Ever After Always (Bergman Brothers Book 3)

by Chloe Liese

  “Aiden. Breathe, Bear. Slow breaths. In…then out. Good.” Freya presses a soft kiss to my temple and holds me tight. “I’m here. Whatever it is, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Y-you didn’t leave,” I say between sharp gasps of air. “I’m so glad you didn’t leave.”

  “Me, too,” she whispers. Her hand cups the nape of my neck as she presses another kiss to my face and breathes me in. “Me, too, Aiden.”

  I walk into the house, dazed. Exhausted.

  So much for recovering our date night.

  Fucking hell.

  I turn toward Freya and catch her watching me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to explode. “Do you…” She sets her keys on the key hook for the first time in the history of the world. You know something’s up, if she does that. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No. We can put on the movie, have some cake—”

  “Aiden,” Freya says gently. “I think we should call it a day. Dinner was wonderful. And we can have cake with coffee in the morning—”

  “No.” I throw open the fridge, knowing I’m pushing and I shouldn’t. But I feel like Mom’s and my old clunker. Herby, we called him—sometimes Mom joked she was nervous to turn him off because then she wasn’t sure he’d start up again for her. If I stop, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Whatever it is, I don’t want to do it right now. I can’t handle anything else. I need Freya in my arms. I need to close my eyes and smell her lemon-sunshine sweetness, the sharp clean scent of fresh-cut grass. I want to picture summertime in our backyard and disappear from this place that hurts so fucking badly.

  “Bear, please,” she says softly. “Let’s just—”

  “H-he’s my dad,” I blurt, setting down the cake. My hands are shaking, and my knees nearly give out as I brace myself on the counter.

  “What?” she asks disbelievingly. “Who, Aiden?”

  “Tom. He got the job to see me. He’s my fucking dad.”

  Freya’s eyes widen as she sinks onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “I… Oh my God, Aiden.”

  A wash of cold nausea rolls through me as my shock begins to dissipate, as the truth sinks in. I’m going to puke. Turning, I rush down the hall, through our bedroom, to the comfort of our bathroom. I make it just in time, emptying my stomach, wave after wave. At some point, my eyes are wet not just from vomiting, but with tears. Damn tears.

  Freya’s close behind me, dropping to her knees. She presses a cool washcloth to my face, like she always has when I’ve thrown up. More tears come as I rake my hands through my hair and tug.

  “Shit, Freya. He… He…”

  I dry heave, then spit, feeling the nausea finally start to fade.

  Her hand travels my back softly. “One breath at a time, Aiden. One breath at a time.”

  Dropping the lid, I fall back against the sink cabinet and sigh heavily. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes blinking open and meeting hers.

  “Why?” she says quietly. “Why would you be sorry?”

  Crawling up to the sink, I turn on the water and splash my face, rinse my mouth. “It’s just a mess, Freya. After all we’ve dealt with the past few…months…” My voice dies off as I stare at something my mind refuses to admit my eyes are actually seeing.

  Freya’s makeup bag sits, a chaotic, colorful jumble of containers and brushes, spilling out onto the bathroom counter. And inside the open bag, a shiny foil packet catches the overhead lights. Birth control. Two pills popped out. Gone.

  I blink, stunned. “Freya, what is that?”

  Freya rises to her feet, stepping behind me, and following my line of sight. Her body goes unnaturally still. “Aiden, it’s not what you think—”

  “Then what is it?” I glance up at the mirror, pinning her eyes. I take in her stricken expression, the guilt filling her gaze. The second person in the last hour who’s looked at me that way. “Answer me,” I say quietly.

  “Birth control,” she whispers, palming away a tear.

  It’s so sharp and painful, hearing her say it. Understanding not only is there no baby, but she doesn’t want one, either. When? Why? How did so much change?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I grit out.

  She swallows nervously. “I was going to tonight. I just…didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “And you thought keeping it from me wouldn’t hurt?”

  Tears spill over and slide down her cheeks. “I was trying to find the right words. I was worried you’d think the worst.”

  “And that would be?”

  She wipes away her tears. “I thought you’d be worried that I was second-guessing us, or you’d blame yourself somehow, but I just want time with you. Finally, after these shitty months, we’re close again, reconnecting. When my period came, I was shocked when I realized I was relieved. So relieved. Because all I could think was that we were doing so well. And now we’d have some time to enjoy that. If I got pregnant right away, that time would get cut short before a baby turned us on our heads.”

  “You did it behind my back.”

  Freya bites her lip. “It’s only been two days. I was going to tell you tonight.”

  “Tonight. Really, Freya?”

  “Yes. I swear—”

  “This whole fucking fiasco started because of how miserable you were, how cut off you felt when I didn’t tell you every single thing rattling around in my brain, and this is what you do? You can’t tell me you don’t want a baby anymore—”

  “No,” she says quickly, her eyes meeting mine. She steps closer, but I move away, my back thudding against the wall, desperate not to be touched. Freya seems to sense it, and steps away, giving me space. “Just not right now. I want a baby with you, Aiden. So, so much, and if we’d gotten pregnant, of course I would have been happy. But I just realized, once we’re parents, that’s it, forever, no turning back… I grew up with a big family, I know that shit is hard. It seemed like it could be so good for us to have a little more time before a baby happened.”

  “But you couldn’t tell me. You couldn’t ask how I felt and talk to me?”

  Her shoulders slump. “Aiden, I didn’t want to…hurt you.” Her voice is weak. Her explanation weaker. “Can’t you understand?”

  “Oh, yes. I understand it very well. It’s the exact same motivation you gave me hell for.” I push off the wall and stalk toward her. “What do you think I’ve been doing the past six months? Hm? Harboring difficult truths for shits and giggles?” I lean in, until our noses nearly brush, and my voice becomes a harsh, unsteady whisper. “Welcome to my side of things, Freya. Take in the view. You understand now, don’t you? How easy it is to convince yourself that lies of omission are worth it to protect the person you love. To bide your time until you find the ‘right’ words, until you can get it just so. When really, all it is, is fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.”

  Another tear slips down her cheek. “Yes. I…do.”

  “But that’s not what we promised each other. In Hawaii, at counseling, we made these grand vows of vulnerability and honesty, then this is what happens? Two weeks later, you can’t trust me to hear you, to handle a tough truth?”

  “Two days, Aiden!” she yells hoarsely, wiping her eyes. “You lied to me for six months.”

  “And you lied, too!” I yell back. “You were fucking miserable.”

  “We both were,” she says through tears. “And now we were finally happy—”

  “And you didn’t trust that I could handle the first test of that happiness without fucking it all up.” I search her eyes. “What do you think of me?”

  More tears track down her cheeks. “Aiden, that’s not what…” Her eyes slip shut. “I screwed up, okay? I should have told you, right away. We should have talked about it together—”

  “I called you, crying in a fucking stairwell tonight because my alcoholic absent father just admitted to stalking me at my work. Do you know how humiliating that is?”

  “No,” she whispers.
More tears. So many tears.

  I’m building momentum, like a hurricane at sea, raw unbridled energy churning it wider and wilder. I want to stop. I want to shut up and let her apologize and let us talk, but all I am is hurt—one big bruise, from my heart out. And I needed her, just now, tonight, of all nights, not to be someone who added to that.

  “I called you because I needed you,” I say through the painful well of tears in my throat, “because I trusted that we’re both leaning into this, Freya, that we’re both vulnerable. And you hide it, why? Because you don’t really think I’ve grown or changed, do you? You still see me as a fucked-up mess. Well, congratulations, you’re right.”

  I brush by her, storming through the bedroom to my closet.

  “Aiden! What are you doing?” she calls.

  “Exactly what you told me to do a month ago, Freya. Getting the hell out of here.”

  I shove shit into my duffel bag, not paying attention to what it is or how much of it I’m throwing in there. I’m a blur of anger and pain, heart pounding, lungs tight. I wipe away tears, throwing my meds and a phone charger in the bag. That’s as far as my brain can think. I don’t want to care about plans or preparedness or promises or a damn fucking thing except getting away from all this shit, from the woman I just stupidly boasted to Tom believes the best in me, when really, clearly, she sees the worst.

  I drag the zipper shut. “I’m leaving. You can have your space and time to think.”

  “Aiden,” she yells, following me down the hall. “No. I don’t want that. Please stay. Cool off. I’ll sleep on the sofa, we’ll sleep and—”

  “I can’t fucking think, Freya! I can’t even get my head straight. I lied, you lied, he lied, Mom lied, we all fucking lied. And I thought we were going to be different, that’s what we promised. It was going to be different. But none of it is…” I shake my head. “Just…move aside, please.”

  Freya stares at me, her back to the front door. “Aiden. Don’t go.”

  “Move. Freya.” I hold her eyes, willing her to do what I ask. “Please.”

  Tears slip down her cheeks. Her hand grips the doorknob. But finally, she steps aside. And for the second time, I walk out of the door, lost.

  Absolutely lost.

  29

  Aiden

  Playlist: “Grow As We Go,” Ben Platt

  I drive and drive. No music. Windows down. The wind biting and cool. I drive until my hand hurts from white-knuckling the wheel and my mom’s apartment is in sight.

  When I knock on her door, she opens it like she was expecting me. She takes one look at me and sighs. “He told you.”

  Pulling her close, I bury my head in her hair. I breathe her in, squeeze her tight with my good arm. “Mom.”

  “Aw, honey.” She kisses my hair and pulls me inside. “Come in. Sit down.”

  Dropping onto the sofa, I fall sideways, against the cushions. “Why?”

  She sinks down gently next to me. “Why what?”

  “Why are you seeing him? Why did he find me? After all this time, when he left us, Mom. He hurt us so badly.”

  Sliding her hand gently along my back, she sighs. “Because he was sick. Because addiction is terrible, and I had to protect you. I told him not to come back until he was cleaned up. And he…” She swallows tears and shrugs, her voice whisper-thin. “He didn’t. Until now.”

  My hand clasps hers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? You were a baby, Aiden. You were a gift. And I know it wasn’t fair to you, how hard things were, but you were so damn resilient. You were my light in some very dark years. Even when you grew up looking just like that beautiful asshole. Just as smart and charming, with that smile that reminded me, even though he’d hurt me and you, he’d given me you. I could never regret that. And after all we went through, look where we are? Comfort. Stability. Happiness. We didn’t let it bring us down.”

  I sigh. “It was fucking hard, though, Mom. It cost us both.”

  “You’re right. And I do regret that. I just…couldn’t make it any better than I did.”

  I squeeze her hand and hold her eyes. “You were so brave and strong when you shouldn’t have had to be. You’re my hero. You know that, right?”

  She smiles at me. “I do, yes. I wish it had been better, but I have peace. I did my best.”

  “And after all that pain he caused, you’ve taken him back?”

  She peers at me intensely. “Taken him back? Not romantically, no. He hurt my baby. He left his son. I don’t know…I don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that. Maybe one day.”

  “Then what…why did he say that you had him over, that you talked?”

  “Tom had to go through me to get to you.” Mom squeezes my hand. “I care about him of course. I wanted to see him, to know how he’d grown through sobriety. But most of all, I gave him a chance with me so I could know if he was worthy of a chance with you.”

  I rub my face in the cushions. “God, it’s so…it’s so fucking painful. I told him I wanted to be able to forgive him. That maybe one day I could. But…not now. Right now it just hurts. It hurts.”

  “That’s because it’s complex. Because love doesn’t just stop or start because we want it to. He hurt us in a way that should be unforgivable, but love makes it messy. You’ll figure it out in time. And if you don’t want to see him, if you can’t forgive him, that’s okay. That’s what’s right for you.”

  “And you? What’s right for you?”

  Mom’s gaze meets mine. “I’m not sure, Aiden. After everything he did, coming to your work, that broke our trust. Again.”

  I sigh, lacing my fingers with Mom’s. “I’m hurt that you kept this from me, that you were seeing him without me knowing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I had to protect you,” she says sharply. “Because I wasn’t sure yet if he was safe, if his sobriety would stick. I couldn’t stand the thought of bringing your father into your life again, just to see him fail you and relapse. When I started to consider talking to you about it, once I felt confident he was going to stay sober, the timing was all wrong. The last thing I was going to do was throw your absentee, recovering-alcoholic dad at your feet when you were drowning in work and your marriage was on the rocks.”

  My hand drops hers. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew, Aiden. I know my memory isn’t what it was, but I have eyes in my head. Freya was sad. You were distracted and stressed. Before you left for Hawaii, I could have cut the tension between you two with a knife. And the months before that, whenever you both came by to fuss over me, it was clear things weren’t good.”

  Mom frowns at me tightly. “So, no. I didn’t tell you that I was talking to your father. Not until I could be sure you could handle it, and more importantly, that he deserved for you to know. And then, what did he do? He told me he’d gone and broken his promise to leave you alone, that he’d gotten a damn job at the college.

  “That was a week ago. I told him he’d flushed all the trust we’d built right down the drain. I ignored his calls while I tried to figure out how to tell you, what to say, without unraveling everything and upsetting you, especially with all you were going through. I certainly wasn’t bothering you in Hawaii…” She exhales shakily. “I told him he had to get a new job, immediately. I couldn’t let him keep doing that to you. I had every intention of telling you once you and Freya seemed better. I counted on him keeping it from you. But it seems I underestimated him.”

  “Underestimated him?”

  “What? You think he wanted to tell you that? That it was easy for him? To crush whatever tiny chance he had of earning your trust by admitting to what he’d done?”

  “I don’t know, Mom,” I sigh heavily. “I’m so confused.”

  She sets her hand carefully on my back and rubs in soothing circles. “You don’t have to have answers right now, not for yourself or for Tom. Take your time and take care of you.” She drops her hand and smiles gently. “At least you have
Freya.”

  I laugh emptily. “Yeah.”

  Mom stares at me. “Why are you saying it like that?”

  I tell Mom about my epic blowup back at home, face buried in my hands, miserable with myself. “You don’t have to tell me I overreacted. I already know.”

  “Good,” she says curtly. “Because that was pretty top-rate catastrophizing. She’s two days into her pills and suddenly she’s decided you’re a hopeless mess and all the trust you’ve built is shattered?”

  I groan and thump my head against the sofa’s arm. “It hurt, Mom. I wanted her to trust me with the hard stuff, to believe that she could tell me, and I wouldn’t freak the fuck out.”

  Mom leans in, saying out of the side of her mouth, “And then you freaked the fuck out anyway, didn’t you?”

  I groan again. “Yes.”

  “Instead of empathizing with how Freya’s felt, hoping you’d trust her with your worries all these months?”

  My stomach seizes. “Yes.”

  “Mhmm.” Mom sniffs. “Now listen here. You wouldn’t have reacted like that if Tom hadn’t blown up your evening. I’m sure after you saw him, you had one of your attacks?”

  I nod.

  She pats my side affectionately. “Poor kid. So that set you off. Your anxiety is a wily thing, Aiden. And it spins you like a top. When you’re panicked and hell, even afterward for a while, you don’t think clearly. You’re shaky and reactive, for good reason, honey.

  “Freya’s been with you over ten years, and she knows that. I’m sure she understands exactly why you were upset, even though I bet she’s also worried about you and hurting, too. In the morning, drive home. Tell her you’re sorry. Fix it, in your Aiden way.”