile.

  “The boys say you’re undertaking quite the business venture,” he says. “No details, just that it’s making you burn the candle at both ends. How are you holding up?”

  “Oh.” I brush my hair out of my face. “I’ve held up better.”

  Alex glances over at me. “Feeling stressed.”

  “I am. It’s my own fault. I’m micromanaging when I shouldn’t be. But I called my business partner last night and talked through some plans to help me delegate more responsibilities. And he also updated me on our financing. If all things go well within the next few weeks, we’ll have an angel investor secured, and then I’ll be able to really relax.”

  “You get some breathing room at that point, once you have financial backing.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But until then, pretty tense?” he asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. The past few months haven’t been the easiest from that standpoint.”

  Alex swims out a bit farther, and I follow, my limbs knifing through the turquoise water.

  “After my surgery—” He nods to his left leg and the black prosthesis pointing up in the water. “I went through a tough time. It was all I could do to keep my head above water for months. I was transitioning to civilian life, being home with two children—a newborn no less, who came not three months after my surgery. Then Elin had a bout of postpartum depression. Did you know that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Not sure any of the kids do, come to think of it. Just not something I’ve thought to discuss, but when you and Freya have children, you’ll need to watch for that.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now, what was I saying? Oh. Yes. So, here I was, back into practicing medicine in a hospital rather than in war zones, with Axel, who was doing his hellish newborn thing, Freya, who was an impossible toddler, Elin, who was a shadow of herself, and me desperate for everything to feel normal when nothing was like it had been.

  “And suddenly the pressure of it all felt…insurmountable. I woke up one morning feeling like I was drowning.”

  “What did you do?”

  Alex peers over at me and squints against the sun. “I accepted help.”

  My stomach knots. “From who?”

  “Friends. My mother. Therapists. Mom took Freya two mornings a week to give Elin a break. Elin started on antidepressants and went to counse
ling. I came clean with my supervisor at the hospital that I’d bitten off more than I could chew, so we reduced my hours. And then I made sure I protected time for my family, cut out what was too much for us, and slowly built back from there. Even then, it wasn’t an easy time. It was rough. And when Elin asked about a third baby, I told her she was barking up the wrong tree.”

  I grin. “How long did that last?”

  “Oh, I held her off for a good while. Told her we needed time to catch our breath. That’s why Freya and Axel are so close in age and there’s a bigger gap until Ren. I have a theory that’s why he was such a peaceful kid. He was born into peace. We were rested and balanced, in a good place when he was born.”

  “What explains Ryder’s grumpiness?”

  Alex’s laugh booms across the water. “Oh, that’s just Ryder. Grumpy and stubborn as an ox, born when and how he wanted, which was inconveniently three weeks early and at the Washington cabin. Very on-brand for Mr. Woodsman. And then Chaos One and Two came along in the quest for another girl.” He scans the shore and spots Ziggy, his twin in looks, with her striking green eyes and copper hair. She sits, knees up, a Kindle obscuring her face. “And then we got her,” he says softly. “And that’s when I told Elin that even though a big family had been my grand idea, she was the one who fell in love with it, and if she so much as looked at me like she wanted more, I’d go hiking in the woods and not come back.”

  A laugh jumps out of me as my gaze catches Freya, eased back on her hands, watching us.

  “Life’s hard, Aiden,” he says. “Kids make it incredibly beautiful, but they don’t make it any easier. Make sure…make sure you’re both ready for that, before you dive into parenthood. There’s no shame in taking your time and taking care of you first.”

  I nod and swallow roughly, trying to hold in what I want to say because I know how much Freya wants her parents shielded from our mess.

  My mess.

  The one I made for us.