by Chloe Liese
But if I could ask him, I think I would.
How do you do it? How do you love so openly? How do you do it without fear tainting…everything? How do you work so hard and love so hard and juggle it all? How did you learn to do that? Can I?
Alex drops from floating in the water and closes the gap between us, breaking me from my thoughts. He clasps my shoulders and holds my eyes, then says, “It sounds like you’re carrying a lot, Aiden, but you don’t have to carry it alone. I’m always here. While I know I’m not your father, I love you like you’re my own. I’m proud to call you son.”
My throat catches before I finally manage to say in a hoarse whisper, “Thank you.”
“C’mere.” He pulls me against him, a hug like he gives his sons, held close, his hand clasping the back of my head.
I might cry. And through his example, I know that wouldn’t make me weak or wrecked. Because I’ve seen Alex tear up and kiss his sons’ foreheads. He’s shown me strength lies in how openly you bare your heart, not how deeply you guard it. I just never thought that I could do it, that I was capable of such vulnerability.
I’m starting to realize I am. And that hiding from that vulnerability cost not only me but Freya. And our marriage. I can’t fix how much work there is to do, or how many dollars aren’t yet in the bank. But I can fix this. How much I bare of myself, how much I entrust to her.
A hot tear slips down my cheek as Alex pats my back, then gently pulls us apart, still holding my shoulders. I palm away a tear and clear my throat.
“There’s one more thing I forgot to mention,” he says quietly, “that I relied on very much in those difficult months.”
“What was that?”
His eyes crease at the corners as he grins. “Laughter.”
In unspoken understanding, we both disappear under the water one more time before surfacing, then catching a wave in. Alex starts up the packed sand, earning everyone’s attention when he says something I can’t hear, because I’m knocking water out of my ear. And then he yells as he trips and faceplants right in the sand.
I rush onto the shore, instinct driving me to help, to cover him and shield him from embarrassment. But I’m not even halfway to Alex when his booming laughter rings in the air. He pushes up on his elbows, turns, then flops onto his back as Elin beats me to him and drops down. When I get closer, I see she’s laughing too—no, not just laughing, howling. In fact, when I glance around, I realize they’re all laughing. Well, except Axel, who just stares over his sketchbook, one eyebrow arched.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” I ask.
Alex lifts his head and catches my eyes, a grin widening his face. Tears glisten at the corners of his eyes before he laughs even harder. Elin takes his hands as he tries to stand, but he just keeps laughing and yanks her down until she flops on top of him in the sand. Gently she cradles his face in her hands, kissing him between bursts of laughter.
Before I can turn to Freya and ask for an explanation—not that I’d get one, because she’s laughing so hard, she’s crying—Oliver pops up beside me out of thin air, like a creepy blond poltergeist.
“Hey, Aiden,” he says. He sets a pointer finger at each corner of my mouth and drags up until I’m smiling unnaturally. “Why so serious?”
I swat his hands away. “Your dad just humiliated himself, and you all laughed at him.”
Oliver frowns and blinks at me in confusion, before his expression clears. “Bud, it’s a joke. He does this every time we’re on a beach vacation. He lives to do it. How do you not know this by now?”
“What?” I sputter. “He purposefully eats sand?”
Oliver laughs. “Yeah.”
“Why?” I’m starting to think I’m the most reasonable person in this family. That’s a very scary thought.
“Because.” Oliver shrugs. “It’s funny. Well, and it has a history. It started when he actually didn’t mean to biff it, but he did. This was back when we were little—no, actually I was only a twinkle in my dad’s eye—and prosthetics weren’t what they are today. He had some clunker that didn’t work well on the sand, but what was he going to do? I think Ryder was a baby, so there were four of them by then, and just like any other dad, he was going to get their shit down to the shore and play with his kids. I guess he was pulling one of those wagons with the older kids in it, and he just ate it, epically. Freya laughed so hard she threw up her ice cream.”
It makes my heart twist fondly. “Sounds like Freya.”
“And Dad said he learned a lesson that day. Well, two. One, don’t fall in front of Freya, because she will laugh in your face.”
I glance over at Freya and catch her eyes as she fights another fit of laughter. “True.”
“And two, we can choose how to live—miserable about what we’ve lost or grateful for what we still have. Dad chooses gratitude. And now he commemorates that with an epic sand biff every family vacation and never at the same point in the trip, so it keeps us guessing. My favorite was the year he did it right before we got on the road to go home. Mom was pissed because he was covered in sand and there was no outdoor shower. I loved it because he had us all convinced it wasn’t going to happen, then he surprised us, and it made it that much better.”
When I glance up, Alex is walking steadily across the sand, his hand tight with Elin’s, until she stops him, cups his neck and brings him in for a kiss.
And that’s when something clicks inside me. This is what Freya grew up seeing. This is what she expects from the man she loves. Someone like her dad, who’s figured out how to struggle and surpass feelings of inadequacy, a man who’s learned to love fearlessly, or perhaps more accurately, to love and be loved even when he’s afraid.
Dr. Dietrich’s words ring in my head. “If you want to feel close to your wife, you have to draw close, to trust her, even if you’re terrified—no, because you’re terrified. Breathe some life back into this marriage.”
As if she’s heard my thoughts, Freya glances my way. I walk toward her and jerk my head toward the water. “Race ya.”
Her face transforms from guarded curiosity to interest. Then she bursts out of her chair and flies past me toward the water.
19
Freya
Playlist: “Wonder,” Jamie Drake
I beat him. Handily.
And when he bursts from the ocean, Aiden has the nerve to look like a swimsuit model, running his hands through his dark hair, his aqua-blue eyes sparkling as he gives me a knowing grin. “Like what you see, Bergman?”
I splash him. “You’re well aware there isn’t a woman on this beach who hasn’t noticed you and liked what she’s seen.”
“I don’t care who noticed me,” he says, yanking me by the ankle across the water and into his arms. “Unless it’s my wife.” My cheeks heat as Aiden stares at me intensely, his hand gentling my back. “Don’t make plans tomorrow night.”
I frown. “What?”
“I have something for us to do. Just the two of us.”
I try to swallow the happiness bubbling up inside me.
Honestly, Freya. All excited for one measly date. Your first in months.
Besides the ice cream date. And we all know how badly that ended.
Aiden seems to read my mind. “That is…if you want that.”
I shift in the water and my leg brushes his, making both of us jolt, then lean in that little bit closer. “Does it involve food?”
“What do you take me for?” He smooths back my hair.
“Seafood?”
“Of course.”
“Yes,” I whisper, as he draws me in tight.
Aiden searches my eyes, then presses one gentle kiss to my forehead. His hand cups my cheek tenderly as more kisses feather across my face, before finally his lips meet mine.
I hold his face too, smoothing his jaw, curling my fingers in his hair as I bring our mouths together, coaxing his tongue softly with mine. It’s a tentative kiss, a cautious one that opens to something deeper a
s he meets me and sighs against my mouth. It feels honest and real. It feels precious and delicate and daunting, like waking up to a new world that’s inarguably beautiful but what was up is down, and my bearings are hard to find.
Gently, we break apart at the same time. Aiden’s eyes dart down my body, darkening as his hands caress my arms and waist.
“I’ll take it that you like the swimsuit?”
“Like?” He groans, pulling me into his arms again. “When you wore it the first day we were here, my jaw dropped. You’re so beautiful.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the sting of bittersweet emotion. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“You don’t even have to ask that,” he says against my hair. “You know I’m wild for your body, Freya. Let alone in a sexy red bikini.”
I swallow roughly. “I think maybe I was struggling to know that, Aiden.”
His grip tightens. After a beat of silence, he says, “Because we haven’t…” He clears his throat. “Because it’s been a while?”
“Because even once we were past the honeymoon phase, I still felt wanted. And I thought maybe we were going to be that couple that kept the spark. Mai said it. Amanda said it. Cristina said it. Heat dims in a marriage, kids douse it, and I was worried that before we even had babies, the novelty of me had worn off, or with you getting leaner, you wanted me to look how I did when we met—”
“Hey.” He pulls back, staring into my eyes. His hand cups my cheek, and his thumb slips along my lips. “Where’s this coming from? You know I love your body. You love your body.”
“Not always,” I admit. “I tend to oversell the body love a bit.”
He frowns at me in bewilderment. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. It just feels like I can’t simply eat and exercise and look how I look. I have to love that I’m this way and make sure other people know, too. Otherwise, they think I’m trying to lose weight, that I’m not happy with how I am.”
His eyes search mine. “Frey. Why am I just hearing this?”
I shrug, trying not to cry. “I try not to think a lot about it. I’ve got lots of other things to do besides worry about how preoccupied people are with women’s appearances.”
“Freya. I’m sorry. I should have… I should have paid better attention.” Sighing, Aiden presses a kiss to my temple. “I’ve had my head so far up my ass,” he mutters.
“I didn’t tell you, either. I could have.”
“We’ve both done that.” He nuzzles my hair. “And we’re both going to do better.”
I nod.
After a moment’s silence, he whispers, “I want you to know how beautiful you are.”
“Sometimes I feel beautiful. Sometimes I don’t. I’m always grateful for my body. That’s enough.”
“I’m grateful for your body, too,” he says, holding me close and drawing a lazy smile from me. “Very grateful.”
The water’s rhythmic and gentle, the sun’s hot, already drying saltwater on Aiden’s skin. And the unexpected closeness of this moment, the quiet and calm, softens something inside me, makes me feel brave. Tracing my fingers along his shoulders, down his back, I press a kiss to the base of his throat, swirl my tongue and taste him.
Aiden draws in a ragged breath, his grip tightening on my waist before it drifts down. His palms round my backside, kneading, squeezing, as he pulls me against him. More kisses along his shoulder, his hands moving me against him. I feel his length, not wildly hard, nothing aggressive, just close. Intimate. Us.
“Hi,” I whisper.
He exhales roughly. “Hi.”
“It’s like college again, sneaking like this.”
I feel his smile against my temple. “You were in college. I was a very cool PhD student. And by ‘cool,’ I mean ridiculously nerdy.”
“You were so cute. Do you remember how we used to make out for—”
“Hours?” He grunts as my teeth sink gently into his skin. “Vividly.”
I chase the bite with a kiss. “And how we used to go down on each other and—”
“Shit,” he says, tugging me close.
“What?”
Aiden clears his throat. “Ziggy’s coming.”
I sigh.
Ziggy waves, lanky limbs and skin as pale as Ren’s, wearing a sensible one-piece Speedo and stubborn streaks of sunblock on her face. Pulling apart from Aiden, I wave back. And just like that, our moment’s gone.
Aiden glances away, wipes his face. “I’m going to head out and read, give you two some time.”
Before I can even say okay, he plunges under the water.
“Hi, Frey!” Ziggy says, teeth chattering as she gets closer.
“Hey, Zigs.”
Ziggy clears her throat. “Sorry if I crashed the party. I got too hot, and the sand bugs me, and I’m trying not to be rude and sit inside the whole time reading.”
It makes me smile. “No one would blame you.”
“Probably not,” she admits. “But Mom and Dad…I don’t want them to worry about me.”
Ziggy went through a rough season before her autism diagnosis made sense of what she was struggling with. My parents have stuck to her like glue since then, and I think it’s been extra intense for her since Oliver left for UCLA and she became the last kid home.
Even though our situations are very different, I empathize with her desire not to worry them. “Yeah, I get that.”
She tips her head. “You do?”
“You know what’s going on with Aiden and me, and I’m shielding them from that just like you’re out here freezing your butt off to avoid going inside. We all want to please Mom and Dad in our way.”
“I guess I just thought you always do.”
“Ziggy, I’m far from perfect, and Mom and Dad know that.”
“Yeah, except you aren’t home hearing, ‘When Freya was your age…’ and ‘Freya always used to…’” She says it kindly, but I can hear an uneasy pitch hiding beneath the surface.
“I think all parents are guilty of that. I’m no better than you or any of our brothers, Ziggy. I just came first.”
Her eyes meet mine, revealing her doubt. And then I feel guilty. Really guilty that I haven’t made more time for my only sister, the other bookend girl in a house of wild boys. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around more,” I tell her quietly.
“You’re grown up,” she says. “There’s fifteen years between us. I never expected you to be.”
“Yeah, but I should have been better. I should have known when you were hurting.”
Ziggy splays her hands over the water, seeming to revel in the surface tension. “Sometimes, Freya, no matter how hard you try, you won’t know how much a person you love is hurting because that person doesn’t want to hurt the people who love them.”
“But they shouldn’t hide that pain.”
“Easy for you to say,” she mutters. “It’s hard to be brave and say you’re not okay when you grow up struggling to explain your feelings, when it feels like mental health issues are a shameful thing to own up to.”
I stand there, stunned.
Bobbing under the water, then rushing up, Ziggy gasps for air. Her eyes meet mine as she rubs the water from her eyes. “Sorry. That was blunt, wasn’t it?”
“No… I mean, yes. But it’s okay. You make a good point.” My eyes drift to Aiden leaving the water. He runs his hands through his dark hair, down his beard, then turns and squints into the sun, his eyes finding me. Then he lifts his hand tentatively.
I smile at him, despite the threat of tears, and lift my hand, too.
As I turn over Ziggy’s confession, as I watch Aiden settle into his chair, my heart aches. Aches for the people I can’t shield the way I want to, whose pain I can’t erase by loving them as deeply as possible. I want love to heal all wounds. But I’m starting to understand just how much it doesn’t. Sometimes love is a splint, an arm to take, a shoulder to cry on—helpful but not the healer it
self.
That’s when it hits me, how much I’ve wanted loving Aiden to work my way, rather than the way he needs. I’ve wanted him to tell me everything, to own his pain and fear, because in my mind, love’s all you need to feel safe to do that. But it’s not that easy for Aiden. It’s harder. Maybe it wasn’t once, when the stakes were lower and pressures were fewer, when we were younger and less rested on his shoulders. But that changed along the way. And my understanding, my expectations, didn’t.
Regret knots my stomach. But before I can even start to think about swimming toward shore, telling him, Viggo and Oliver burst up from the water, startling us.
“Chicken time!” Oliver yells.
Ziggy squeals. “Yes! I call Viggo.”
“Fine by me,” Oliver says. He jumps onto my back, then scrambles up my shoulders, lean and wiry in that twenty-year-old way. “Let’s take them down, Frey.”
I grab my brother’s legs and roll my eyes. “One game, then I’m going in.”
Ziggy smiles as she crawls onto Viggo, who’s crouched in the water. “Deal.”
“Freya.” Ollie clasps my face and peers at me, upside down from my vantage point. “What could possibly be more important than playing endless rounds of chicken?”
My eyes find Aiden, reading his book, and my heart skips a beat. “So much, Ollie. So, so much.”
Dinner’s how it always is when the Bergmans are together. Loud, messy, and delicious.
Up to my elbows in soapy water, because the guys cooked, so the women are cleaning up, I wipe my forehead, warm from doing dishes and taking some sun.
My brothers fill the deck behind me, sprawling, long-limbed, beers in hand, everyone a little sun-pink, except Aiden, whose golden skin glows. His linen shirt’s unbuttoned one more than usual, his hair’s extra wavy from the saltwater air, and when he brings his one beer for the night to his lips and takes a long pull, the outdoor lights flash off of his wedding ring.
Longing floods me, molten hot. I drop a plate clumsily in the water, splashing Willa, Ziggy, Frankie, and me.