Page 16 of Cardinal House

Grace grew up in a sanatorium, she doesn’t cope well in hospital settings. That’s why, with her and Hunter’s fourth baby on the way, they have a doctor visit the house for ultrasounds and check-ups.

My younger brother Hunter delivered their three boys at home in their bathroom after spending months being trained to do so, the rest of us waiting just down the hall. He wasn’t even nervous, he just knew he had to do it, for her. But this time, with a baby girl on the way, something that’s not been birthed in the Blackwell family in over seven generations, he’s scared utterly shitless.

“Where’s Thorne tonight?” I ask, holding my cupped palm out towards Archer for another handful of sweets, Thorne’s been here every night, even if he doesn’t show until three-am, we work unusual hours.

“With Haisley,” Dad grins, it’s wide and real and a little bit wolfish. “Both of them have been staying at the mill to help in Rosie’s absence.” Rosie is Heron Mill’s housekeeper slash nanny, and she loves her work, but she’s going in for a second hip replacement and having a well deserved ten weeks off. And with Grace being seven months gone now, she doesn’t have the energy to chase around three boys under six. “And I think all of the chaos has gotten to Thorne, so he’s taken her out to dinner.” His eyes sparkle as he says it, and although, due to a messy family drama, Haisley already bears our last name, they’re not married…

“He’s going to propose tonight, huh?” I smile as I say it, it makes my heart thud a little harder, it feels good, the thought of him getting down on one knee, tears in her eyes, hands covering her mouth in surprise.

They’re perfect together.

“How the fuck d’you get that from that?!” Archer laughs, smiling widely now too.

It makes the room feel warm, not that it’s fucking cold in here, definitely not that, but it feels like happiness.

Love.

Then the doors open, and at the entrance is the woman I’ve been desperate to see. I feel all three of us, my dad, my brother and me, collectively stop breathing as our gazes swing to her.

That long, shiny, sheet of raven-black hair is braided forward over one shoulder, her icy-blue eyes are bright and wide. She’s fucking beautiful.

But something’s off with her.

And like wolves scenting blood, all three of us sense it.

She holds herself strangely, one of her shoulders dropped slightly lower than the other. She appears stiff, like a wooden doll with barely posable joints.

“Is it okay to come in, Mr Blackwell?” she asks quietly, one hand splayed over the door, pushing it inwards, the other by her side, long fingers curled around her blue clipboard.

She’s not even looking at any of us as she speaks. Her eyes are on the space just over my head. She could just as easily be speaking to me, as she could Archer or Dad.

And it’s the latter that speaks, “Of course, you can, Luna,” he smiles warmly as he says it, shooting me a quick look. “Archer and I were just leaving,” Dad says, pushing to stand, he smooths his big hands down his thighs, collecting his jacket and tie. “We’ll be back tomorrow, son,” he tells me, gripping my shoulder firmly as Archer unfolds himself from his chair on my other side.

I watch them both walk towards Luna, her tall, slim frame seeming to shrink back as they approach, and they catch it too. The way they slow their steps towards her, giving her a wide berth. With warm smiles, they both say goodbye to her as they pass, and then we’re alone.

She almost limps towards me, but I likely wouldn’t notice if I weren’t looking for it. She’s slow in her approach, like she’s in pain, coming up beside me to scribble down things from the monitor screen on my left, giving me a much wider berth than normal.

“Luna,” I say softly, as softly as my deep voice will allow, I’m gruff with the way I speak, but I try to soften it for her. “Look at me.” Her eyes dart just slightly towards me, that pale-blue flicking to me from the corner of her eye before refocusing on the screen in front of her. “Please.” It’s a mistake when I reach for her hand, I know it is as soon as I lift my fingers from the bed, but even as I tell myself to drop my arm, I don’t.

She flinches before I even make contact, a wince in her face like the sharp movement pains her, and it feels like a dagger through my chest. Give me a bullet over this any day.

I drop my hand back to the bed instantly, even though my fingertips tingle with the want to reach for her again, to make contact this time with that milky soft skin. But I don’t. Instead, forcing myself up a little straighter in the bed, I turn fully towards her, my hips twisting so my entire upper body is angled towards her. My chest pinches, the skin feeling tight, but the pain is more like severe bruising now than fiery agony.

“Luna,” she doesn’t look at me, but I can tell I have her attention, her eyes are still on the screen but they’re glazed, because she’s listening to me, and I don’t want to scare her off. “I’m sorry, about the other day, when I was rude to you, and what happened afterward. I just wanted to apologise. Again.” Her bottom lip pulls tight, like she’s clamping down on it with her teeth, her fingers pausing over the keyboard she was typing on only moments ago. “I’m really sorry about it.” The last part comes out in a whisper, gruff and low, but she still doesn’t look at me and I realise I’m holding my breath, waiting for her to. “I’m really grateful you’re the one taking care of me.”

She blinks. Hard. A flurrying flutter of her lashes over watery eyes, then she turns to me, and we’re so close, the way I’m pushed up towards her, my height helping me get closer even though I’m sitting down. Our lips could brush, if I just lean forward a little, and it’s all I can think about, but I stop myself from closing the scant distance. Staying right where I am, our lips hovering only millimetres apart, her breath feathers over my mouth, her scent dizzying me, sweet peas and fresh cotton, soft and subtle.

“Luna,” her eyes drop from mine, her gaze falling to my mouth. “When I get out of here,” her eyes come back to mine, wide and waiting, sparkling like stars in the night’s sky. “Come to dinner with me.” I don’t ask it as a question this time, I know it’s bad, but I don’t want her to have the option of saying no. Again. “To thank you,” I find myself tacking on the end, as if it’ll help sway her.

She stares at me so blankly, I’d think she hadn’t heard me at all, but the rush of her breath fanning across my skin is all I need to know.

She heard, and she feels something about it.

Right now, that’s all I’m after, a reaction.

“Say yes,” I hush, my lips almost skimming hers with my words, but I am so very careful not to let them touch. “Say you’ll let me apologise with a fancy dinner and wine and too much dessert.”

Everything is a whisper, it’s like we’re trapped in a bubble of tension, and I wonder if this is all just me. But then, with a shuddering inhale, I feel her fingers brush my collarbone as she reaches up resting her hand as light as a feather against the front of my shoulder.

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