Tia

When I wake, I’m still wrapped up in Salinger’s arms. His heavy erection is pressed against my back, his fingers entwined with mine, one thigh pinning me to the bed.

I want to stay here and revel in the intimacy of his touch, the possessiveness of it. But anxiety over what the day would bring wins out over desire.  

Not only do I have to check on Giles and wait for news about Emerson, but I will most likely get the results of my tests today. And then there is my father. He is here. In Alaska. And I need Salinger to figure out what that means.

And then there is the talk I need to have with my husbands. To finally come clean about who I am.

Today.

Everything will happen today.

Regretfully, I slide out of Salinger’s arms, a small smile tugging at my lips when he mumbles in his sleep for me not to leave.

I slip on a hoodie over my t-shirt, and a pair of slippers, before checking on Giles. I haven’t had a proper, one-on-one conversation with him since he came home. My heart aches for more time with him.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I tell him, cracking open his bedroom door. He rolls over in his bed, reaching out to me. I take his hand, and slip into his bed, missing him so damn much, gratitude rushing over me for his sacrifice.

“I missed you,” I tell him.

“I missed you too.” He tucks a slip of my hair behind my ear, our noses touching. His strength hasn’t returned, but somehow, nestled against him, I feel as safe as I’ve ever had.

“Did Sal tell you then?” he asks in a whisper, and I immediately know he is referring to Emerson.

I nod. “Yes.” My voice catches and a silent tear rolls down my cheek. Giles wipes it away, pulling me closer. His body heat warms my heart, and I breathe in his valor, his courage. Being with him gives me the strength I will need when I call Emerson’s mother.

“You haven’t had a moment’s rest since the first week you came home,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

“I know. It’s been so much. And I have so much regret,” I confess. “The kind I never understood before.”

His eyes search mine. “Do you regret being part of the Lottery?”

I shake my head. “No, not even a little. Not at all. But I wasn’t tortured, Giles. You were. I hate myself for letting it happen.”

“I’d do it all over again, for you.”

I close my eyes. “Why?”

“Because you are my wife. Because you are my home. You are our future.”

I consider his words, the baby that could be growing within me even now. It could be his son, his daughter.

“You want a child, even knowing the risks?” I ask, running a finger over his bruised brow.

He swallows. My question is direct, and I understand the intensity of it. But I need to understand my husbands, the men I am giving my body to - the men I am potentially sacrificing my life for.

“Yes,” he says finally. And of course, he does. The Lottery means he has a wife, but it also means he has the opportunity for a legacy. I can’t fault him that. “Do you think lesser of me for that?”

I shake my head. “No. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not scared of…”

“Dying?”

I nod.

He cups my face, his bandaged hand breaking my heart, but his hold on me keeping me steady amid the storm. “There are no guarantees, Tia. Look at us. I could have died out there with the wolves. You could have died out there with the mercenaries. Emerson may die on a ship, serving our state.”

“I know. I just wish…”

He sighs. “I wish it too. That we could have lived a hundred years ago. In a world that was simple. But we didn’t. We have this life. Right now, we have one another. Let’s give it all we got.”

“You say that after everything you’ve been through? Losing Caroline, being mauled in the woods, being tortured by your Director? You still say all that?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Giles says, his voice so tender it hurts to hear. “I say all that because of what I’ve been through, not despite it.”

My eyes fill with tears as I cling to Giles’ neck, overwhelmed with love for him. The man he is. Maybe I’m pregnant, maybe I’m not, but the honor to bring his child into the world overwhelms me.

I’ve never had these feelings before. But for the first time, I can imagine having a baby. Fighting for the tiny, beating heart. Willing it to live.

Yes, it is scary, but right now, everything about our world is terrifying. Maybe risking it all for a new life isn’t the worst way to die.

“I need to go call Emerson’s parents,” I tell Giles and he nods, understanding. “I love you so much,” I tell him, kissing him softly, longing for when he is recovered, and I can lavish my love and devotion upon him.

“I love you more, Hypatia.”

The house feels empty as I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen. I don’t know if Banks came home last night, but there’s a note on the table from Huxley, with Emerson’s parents’ phone number on it.

With a steadying breath, I make the call.

“Hello?” The woman’s voice is choked with emotion.

“Hi, Grace?”

“Yes.”

“This is Tia, Emerson’s... wife.”

“Oh, my dear, how are you?” There’s a pause, and I can tell she’s trying to hold back a sob. “How are you holding up?”

“I just wish I knew more. Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing more.”

“I’m so sorry. Em is...” I won’t say was, because no matter what the others might think, I know he could still be alive. He has to be. “He’s strong. I know he’ll do everything he can to survive.”

But if he was anywhere near where the torpedo hit the ship...I can’t think like that. Fallon will find him, he’ll bring him home.

I talk with Emerson’s mom for a good twenty minutes, with her telling me stories about Emerson when he was younger, and even though we know nothing more than before, when I hang up, a small smile touches my lips.

Emerson is the best of all of us. He must survive.

Even with all the uncertainty in the house, life must go on. I make coffee, pull cereal from the cupboard and milk from the fridge. Fallon is still on duty, but I hear the shower in Banks’ room, and I know he’ll be headed to his laboratory soon. And Huxley enters the kitchen, planting a morning kiss on my lips.

“Hello there, sunshine,” he says. “You get my note?”

I nod. “Yeah, I just got off the phone with Grace.”

“That was good of you,” he says, pouring bran flakes into a bowl. “She sound okay?”

I twist my lips. “As good as she could possibly be, under the circumstances.”

Hux nods. “Hey, I know things are intense right now but uh, I wanted to say something about the other night. At the shop?”

I reach for a mug and pour myself a coffee, curious as to what he might possibly say. “What about it?”

“Look, I know you got pissed about the whole…”

“Brothel?” I ask in a tense whisper.

“Uh, yeah.” Hux runs a hand over the base of his neck. “The thing is, I know you

think--"

“You have no idea what I think,” I say cutting him off. Truth is, he’d probably be surprised to hear my thoughts. Not regarding sex with strangers, but on the principle. But I’m going to make him wiggle a bit before I tell him that.

His face turns red. “Look, I’d never cheat on you. I’m fucking crazy for you, Tia. All that stuff is behind me.”

“Yet, you still own it.”

“What? You think I should sell my shop?”

I purse my lips, cross my arms. “What do you think you should do?”

He laughs. “I think I want to make my wife happy.”

“And you’d sell the shop, the saloon, all of it, for me? Your entire life’s work?”

He lifts his eyebrows, but he doesn’t even consider my words. He knows his answer. “Fuck yeah.”  

I smirk, and he shakes his head.

“Look at me, Tia.”

I do as he says and my heart speeds up as I look into his clear blue eyes. He melts me with those eyes and he knows it.

“I’m all in with you, Tia. Do you understand me?”

I smile as he pulls me to him, his hands on my ass, squeezing my butt cheeks just to make me laugh.

“You’re crazy,” I say, my hands on his solid chest. His well-trimmed beard tickling me as he nibbles my ear.

He nods, our eyes centered on one another. “That’s about right. I’ve done a lot of crazy shit in my life, but marrying you was not one of those things.”

“I’d never ask you to sell your shop, especially not your brothel. You can’t put those women out of a job.”

He grins. “I didn’t know I married a feminist.”

“And I didn’t know I married such a softy.” I pull his face toward mine. “All that nonsense, selling your shop for me.” Then I kiss him, needing to let him know that I’m all in with him, too.

* * *

The day passes quickly, between caring for Giles and tidying the house, before I know it’s time to make dinner. With so many members of the household, there’s always laundry to wash and floors to sweep. And even though simple household tasks are still new to me, they are becoming easier with each passing day.

All day, I hope to hear from Salinger but after he left for the office this morning, he never called to check in with the test results. By the time dinner is through, Huxley asks if Banks can help him with something. Sal helps Giles to the living room and I find myself alone in the kitchen once more, loading the dishwasher. Emerson isn’t here to help, and I miss him at this moment, his easy smile, and generous compliments on my mediocre meal.

As I close the dishwasher, Salinger’s angry voice carries from the other room and my thoughts of Em float away as my mind returns to my other pressing issues.

Drying my hands on a towel, I follow his voice and see him pacing in front of the large front windows of the study. He’s tugging at his dirty blond hair, making it stand on end.

Dark eyes latch on me, and his jaw twitches. I immediately know it’s his mother.

He motions me to come to him, then sets his phone on the coffee table and presses the speaker on, so I can hear the person on the line. He closes the heavy doors to the room and I’m grateful for them. I need privacy when I hear this news.

“Just tell me, Mother,” Sal says, sitting heavily on the couch and drawing me to his side, fingers gripping mine.

It’s about the test results.

“Like I said, it’s not that simple.” His mother’s voice crackles through the phone.

“Is she pregnant or not?” Sal demands.

Silence.

I grip my husband’s hand tighter.

“No. She’s not.”

Sal lets out a long breath but I’m not as relieved as I thought I’d be. In fact, a sliver of disappointment races through me, which is stupid because I know that having a child could be a death sentence. But still...

“But we found something odd in her blood work,” his mother says.

“It was only supposed to be a simple test--”

She chuckles. “You know nothing is ever simple with me, son. And I think you’ll be glad I took the initiative. This wife of yours is... unique.”

I open my mouth to tell the woman off, but Sal gives a hard shake of his head to silence me.

His mother continues, “I’d like to do more--”

“No.” Salinger stands and picks up his phone. “Tia won’t be part of any of your experiments.”

“But you see, I think she already has.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ask your wife.”

Sal looks at me questioningly, but I have no idea what the woman is talking about. I shake my head and am about to argue that his mother is certifiably insane when a memory hits me.

Me being poked and prodded in one of my father’s labs. They were just health check-ups, though, weren't they?

Except for the time when I was thirteen, right after I had my first monthly cycle, I’d become deathly sick. Or at least that’s what it had felt like. I’d been quarantined for almost a full month as the illness worked its way through my system.

Meningitis.

That’s what I was told I had.

They’d stuck needles in me everywhere. Taken vials of blood, even spinal fluid had been extracted. I’d cried for my father, but the only time I’d seen him was through the glass window, talking with one of the doctors.

“I think whatever Warren Thorne has been working on, he injected it into his daughter.”

I shiver at the woman’s words. “No.”

“If I’m right, she could be useful--”

“I have to go,” Salinger says, hanging up before his mother can say anything else.

“She’s wrong.” My words sound weak.

“Okay,” he says, sitting beside me again.

“I mean, my father wouldn’t...” I shake my head, wondering just how far the man would go to find a cure. “He would have told me...”

Even as I say the words, I know how wrong I am. He loved me in his own warped way, but he loved his research more. I’d always known that. The story I have told myself, time and time again, is that Lawson is the only enemy… the real reason I ran. But I know that isn’t the entire truth.

Who wants to believe a father wouldn’t put his child’s best interests before his own? I certainly don’t.

But my memories pierce my mind’s eye with the same pressure as the needles that broke through my coming-of-age skin all those years ago.

“I won’t let her touch you.” Sal pulls me back against his chest.

“What if your mother is right?” I relax into him and take the strength he offers because right now I need it. It’s like pieces of a twisted puzzle are coming into place. “What if he did something to me, something that will now harm me? Or what if my blood does hold a key? How can I resist giving myself over in an effort to find a cure? Not just for me, but for all women.”

Salinger sighs. “Let’s just get through the next week, okay?”

I nod, but my head is spinning, and I don’t get much time to think about the possible consequences before Sal’s phone is ringing again.

“It’s my father,” he says before answering it and putting it on speaker.

The fact that he trusts me enough to let me hear the call, stirs something in my chest.

“You have news?”

“Yes,” his father answers with a voice drained, his exhaustion evident in a single word. “Warren Thorne is going home. He’s asked for a tour of our naval base, but it doesn’t seem like he suspects his daughter is here.”

I reach for Salinger’s fingers, squeezing them tightly as if holding onto him is what’s keeping my father at bay.

“He’s not going to be a problem then?” Salinger asks with the same look of incredulity I feel.

“I didn’t say that. But whether he knows your wife is here or not, he isn’t taking any quick actions to get her back.”

“But you think he’ll still be trouble?”

“As long as that woman is on Alaskan soil, there will always be cause for concern. Unless—"

“She’s not pregnant,” Sal says quickly.

“Unfortunate.” His father gives a harsh grunt, then continues, “We have reason to believe that those responsible for torpedoing the ship weren’t acting under any specific countries’ orders.”

Sal frowns. “Then who?”

A deep sigh follows. “Someone wanting to make a point. Wanting something that we have.”

I hear the hidden words. Does he think my father had something to do with the attack? Or Lawson? I don’t even know if they have the means to do such a thing, but if they did...

Oh God, if it’s true, then it’s my fault.

I try to hold back the tears that burn my eyes and press my fist to my mouth.

“Then we fight back,” Salinger says, watching me, and I know he can read my thoughts. “It’s war now.”

“Yes, son, it’s war.”

My chest is so tight, and my throat feels like it’s closing in on itself. I can’t breathe. I stand and rush to my bathroom, splashing water on my face and trying not to hyperventilate.

Sal comes in a moment later. “This isn’t on you, Tia.”

“Then who am I supposed to blame?” I ask, looking at us both through the mirror. My eyes are puffy, my heart bruised. It’s all so much.

“The men responsible.”

“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t come here.” My fingers grip the countertop, and I wonder when the madness will stop. Will it ever?

“Maybe not now, but eventually these men would take and destroy anything or anyone else in their path. They have to be stopped.”

I know he’s right, but guilt still presses heavily on me.

“Come here,” he says, wrapping one arm around my waist, his other hand resting on my cheek. “We’ll fight this.”

“I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. I can’t...” I swallow hard. “I won’t survive if anything else happens to any of you.”

He smiles softly. “You can, and you will. Because you’re strong. Stronger than anyone I know. And we’re going to beat this. You, me, our family. We’ll fight, and we’ll win. And one day, when you’re not worrying about Giles or Emerson, or anything else, I’m going to make love to you.” He presses his lips to mine. “Ravish every inch of your body and make you mine.”

I whimper against his mouth, needing that now. Needing all the strength he can give me. Needing the connection.

“No,” I murmur, kissing him. “I need that now.”