Ever After Always (Bergman Brothers Book 3)

by Chloe Liese

I shake my head. “You two.”

  Mai sucks down half of her no-jito and grins at me around her straw. Pete takes the conversation and runs with it, in that easy way he has, talking and making us laugh. Engrossed in Pete’s antics, it’s not until Aiden’s almost the whole way to our table that I notice him, his face grim.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Dan’s fine. I mean, I handled his questions. But checked that voicemail. It’s…Tom,” he says, bewildered.

  “Tom?” I wrinkle my nose. “Who’s Tom?”

  “The janitor in my building that I have…I don’t know what I’d call it. I suppose a friendship is fair. He works when I’m there late.”

  My stomach sinks a little, remembering what he said the night he first came home. “He’s the one who sent you home.”

  Aiden nods. But he doesn’t sit.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. He just asked me to please meet him at the building this evening. Said he needed to talk to me urgently.”

  “When?” I ask.

  “Didn’t say when. Just tonight, that he’d be at work.” Aiden drops onto the bench finally. He looks upset.

  I slide my hand inside his and squeeze. “We can swing by there, let you two talk, if you think you should?”

  “I…guess. I’m just…” He shakes his head. “Sorry. Forget it for now. Did we order dessert?”

  Pete and Mai glance up from their own conversation.

  “No. Should we?” Pete says to Mai and me, the sweet tooths.

  Mai glances toward me. “I’m nauseous. So your call.”

  I search Aiden’s eyes. “No, I’m okay.”

  We wrap up our meal, signing checks and hugging goodbye, and when we’re in the car, Aiden slips behind the wheel, exhaling heavily.

  “What are you thinking?” I tell him.

  Aiden sighs. “I don’t know. I think I need to go see what he wants to talk about. It feels so out of left field. The only thing I can think of is that he’s in trouble, and he needs a friend. I don’t want to cut our night short, but—”

  “He’s your friend.” I slide my hand along his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Aiden grips the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. His jaw tics beneath his beard. He trimmed it, neat and close, not quite the scruff he’s had for years, but shorter than it was in Hawaii. I can see the tight set of his mouth, the tension he’s holding.

  “Nice deep breath, Bear.”

  He exhales heavily and turns the engine. “Right. You’re right.”

  As we pull onto the highway, I plug in my phone and set a quiet acoustic playlist running. Gently, I rub Aiden’s neck.

  “I’ll catch an Uber back,” he says, “so you can drive home. At least you can go home and relax. I don’t want you waiting in the car for me. Who knows what he needs or for how long.”

  I set my hand on his thigh. “I don’t mind waiting, Aiden.”

  “It’s just…” He sighs. “I had this whole night planned.”

  “I know,” I whisper, crossing the console and giving him a kiss to the cheek. “And that’s the gift to me. I feel loved and thought of. Now, let’s go. The sooner you talk to him, the sooner you’re home for snuggles and my favorite flourless chocolate torte that you hid in the fridge.”

  Aiden narrows his eyes but keeps them on the road. “It’s hard to hide a cake. You’re supposed to pretend like you didn’t see that giant white box behind the kale.”

  “Oops.” I smile. “C’mon. Get driving.”

  28

  Aiden

  Playlist: “River,” Leon Bridges

  After I see Freya safely into the driver’s side and shut her door, I enter my building, taking the steps like always—because fuck elevators, also known as office-building deathtraps—up to my floor. When I push open the door from the stairwell, I pull up short.

  Tom sits in a chair in the floor’s common area, elbows on his knees. Without his regular ball cap, I wouldn’t recognize him. He’s not in his janitor’s uniform, instead wearing a crisp, blue button-up, rolled up to his elbows, betraying tattoos I’ve never seen before, dark jeans, and boots.

  He stands, eyes on the ground as always, scrubbing his neck. “Thank you for coming.”

  The door thuds shut behind me. “Of course. Your message sounded urgent.”

  He nods. “Yeah. It is. And uh—” He clears his throat roughly. “You mind if we speak in your office? It’s private.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I stare at the brim of his cap as he coughs discreetly into his arm, another wet smoker’s cough.

  “Sure,” I finally answer, stepping past him toward the hallway that leads to my office. Once I’m at the door, I pull out my keys, unlock it, and let us in. Tom wanders in behind me, stepping aside so I can shut the door behind us.

  “Please,” I tell him, gesturing to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.” Tossing my keys onto the small plate I keep next to Freya’s and my wedding photo, I stare at her picture, her beautiful, smiling profile as she stares up at me like I hung the fucking moon. I feel what a gift she is, and not for the first time lately, my thoughts circle back to the exciting, terrifying, incredible possibility that soon we could be expecting a new gift. A little person who’s part of Freya, part of me, and entirely part of our love. A baby.

  “I’m going to try to be direct,” he says roughly, clearing his throat and drawing me back to attention. “But that’s not really my strength. I’ll do my best. I just ask that you let me finish.”

  I lean on the edge of my desk, ready to hear him, a posture I’ve assumed thousands of times for office hours, students, friends. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “On my two-year anniversary of sobriety, I felt confident enough that it was going to stick.” He adjusts his ball cap and interlaces his hands again. “It was the longest I’d lasted. Ever. It felt like a lifetime. In the best way. So I called the only woman I’d ever loved, and I asked her for another chance. Just to see her, to talk. I had no hope for anything else, much as I wanted more.”

  I shift my weight, leaning further on my desk and folding my arms.

  “She said no at first. But I’m…” He laughs hoarsely. “Well, I’m a persistent kind of man, and as I told you before, I’ve learned the hard way what backing down cost us last time. I failed her when she and I were young, and I wanted to prove to her that I was better than that now. So, I wrote her letters, tried to tell her how I felt, what I’d done and gone through to be where I was. She finally agreed to meet me for a cup of coffee.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I’m trying to be quick. I promise I’m getting there.”

  “That’s all right,” I tell him.

  “So, we met for coffee, and then…she started having me over for dinner on Sunday. It was nothing romantic. Just…friendship—cautious friendship. She opened up a bit, told me more about her life. Things were good.” He sniffs as his hand disappears under the brim of his cap, as if he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, pressing against his eyes. “And then I betrayed her trust.”

  Air gusts out of me and disappointment sinks, heavy in my chest. I bite my cheek to keep quiet, so I won’t push or ask how or why. I wait. And the silence grows.

  “She told me about her son. She trusted me with that knowledge, believing me a changed enough person to be happy for him without asking anything else from the person I’d failed so horribly when he was…” His voice breaks, and he takes a long, steadying breath. “When he was just a baby. Our baby.”

  A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. My arms drop, my good hand gripping the desk for stability.

  “But I was so desperate to see him,” he whispers. “Just a glimpse. So I did something I shouldn’t have. I got a job where he worked that was only supposed to be a temporary fill-in. I swore to myself it would just be for those few weeks, that I’d never let him see me, that I’d be a shadow who kept his distance. I’d get my glimpse, a small precious chance to see who h
e’d become. I swore to myself that I’d never speak to him, never do something so dishonest as try to know him without telling him who I really was.”

  My ears ring, air sawing in and out of my lungs.

  “But then the man I’d filled in for just got sicker. He wasn’t coming back to work, and I had a choice to make. The night before I had to commit to a permanent position or bow out,” he croaks, burying his face. “I finally saw him up close, heard his voice. And…it was incredible, realizing who he was and what he knew and how he worked, just in a single encounter. I couldn’t give that up. So I stayed, and I did the cowardly thing. I talked to him, got to know him in this way that I could, never telling him who I really was.”

  The world swims.

  “I was afraid,” he whispers. “And weak. I took the easiest way to him, and like the addict I am, I was hooked. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.”

  Finally, he peers up. “The thought of losing you.”

  I stare at him blankly, shock turning my hands cold, my body far and distant. Observing every minute detail, I see Tom fully for the first time. The shape of his neat salt-and-pepper beard, the deep lines at his eyes, etched into leathery tan skin. A strong, sharp nose, and the last thing I thought I’d ever see:

  A pair of blue eyes, as vivid and striking as mine.

  The world tips. “Who are you?” I whisper.

  His eyes are red-rimmed, wet. “Thomas Ryan MacCormack, but to everyone here, Tom Ryan. A man who doesn’t deserve to call himself what he is to you.”

  I stare at him. This man who said without saying…he’s my dad. Tom Ryan? I can’t…I can’t process it. It can’t be him.

  But it is. I know it’s him, searching his face, seeing so much of myself. It makes my stomach roil. And as if he senses my absolute revulsion, he blinks away.

  “I can’t tell you how much I regret this. How sorry I am. I took the coward’s way,” he says, almost as if to himself. “Rather than ask you for another chance to know you, I stole it. Because every time I tried to work up the courage, I—” His voice breaks. “I admired you so much. I knew I’d disappoint you. And you spoke to me like you saw me as your equal, not some nobody, like so many people around here do, putting on airs. You spoke to me like you saw something in me. Like you respected me, and…I couldn’t lose that.”

  Finally I find my voice, a surge of anger bursting inside me. “That’s some twisted shit, Tom. Infiltrating my workplace. Dropping your paternal advice. Being a ‘friend’ to me. Seeing me at my…” That day I sat beside him on the bench outside, drowning in my anxiety, flashes through my mind. I swallow roughly and take a slow, steadying breath. “At my fucking worst. You took away my choice,” I tell him through a clenched jaw, tears thickening my throat. “You lied to me.”

  “I know,” he whispers. “It was wrong.”

  “You had no right to do that.” I push off the desk, standing to my full height. “You didn’t earn that privilege to know me. You left, and you lost that.”

  He blinks up at me, his expression the portrait of miserable regret. “I know.”

  “Then why the hell did you do it?” I ask hoarsely. “And why did you have to show up now, when I’m finally not ripping at the seams? When I’m trying to build a family of my own, when I finally have a prayer of not being an absolute fuckup like you were?”

  He makes a low, pained noise and buries his face. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d never done it. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Never meant to hurt me!” I walk toward Tom, where he’s still seated on the couch.

  “You abandoned your family!” I bite back the break in my voice. “And now you have the balls to show up and try to claim something you never earned—the chance to know me. You broke my mom’s heart. You made my life so fucking hard. Do you have any idea?”

  A tear slips out of his eye.

  “You made our lives hell. She broke herself, exhausted herself, cried every damn night for years,” I whisper angrily. “Because of you.”

  “You think I don’t know?” he says finally, standing up and meeting my eyes. “You think I didn’t hate myself, day after day for what I did, how I failed you both? I meant what I said that night, when I told you how much I regretted not fighting my demons harder, failing to do whatever it took to earn your mother’s trust and a place in our family. You think I don’t hate myself for screwing up again?”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you feel,” I tell him, right in his face. “I learned not to care about you a long time ago. And still, it managed to nearly rip apart my marriage, to punish the woman I have only ever wanted to protect, to poison the one good thing I’ve ever had!” I slam my fist over my heart. “You shouldn’t have that power! You don’t deserve it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Aiden—”

  Hearing him use my name cuts like a knife through my heart. I pull back. “I don’t want to hear another word. No more of your empty words. No more lies.”

  He blinks away, staring at his feet. “I understand.”

  A long heavy silence holds between us.

  “I need you to know something,” he mutters.

  “Jesus,” I groan, dropping to my desk. “What?”

  “I quit. I won’t be here anymore. So I’ll be out of your life. As much as…as much as I’d give anything for the chance to try to earn your forgiveness, to have anything with you, however little you were willing to give me, I know I don’t deserve it.”

  My heart aches, a hot, sharp pang in a place so old and hidden, I set a hand on my chest, where it hurts so deep I can barely breathe. But I do breathe. I breathe through the pain, the depth of my anger and disgust and disappointment in him…and the terrifying truth that the strongest, newest part of me doesn’t want to be ruled by any of that. The part of me that’s healed in his marriage, that’s grown in his capacity to feel and fear and love through it, that part of me wants to heal more than to burn in righteous anger.

  “You’re right,” I tell him roughly. “You don’t deserve a second chance. You’ll never be able to make up for what you’ve done. It’s all much too little, too late.”

  “I understand,” he says quietly. “It’s why I needed to tell you. Even though, what I did…I don’t expect your forgiveness for it.”

  “Good. Because you shouldn’t.” I stare at him, each breath tighter, more difficult. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t, either.”

  His eyes snap up and meet mine. “What?”

  “Had you done this a mere month ago, I would have thrown you out. I would have shut that door right behind your ass and buried the pain you caused deep inside me, next to everything else you fucked up.”

  Tom’s expression, so much a reflection of mine, searches my face. “But?”

  I lift a shaking hand to my throat, where Freya’s chain used to sit, warm against my skin. My courage. My reminder of her love. But I know now I don’t need a chain to have her with me. Her love’s with me, in me, always. It’s changed me from the foundation of who I am, so that now I can look Tom in the eye and honestly say, “But I love someone who’s shown me that love doesn’t give second chances because we’ve earned them. Love gives second chances because it believes the best in who we are. And for some godforsaken reason, whether it’s the fact that after all these years you went right back to my mom but not until you felt worthy of her, or that in your warped-ass way, you tried to be good to me, I want to believe the best in you. So…consider this your second chance, Tom.”

  I watch his eyes fill. “Oh, God.” He buries his face.

  My grip on my desk tightens as my pulse pounds in my ears, as my chest tightens further. “But let me make myself clear. If you ever hurt Mom again, I will write you off forever, do you understand me? If she doesn’t know about this, she has to. No more lies, no hurting her—”

  “She knows,” he says quietly. “Marie knows. And she’s livid. That’s why this was urgent. I fucked up plenty, but you we
ren’t hearing this from her or anyone but me. I had to tell you. I needed to face this and let you tell me what I deserved to hear.”

  The boy in me who always ached for his dad wants to lean toward Tom’s heartfelt words and grasp their promises. To take his confession as a sign that I really mean something to him, that he cared enough to face me and own up. But I have to guard my heart. I have to take this one slow, cautious step at a time.

  “Fine,” I grit out. “You told me, and I’ve said what I need to say. Consider this my poor, shitty attempt to say somehow, eventually, I hope I can forgive you. But sure as shit, it isn’t today. Now get out of my office and don’t call me. I’ll contact you when and if I’m ready. In fact, see yourself out. I’m leaving.”

  I snatch up my keys, storm out, and straight down the stairs.

  Halfway down, I crumple on the landing, tugging in rough gulps of air, as my throat tightens and burns. Stars dance in my vision as I fumble for my phone, dialing the only person I have in my favorites. Because I love my mother, and yes, I have friends, but there’s only one person who’s earned that place, and I need her right now. I need her so badly. And thank fuck, I’m no longer afraid to own that.

  The call connects. Rings once. Twice.

  The third ring echoes in the stairwell. The fourth is closer. I startle, dropping my phone to the floor with a clatter.

  “Aiden?” Freya yells.

  “Freya,” I answer hoarsely.

  I hear her pace quicken, her feet fast as she runs toward me. Her hair glitters like a halo of stars in the night sky, sparkling wet from a rare, cool summer rain as she sinks down, so impossibly beautiful, and wraps me in her arms.

  “Freya.” Her name leaves my lips like a prayer as I lean into her. I clutch her to me, my voice breaking on a hoarse sob.

  “Shh, Aiden, it’s okay,” she whispers. Her arms hold me steadily, her hands sweeping over my back. “I’m here.”

  “Oh, God.” I bury my face in her neck and cry. I cry tears I’ve been holding in since…always. Since I was a boy who felt incomplete and wrong and unlovable, that my dad hadn’t wanted me. Since I was a teen who saw his mother hurting, struggling, barely surviving thanks to someone whose ghost still could inflict pain that I felt helpless to protect her from. Since I was the grown man who promised his life to the woman he loved, so afraid he’d become just like the man who’d hurt him most, so unsure I could ever be worthy of her vows to me.