“I’ve never told anyone that, Mckenna. Even my brother doesn’t know. I got the rest of the truth, the background, from Nana. It was after Pop was in a nursing home. I was in high school and spending a few weeks with her in the summer. She broke down, sobbing at the kitchen table, and told me everything. She admitted my mom didn’t want us to know. To my mom, we were truly brothers, and we were hers and she didn’t want anything to change our perception of that.”
“I understand that,” Mckenna whispers.
I kiss the crown of her head. “I do, too.”
Mckenna shifts in my arms, glancing up at me. “Where’s your mom now?”
“Indonesia.”
“What?” Mckenna laughs.
I nod and bite my lip to keep from grinning. “She’s such a free spirit. After years of hurt, she moved on. She leaned into her creative pursuits and started painting. I mean, she kept things going for Jameson and me until the band made it. By then, Nana and Pop had passed, Big Jim was long gone, and Jameson and I were embarking on a whole new chapter. Mom asked if we minded if she pursued a long-held dream to travel and sell her art. Of course, we didn’t. And she went. She met a man—an artist, named Niko—and they’re living their best lives puttering around Asia together.” I smirk at Mckenna. “According to Mom, it’s never too late to reinvent yourself.”
“Wow,” Mckenna murmurs, shaking her head before dropping it back to my shoulder.
“She can’t wait to meet you,” I tack on.
“She knows about me?”
“I called her after we got married. She said elopements often make the best stories.”
“But not the best marriages.”
“Too early to tell, Mckenna.”
Mckenna is silent after that, and I don’t push. Instead, I hold her closer and together, we watch the stars.
That night, as I watch Mckenna sleep, I’m relieved that I shared my secret with someone. And I’m glad that it was her. I trust her more than anyone and know she understands me in ways that most people don’t. There’s a depth between us, a mutual respect and shared sense of responsibility for the other.There’s a relatability I’ve never experienced with anyone else. Not even my brother.
And while I love the closeness that’s blossoming between us, I can’t help but worry about what comes next. On the surface, during our daily hikes, I lean into our newfound lightness. I do whatever I can to put Mckenna at ease, to make her smile, to ensure her safety.
But at night, an inferno rages through my bloodstream. Thoughts of Branson hurting her consume me, plunging my mental state into darkness each time I watch her sleep.
“We’re going on an adventure,” I announce the following morning.
Mckenna stretches in bed, her auburn hair fanned across the pillow, her navy eyes blinking slowly. “What?” she mumbles, dragging herself into a seated position. The bedsheet pools around her waist as she regards me groggily.
I grin. She’s wearing a black silk pajama set—a tank top with too-thin straps and tiny shorts—and she looks delectable. Adorable. So fucking perfect, my heart rate accelerates.
“An adventure,” I repeat, striding over to the windows and pushing back the curtains to let the sunlight stream in. “There’s hiking. Volcanic hot springs. A delicious lunch spread. Perhaps even a waterfall.” I lift an eyebrow to tempt her.
She smiles, and it’s like basking in pure sunshine.
“Well, if there’s a waterfall.” She slips from bed.
I chuckle.
“You should’ve led with that,” she continues, teasing me, as she slides her feet into slippers and pads over to me.
“How’d you sleep?” I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“I was out,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve been sleeping so well here since...” She trails off. “Just out.”
“Good.” I kiss the top of her head. “You need the rest, Mckenna.”
She makes a noncommittal sound in her throat and ducks under my arm. “Breakfast?”
I gesture toward the door. “Lead the way.”