Huxley

When we get to the shop, I pull out my phone so we can look at the list of items we need. Tia’s fingers wrap tightly around mine, and every time I catch her eyes, my heart skips a beat. It’s like that first-love butterflies I’ve heard people talk about has finally hit. Something happened in that truck today.

I fell in love with my wife all over again.

“This is so much stuff,” she says, looking at my phone screen. “Do you think you have all this?”

“Not all of it. But I’ll place a rush order. I bet we can get it from the mainland tomorrow. Some of this is here though, like the bedding and food. And I’ll get some of my guys to help. They can load the truck for us.”

“Thanks,” she says, resting her head on my shoulder. “Let’s get this done and then get food before we go home. I’m starved.”

I lift my eyebrows, giving her a smirk. “I bet I know why.” We share a secret smile, and I exhale, feeling like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

An hour later, we’re sitting in a booth in a pub downtown with burgers and fries. Tia is groaning in pleasure with each bite and I laugh, appreciating her presence. So much of my work is secretive, dealing with the underbelly of society, where I’m the bad guy who runs a black market. But when I’m with my wife, it’s like a fog has been lifted. I’m not the enemy when I’m with her, I’m the partner.

“Did you see that?” she asks frowning, pointing out the window beside our booth. “I swear...” She squints, then shakes her head. “I swear it was Helene.”

I look, a tightening in my chest, but I don’t see anyone. “You sure?”

“She was right there, on the sidewalk.” Tia is moving to stand, heading toward the door.

I pull her back. “I don’t see anyone.”

If she was out there, I’m not letting her go to see. Especially, not when I’m still unsure if one of the guards with Thorne was the guy Helene showed up at our house with. There’s a prickling at the back of my head. A warning. But why the hell would Helene be working with that bastard?

Tia eases slightly and lets me guide her back to the booth. “Maybe I’m just paranoid. It’s been a long few days.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure she is being paranoid. But I murmur, “God knows you have reason to be on edge.” I don’t want to alert her unless I know I have reason to. But I know it’s time to get her back home.

“I don’t trust her,” Tia says, looking back out the window at the empty sidewalk.

“Me either. But honestly, there could be a hundred reasons why she’s in town.” I don’t add that I am more confident now that Helene’s bodyguard was with Thorne when he came to the compound. Instead, I place some bills on the table and take Tia’s hand. “We should get you back. They guys will be worried.”

And I need to talk to the husbands. Stat.

If Helene is here and she’s working with the bastard, it doesn’t take Banks and his fucking science to tell me that Thorne might be closer than we think.

The compound is abuzz when we return, and I’m grateful that Miriam and Grace are here to help.

Tia joins the women in the kitchen, as the men and I begin to unload the truck.

“Did everything go okay in town?” Giles asks as we bring boxes into the house.

“For the most part,” I say, remembering the time we shared in the truck. It was the best sex of my goddamn life. Not that I’ll mention that to these guys. We may share a wife, but some things don’t need to be shared in detail. “But Tia thinks she saw Helene.”

“Shit, really?” Emerson asks, coming up behind us.

I nod. “She backtracked, thinking she was paranoid but…”

“But Tia is smart. She has good instincts and can remember a face,” Banks says, bringing in the last of the load.

“Exactly.” Then I tell them about the bodyguard, and Banks nods, confirming my suspicion.

“I thought the same thing but didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”

“Shit,” Salinger says. “I can head to the State Department with my father and look into it. Someone will be able to track them down for us if they’re here in town.”

“Okay,” I say, nodding in agreement, but hating the idea all the same.

If Thorne’s guards get wind that they’re being tracked, they won’t hesitate on shooting an unnamed officer of Alaska.

“I just don’t want any blood on my hands,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“Let’s not mention this to Tia until we know more. She needs to sleep tonight,” Banks says.

The men nod in agreement.

We all split up with jobs to do, and try to focus on the fact we’re all sleeping under one roof tonight.

Walking into the kitchen, I carry in a box with a new highchair we were able to acquire.

“Look at you, a handyman,” Miriam says, wheeling over to me, watching me click the pieces into place.

“Hey, don’t get crazy with the compliments. This instruction manual has four steps.” I give her grin, pushing past my worry.

“Well, it’s good you found a highchair,” Grace says. “Caroline is ready to eat her Grandma Grace’s famous homemade mac and cheese.”

My shoulders relax, looking around the kitchen. Tia is helping Beth wash her hands in the kitchen sink, and Miriam is back to assembling a salad at the kitchen table, her high tech wheelchair zipping around as she grabs two heads of lettuce from the refrigerator.

This is what all this stress, all this pain has been for.

Moments like this.

As we sit around the large table, a mishmash of personalities, generations, and pasts, we come together united as one. As a family. My family.

Tia takes my hand under the table and gives it a squeeze. “What are you thinking about?”

“Just how lucky I am.” I kiss her cheek, then give a slight nod at my nieces, who both have smiles on their faces. “Thank you again for--”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, Hux. There my family now too. Of course, they’re going to live with us. But it does mean we should start thinking about building that house on the island sooner rather than later.”

At that, Emerson's father Charles glances over at us, brows raised. “What’s that about building a house?”

The room goes silent, except for Caroline’s gibbering. Both the Director and Miriam pierce me with a look that demands an explanation.

Shit.

“I um...” Glancing at the other husbands I see them wince. “It’s just an idea...”

“It’s more than an idea,” Emerson cuts in. “My grandfather left me a large portion of the island as my inheritance. We’ve decided as a family that it would be a good place to raise the children.”

Miriam drops the fork in her hand “The law states--”

“We know what the law states, mother,” Salinger interrupts. “You wrote it, and dad enforces it, which means it can be changed.”

Miriam’s mouth quivers. “I won’t--”

“Even if you don’t,” Sal continues. “Once Tia gives birth to a healthy daughter, we’ll no longer be under your charge. There’s nothing stopping us from starting to build now.”

Tears gather in the woman’s eyes and there’s a moment of silence before she says, “I created this compound to keep families safe. But if you want to leave me--”

“We’ll only be a boat ride or a plane ride away,” Sal says, taking his mother’s hand. “We still plan on keeping our jobs here, and you’ll get to see your grandbabies whenever you want. I promise.”

“But with the threat from Russia,” the Director says. “Are you sure you want to take the risk of living without the security of armed guards?”

“I was raised surrounded by walls, fences, and men with guns watching over my every move.” Sal’s face grows somber, and I know he’s remembering his own sister. The one who drowned when he’d snuck out of the bunker with her as a child. “There are dangers everywhere, even in the prisons of our own making.”

A heaviness settles around the room.

“I don’t want to raise my children like that,” Salinger finally says.

“All right. But I want access to your blueprints. I’ll have my men incorporate a state of the art security system--”

“Mother,” Sal says, a warning in his voice.

She raises her good hand. “No walls, no guards, but you will have a satellite system in place to alert you of any incoming vessels.” There’s no fighting with her on it, and thankfully Sal realizes it and nods in agreement.

Miriam looks to Emerson. “Exactly how much of the island do you and your family own?”

Em looks at his parents, then lifts his shoulders, “Seventy percent. Most of the other families have left and my parents have been buying up the land that’s left.”

“Good, good,” she mutters, clearly formulating a plan. “We’ll need a large expanse of fertile land to begin cultivating the myosotis parviflora.”

Banks sits up. “You took a look at my preliminary studies on the flower?”

“I did.” There’s something in Miriam’s eyes that looks almost like hope. “There is definitely healing properties in it. A few years back, I read a research report about a similar flower found in Greenland. Unfortunately, once the benefits hit the media, people flew in from all over the world and ravaged the landscape searching for the flower.”

“I heard about that,” Banks mutters. “And in the end, the flower proved to have no benefits at all.”

“That’s what the media reported,” Miriam says. “The actual flower did help. Mixed with a low dose of matricaria recutita and ulmus procera the survival rate was almost ninety percent.”

“Ninety percent?” Tia gasps. “But why doesn’t anyone know about it?”

“Because the flower no longer exists. The masses ravaged the landscape. By the time our scientists got there to collect a sample, people were using any wildflower they could find.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Which is why we need to safeguard the myosotis parviflora in case we find the same benefits.”

“You will,” Grace says, no pride in her voice. Only certainty. “I know you need to do your tests, but I don’t need science to know I’m right.”

“For the sake of our future I hope that’s true,” Miriam says, but it’ll take months of research--”

“No.” Banks pushes his chair back and stands, dark brows furrowed. “There’s a way to expedite the process.” There’s a desperation in his voice, an aura of frustration and tension that’s surrounded him since I deleted Tia’s files.

Since I took away the cure from the world.

I know even though Tia and Banks won’t say it, they still are uneasy about the decision. Thank God, one of us is a selfish enough to have made the decision to save our wife.

And even if Banks never finds another cure, I’d make the same choice a hundred times over.