Tia

Silence surrounds us on the plane ride home. Even though the mission was a success, I can tell something is bothering Emerson. He hasn’t talked about what happened inside Saint Augustine's. Neither has Huxley, and I know they’re trying to protect me. I just don’t know from what.

“Did seeing your old home make you miss it?” Huxley asks, his fingers finding mine as I lean against him in the small four-person plane that Fallon is flying.

“No,” I tell him honestly. “It’s more like I miss what I never had.”

Huxley’s eyes darken. “What’s that?”

“A childhood.”

My words fade into the night as Fallon flies us through thick stretches of black. Maybe Huxley didn’t have a childhood either.

I know Fallon and Emerson certainly can’t relate to me in that. Idyllic is the word I would use to describe Fallon’s summers at the lake and Emerson’s family farmhouse.

I want to ask Huxley what growing up was like for him, but before I can, I look up and see that his eyes are closed. He sleeps the flight away, and so I close my eyes too, trying to dream of something other than the past.

Finally, we get home in the earliest morning hours. Fallon is spent, having had a more exhausting twenty-four hours than anyone else. Flying to Seattle and back again, getting into a fist fight with Emerson and making sure I was safe.

We get out of the car and I let Emerson and Huxley walk ahead to the house. I take Fallon’s hand in mine, longing for him to know I never wanted to hurt him by leaving the way I did.

“Thank you for coming to get us,” I tell him. “I don’t know how we would have gotten home without a boat.”

“I’m just glad I found you,” he says, pulling me to him.

“Do you hate me?” I ask, the question more genuine than I’d like to admit.

“No, never.” He looks down at me. “Truth is I’m the one who should apologize. I should never have walked out on you the other night. You were just wanting to do the brave, strong thing. And I was acting like a fucking coward.”

“No. You were being the protector you vowed to be. Thank you for always looking out for me. But Fal, now I need you to look after our babies too. Vow to protect them too.” Tears fill my eyes as I take his hand and press it to my belly. “You’re more than a husband now. You’re a father.”

His shoulders fall, and he looks up to the sky.

I press my hands to his cheeks and pull his face down. “If you’re gonna cry, you need to look at me, not the heavens.”

He laughs, blinking away tears.

I brush them away with my thumbs, our hearts beating as one.

“I love you, Tia.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

Banks and Salinger are waiting for us in the living room when we walk inside the compound.

After dealing with Banks’ frustration about us not telling him the truth about where we were going, he seems somewhat pacified when Emerson hands him the USB key.

“You got it?” Dark brows rise and hope flares in his eyes.

“We don’t know what’s on there, but it was in the safe with Tia’s name marked on the envelope.”

Banks gives a hard nod, and I can see this eagerness to dive into whatever information is on there.

“Don’t forget about your promise,” Em says, jaw set.

“I haven’t. I’ve already done a few preliminary tests on the flower.”

“And?” I ask, curious.

“It’s safe.” Banks’ mouth twists. “And it shows signs of helping stabilize fluctuating hormones among other things.”

Instead of gloating, Em just nods, then looks at me. “Will you take it daily, like my mom suggested?”

“I didn’t say it was a cure,” Banks says flatly.

“Neither did I. But you just said yourself that it has healing properties.”

I glance at Banks, trusting his judgment, but also knowing I’ll grasp at straws right now to save my babies and myself. “If it’s not harmful--”

“I’ll start you on a low dose.” Banks’ jaw twitches when he glances at Em. “Have your mother send more flowers, as well as some seeds, and seedlings. If it is helpful, then we should start growing it to distribute to others.”

After kissing me hard, Banks turns to retreat back into his study.

The slightest hint of a smile tugs at Em’s mouth, a trickle of pride forming in his eyes. But more than that, some of the fear that’s tightened his features since he found out about my pregnancy, lessens. And I know it’s because he thinks this flower will protect me.

My sweet lion.

How I wish I could have that kind of faith.

He reaches for my hand, pulling me into the hall. “See, baby? Told you I would take care of you.” He runs his hand over my hair, settling his palm on the base of my neck, drawing my mouth to his.

“I never doubted you,” I tell him, looking into his bright eyes. It’s like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Before our lips meet again, I can’t help but say one thing. “Hey, Em, you know, I’m not expecting you to save me. I know you’re not--”

A frown forms on his lips. “I’m not what?”

I press my hands on his chest. “No, I mean, I know you haven’t spent time researching--”

He pulls my hands away. “It’s not all about fucking research, Tia.” He runs a hand over his thick beard. “Just tell me, am I enough for you?”

“What?” I pull back, shocked at his words, at the fervor and insecurities in them. “Of course you are. Why would you say that?”

He raises his hands in defeat. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if you’d have chosen me.”

“Does it matter? I choose you now.”

He lifts his eyes, and I can’t help compare myself to his past. Before me, someone did choose him. Sought him. Wanted him. No lottery, no strings -- him alone.

“I didn’t think it mattered. But so many times I try to take care of you, you remind me what I’m not. What you don’t need me to be. So, what do you need from me?” he asks.

I drop my face in my hands. “Dammit, Em. I’m trying here, okay? You’re worried about being enough? I’m just worried about being alive.”

I turn from him, angry and disappointed and confused. I retreat to the study, and I’m relieved he doesn’t follow me. I need to collect my thoughts first.

The idea that I don’t think he’s enough hurts. I sit on the couch across from Banks who is fixated on the computer screen, and maybe that’s good. He plugs the USB into his laptop and waits, not realizing I am on the verge of tears.

Taking a deep breath, I try to put myself in Emerson’s shoes. To feel how he feels. But I’m too distracted by Banks and whatever is on the computer screen.

Maybe that just proves Emerson’s point. That I don’t care enough about him, that I care more about the cure.

But wouldn’t I be a horrible mother to focus on anything else?

“You okay?” Banks asks, looking over his monitor, dark eyes intense.

“A little anxious is all.”

“Just give me a few minutes, all right?”

I nod. Even though I want to peer over his shoulder, and scan the files myself, I know Banks well enough to know that I would just distract him.

His frown deepens with every click of his mouse, and after fifteen minutes of waiting, I can practically feel the anger vibrating off of him.

“That bad?” I ask.

His nostrils flare and he pinches the bridge of his nose before leaning back and meeting my gaze. “Your father is one sadistic fucker.”

I breathe in a deep, shaky breath. “Okay? But what does that mean?”

“It means you’re lucky to be alive.” He shakes his head as he pushes back from the desk and stands. “What kind of monster would do this shit to his own daughter? To anyone for that matter.”

“It wasn’t just Tia,” Emerson says from the door. He’s holding a steaming mug. He made me the myosotis parviflora tea. Of course, he did.

He gives me the tea and I take it as a peace offering, whether it is or not. I need that kind of faith right now. I take the mug, desperate for anything to cling to.

“And it’s still going on,” Emerson tells Banks. “The research. I saw...” He winces before continuing. “I think he’s breeding women.”

“What do you mean exactly?” Banks asks slowly, looking at Emerson like he is taking him seriously for the first time.

“When Hux and I were at Saint Augustine's, I saw a woman... she was pregnant, hooked up to life support. She was pregnant. Probably seven or eight months along. And there was another room...”

“What kind of room?” Banks leans with his palms on the desk.

“On our way out, we came across a... nursery.”

“A nursery?” I shake my head. “Saint Augustine's only brings in girls after adolescence.”

I know that place like the back of my hand, I’d know if there was a baby there. Wouldn’t I?

Swallowing the hot tea, I remember how secretive my father was. How men in black vans would come to the back of the laboratory at odd hours. Never any explanation of why. I remember looking for new deliveries of lab equipment after they came. There never was any to find.

“There were a dozen or more infants,” Emerson says. “You can ask Huxley. Toddlers as well. Even a few older children.”

“What the hell?” Banks runs his hands through his hair, and I tense, watching my reserved, confident husband become unhinged over these new revelations.

What exactly was on that file?

“I really think he’s breeding those women,” Emerson says.

“Jesus Christ,” Banks mutters.

My hands shake as I set down the tea and stand. “For what purpose?”

“To sell,” Huxley says, coming into the room. “What other purpose could he have?”

There are so many things I don’t know about my father. But breeding women for the sole purpose of selling their children seems too horrendous even for him. But Huxley’s next sentence sends even more chills down my spine.

“Or maybe to experiment on.”

“They were all girls,” Emerson adds, dragging his fingers back through his mane of hair.

I can tell he’s just as horrified as I am, maybe even more so, because he witnessed it first hand. No wonder Huxley and Emerson could hardly say a word since we left Seattle. They are still reeling in shock.

Huxley leans against the wall of the study, arms crossed, exhausted in a way I’ve never seen on him before. We’re all falling apart. “I knew that fucker was a sadist, but shit, there were things in that building I can never unsee.”

A shiver runs down my spine. The women. The girls. The babies. I press my palms to my belly, fear coursing through my veins.

Thank God, no one saw us at Saint Augustine's.

“We have to tell someone,” I say. “Save them.”

“Tell who?” Huxley asks with disgust. “It’s all fucking fixed. Your father is under the US government's protection. For all we know, they’re probably paying for his research.”

I’m not giving up. Not now. “Salinger’s mom--”

“I’ll talk to her.” Sal comes into the room. “I heard what was said. But without evidence, it makes the situation a little more complicated.” His commanding presence in the room immediately puts me at ease. He would be such a capable politician. And if the government is as corrupt as Hux believes, we need a good, true man in charge now more than ever.

“Huxley and Em saw them.” My fingers twist together.

“Which means admitting we were there,” Hux says, pressing his fingertips to his temples.

“What we need to be focusing on is you.” Banks comes up behind me, and in a rare show of affection, he places a hand on my shoulder, another around my waist.

“I’m safe. I’m not strapped to a gurney,” I say on a shaky breath, feeling so lost and scared. “Those women, they must be terrified.” I begin to cry, I can’t help it.

There is so much wrong in this world, but knowing now what my father had done, what he’s still doing, it’s too much.

Banks’ hand strokes my hair and I fall apart in his arms. He holds me tightly until the tears stop falling.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he says. “We’ve had a long couple of days and you can’t worry about anyone else right now. You need to focus on yourself.”

I nod, feeling loved as I look around, seeing all my husbands are here, making sure I’m okay. I’m not sure when they all entered the room, but they’re here now, worry in their eyes.

I’m about to head upstairs when the doorbell rings.

We look at one another with alarm. Fear crawls up my skin. It’s never been good news when that damn bell rings.

“Goddammit, who’s here now?” Giles asks.

“I’ll go look,” Fallon says, leaving the room.

Thinking about my down comforter, about my flannel sheets, sleep calls me, and all I want is to go upstairs. But when Fallon call for Emerson and I hear his curse when he leaves the study, I have a bad feeling that I won’t be getting sleep anytime soon.

I follow the rest of my husbands out, stopping when I see who Fallon has let into our house.

At the front door is the last person I expect to see. I recognize her from the picture on Emerson’s bedside table. She’s older now, but I know her face.

Helene. The mother of Emerson’s son.

He was right, she’s alive.