Page 62 of At Their Mercy: Part I

“Ha!”

No, but really.

“You napped, didn’t you?” he asked.

“I did. It was fuckin’ amazin’.” It wasn’t often I could fall asleep on my own, but maybe I was feeling good about the prospect of being part of a work project again. More than that, though, I loved our house, and having a proper home for the first time in our lives…? I felt his presence whether he was right next to me in bed or down here listening to music and preparing for a barbecue. Feeling at home mattered.

“Lazy ass,” he muttered.

“But I smell good.” I rubbed my nose below his ear.

He chuckled and gave up on cutting up vegetables. Then he dried his hands on the rag over his shoulder before dropping it to the counter.

“I texted Ty,” I admitted, stepping closer. I trapped him against the counter.

“Oh yeah?” That surprised him a little.

I nodded once and gathered his arms around my neck. “We’re gonna meet up and talk soon.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m glad. I think it’ll be good for you.”

“I think maybe you’re right.” I drew a breath and squeezed him to me, and I buried my face where he smelled good too. He’d shaved before the wedding, so he had a bit of day-after stubble going on. I was in scruff territory myself, though Shay wanted us both back in beard land ASAP.

He hummed and kissed my cheek. “Can you believe we’re forty-two?”

I’d rather not think about it.

I wouldn’t have minded growing older if each year didn’t signal one year closer to death, and I had no insight into what happened after the fact. Would we just cease to be? Was there an afterlife? Rebirth? Heaven? Who would go first? Probably me.

I squeezed him tighter, soaking up every bit of energy and warmth he exuded.

At least our family lived ridiculously long lives, unless they drank themselves to death. Nana wasn’t the only one who’d lived to be over ninety. Ma’s parents may have closed themselves in after she’d passed away, but as far as I knew, our grandpa on that side was still alive. We knew Grandma had passed away not too long ago. Reese kept himself updated through his once- or twice-a-year email exchange with Ma’s older brother.

Our family really didn’t know shit about sticking together. Alcoholism ran rampant, so that didn’t help. To be fair, Pop-Pop had earned his alcoholism after the hell he’d endured in Vietnam. He’d died from liver failure when Reese and I were in kindergarten.

Nana had never remarried.

“We better live till we’re a hundred,” I mumbled. “That’ll be a respectable age for Shay to kick the bucket alongside us.”

Reese trembled with a silent chuckle. “That’s dark, baby.”

Whatever. We had to stick together.

He hugged me harder too. “We have a lot of livin’ left to do.”

Yeah.

But this was one private reason I hadn’t cared for celebrating our birthday since we’d become adults, essentially. Every year now was just a steady ride toward the end.

“I think that needs to be our second thing,” I said. “Instead of celebratin’ our birthday, we go all out celebrating Shay’s. So, we’ll have Christmas and his birthday.”

It was coming up soon. June 27th.

We were getting him a car.

“I like that.” Reese rubbed my upper back and pressed kisses to my shoulder. “We have our fake birthday too. Not sayin’ we need to celebrate it, but it’s way more special than today.”

Something loosened within me, and I squeezed him even tighter. I’d needed to hear those words—and he was right. The date most people thought was our birthday mattered more. It was the date we’d put on our bodies. The date Nana had flown out to help Ma with what they’d assumed were two colicky twin boys. But Nana had quickly realized, just an hour or so after her arrival, as she’d loved to remind us, that we hadn’t had colic at all. We’d just screamed bloody murder because Ma had kept us separated in two bassinets.