Page 19 of Riot

My heart cracks wide open. There are days when I feel like the worst kind of failure. Having a baby is the biggest responsibility life can throw at you, and I’d already fucked things up before she took her first breath. I gave my daughter a father who didn’t deserve that title.

“It’s only possible because of you and Mace. I don’t know where I’d be without you both.”

“Ivy,” she says gently, “you’re the one sitting up all night with her. I’m so proud of you. I just hope I can be half the mother you are.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“May?” Mace’s voice echoes from the hallway, and her face lights up like it’s Christmas morning.

Thankfuck.

The distraction is a relief, a mercy. My seams are splitting, and I’m not sure I can keep myself stitched together for much longer. I’m one breath from an emotional meltdown, and putting a brave face on things is not working like it usually does.

“We’re in the kitchen,” she calls, and a moment later, he appears.

He’s not wearing his kutte, just a dark blue shirt that fits tight across his broad shoulders and thick biceps.

His eyes find hers the second he steps into the room, and he devours her with a sweeping glance, like she’s the only thing that matters. Theirs is the kind of love that consumes everything it touches, like wildfire devouring without mercy. It’s easy to see why my sister fell in love with him—he’s sin and devotion wrapped in a neat little package.

May deserves this, there’s no question about it. She’s suffered through hell, and in those dark days after our mother died, I would have given anything for her to have someone like Mace at her back.

I want it too. I want the kind of love that leaves you breathless and dizzy. I want someone to look at me like I’m their first and last thought every day.

I want to feel like I matter.

My gaze flicks to Riot, and pain slices through my ribs.

He’ll never look at me like that.

Why would he? I’m the girl who was raped and forced to carry a monster’s baby. I’m the girl bleeding out and no one has noticed.

Mace tosses the teabags on the counter and moves behind my sister’s chair. The kiss he drops into her hair sucks the air from my lungs. It’s not heated or raw, but tender, like she’s a precious jewel.

A flicker of jealousy buzzes through me, and I hate myself for even feeling that way.

I’ll never have what they do. I don’t even know if I can be touched without flinching. The only men I don’t feel afraid of are in this room.

“I got you the tea and those biscuit things.” He cups the side of her face with a gentle hand, and she leans into his touch. “You still nauseous?”

Her dazed expression says everything—she’s just as in love with him.

“You’re too good to me.” Her smile could power the whole apartment. “It’s coming in waves, but I haven’t thrown up. That’s an improvement on yesterday.”

His jaw twitches, his mouth turning down at the corners. Poor Mace. He’s really struggling with this. The man who is used to fixing things can’t do anything here.

There’s no enemy to fight, no one to hurt. Pregnancy isn’t a threat he can defeat, and that’s what’s eating him alive. He wants to give her the family she desires, but watching her suffer is torture.

“I hate this,” he mutters.

“I know.” Maylie presses his hand against her belly. “But in a few months, we’ll have our baby, Mace, and all this will be worth it.”

“Just so you know,” he says, “this kid’s gonna be an only child. You ain’t doin’ this again.”

Maylie huffs. “Just because I’m sick now doesn’t mean it’ll happen during my second pregnancy.”

He folds his arms like it’s already decided.

“Ain’t happenin’,” he growls. “And if this ain’t better in an hour, we’re going to the doctor.”

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