Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3) (46 page)

We laughed.

Lock grinned, his large hands jamming into the front pockets of his black jeans. The renegade teenager was still pleased with himself all these years later. “Yeah, I did. I didn’t even have my license yet, but that was how irresistible she was.” He glanced at the car and then back at Boner. “I wanted to make her irresistible for you. You wouldn’t let anyone touch her after he died.” He took in a breath, tilting his head, his lips pressing together for a moment. “It’s time you take her out, man. He would’ve wanted you to. He would’ve wanted you to laugh and roar behind that wheel, just like he did, like we did together.”

Lock took Grace’s hand in his and they stepped toward us. “She’s got
a professionally built
454 CID engine
, turbo transmission. Original bucket seats with upgraded interior. Fresh paint, subtle silver stripes around the nose and down the sides, hand-buffed.”

Silence, but for the wind kicking up in the tall trees soaring around us.

Boner tore his gaze away from Lock and stared at the car. “The Raven is back,” he said, his voice so low that I could barely hear it.

“The Raven is back.” Lock held out the keys. “Take your old lady home, Boner.”

Boner lunged at Lock, and the two of them hugged tightly. Grace and I held each other’s watery gazes.

I didn’t think my heart could burst again today, but it did right then.

My old man took the keys and got me in his Camaro. We led a long line of bikes through the mountain-carved tunnels and eroded granite pillars of the Needles Highway, over the hairpin curves, and down the long winding road through the Black Hills back to Meager.

Back home.

A week after the wedding, Boner took me to the Jacks’ favorite tattoo parlor in Deadwood owned by their long time friend, Ronny. Looking through Ronny’s amazing array of artwork, I secretly made plans to get fireflies tattooed on my rear and up over my back after I had the baby. Today, Boner had a plan for a special tattoo for himself. He had Ronny brand the poem he had written for me over his heart and down his torso.

I was speechless.

I was humbled.

I was honored.

I was in so much deep fucking love.

There have been many more poems since—some long and some short ditties. A few are nonsensical, a few are philosophical; yet, for the most part, they all express joy, not sorrow, not pain. So many are dirty, but all of them are simply true expressions of whatever Boner is feeling in that instant. He hides them for me to find around our house. I’ve found them in Becca’s drawers, in the bathroom medicine cabinet, in between the bottles in my spice rack, in my makeup bag, inside a rain boot, in my pillowcase, in my underwear.

But that poem, the first poem, is still the most special one of all. I lay kisses over it on his chest every night before I fall asleep in his arms and every morning when I wake up, folded in his embrace.

Every morning.

I’ve captured my firefly

At long, long last

And she glows

She glows

Like a star in the dark

Like a flame in the cold

Heat in my lost soul

My Firefly

At long, long last

No prisoner to take

No lid to close

She is free

yet she glows in my heart,

For my heart has no walls,

It’s clearer than glass.

And she shines within me,

The wild light of my dark night.

I swallowed her tears,

I took them in then threw them at the sky

and made them rays of light.

JILL ENTWINED HER FINGERS
with mine as the nurse attached a wide belt over her huge belly. The quick thumps of Super-baby’s heartbeat filled the delivery room, and Grace and Jill squeezed each other’s hands.

The heart—alive, pumping, circulating blood, maintaining life for this little being, working so hard to do the thing it had been created for.

My breath bottled up in my chest, and my legs suddenly felt weak.

“Mi corazón.”
My mother’s elegant throaty voice came back to me, her hand ruffling through the thick waves of my hair, her final kisses of the day caressing my face before sleep would claim me. Without those gifts from her each night, something was always missing. The night would be empty.

My heart.

An odd floating sensation overtook me, and the baby’s quick heartbeat pulsed with my own. I rocked back on the heels of my boots.

This was Grace and Lock’s baby.

This was urgent life staking its claim among us.

I wanted to match it, sing with it, breathe with that heartbeat.

Can you hear it, Dig?

“Honey? Are you okay?” Jill asked, raising her head.

“Yeah,” I breathed, kissing her hand in mine. “Yeah, I’m good.”

My eyes went to Lock, his lips pressed together, his sleek black hair in his eyes.

The two weeks leading up to the baby’s due date, Jill and I had been very responsible in following the doctor’s orders to help Mother Nature do her thing. Jill had taken long walks around our property, and we’d fucked every chance we got.

Jill would come loud and hard each time. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing like pregnancy hormones. I wish I could jump you myself, but that’s physically impossible these days.”

I’d stroked the side of her hip. “No worries there, Firefly.”

She’d grinned lazily at me from our bed.

The day before Jill’s due date, her contractions had started coming frequently, and we’d headed for the hospital. The urge to push had overwhelmed her, and her water had broken in the truck.

Now, with my wife bracing herself against me and with Grace and Lock on her other side, Jill got into her breathing and pushing zone and used her diaphragm muscles—just like the seminar we’d faithfully attended with Grace had taught us—to push Super-baby out in under three tries.

I had my eyes on the doctor as the last of the baby’s body squeezed out of Jill.

The doctor’s face split into a huge grin. “It’s a boy!”

“It’s a boy? A boy?” Jill shouted.

“Oh my God, it’s a boy!” Grace exclaimed, her skin flushed, her hands flying to her mouth.

Lock clasped his arms around her and kissed the side of her face hard, whispering in her ear. She closed her eyes and pressed against him, a hand to his jaw, tears streaming down her cheeks. He rocked his wife, his wet eyes meeting mine.

Squalling and sharp cries pierced the air, uncurling around us. Lock’s lips trembled, a smile wobbling the edges.

“You did it, baby. You did it.” I kissed Jill’s sweaty red cheek and her forehead. “You did it.”

She let out choppy breaths. “I did it. Sweet Jesus, we
all
did it.”

The doctor rose and gestured at Grace. “Here you go, Mommy.” She laid the baby in Grace’s arms and turned to Lock. “Are you ready, Dad?”

He wiped at his eyes and planted a kiss on the side of his wife’s face, his thumb rubbing through a fallen tear.

“I love you,” he rasped.

Lock took the small clamp tool in his grip from a nurse, and a sob escaped Grace’s mouth. He cut the umbilical cord on his son’s body and bent and kissed his head.

Jill sank back into my arms, laughing.

Laughing.

Over a month after Grace’s baby was born, I got home early one afternoon, and Jill was curled up in the bay window seat, staring out the window, with her journal, a purple pen, a sketch of a necklace on the floor beside her. Her hands lay over her now much, much smaller belly.

I tucked in behind her without a word and took her in my arms, my face pressing against hers. The sun cast its orange glow over us as it dipped lower at the edge of the sky. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing. Just…”

“What?”

She let out a sigh, her shoulders dropping. “It’s strange.”

“Nothing’s strange.”

“I don’t want to feel strange. But I do.” Her breath hitched. “There’s this void...”

“I know,” I whispered, brushing my lips against her hair. “It’s only natural.”

She muffled a sob. “I’m glad it’s over, that it all worked out, but a part of me is sad.”

“It’s okay to be sad, sweetheart. It’s not wrong.”

“It feels wrong. I don’t want it to feel wrong. It’s not about missing the baby as much as it’s the whole experience that I’m missing. I don’t know how to put it into words,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“For nine months, you carried that baby in your body along with so many people’s wishes and dreams. A long, rich journey came to an end. You’re saying good-bye.”

Tears erupted from her, and she cried silently with her face buried in my arm as I held her. I planted kisses on the fireflies inked along her shoulder and neck.

“The good news is, we all live here together,” I said. “You’re not gonna lose out on that bond, Firefly—with Grace or being her boy’s favorite aunt—right?”

“That’s right.” She sniffed. “I’m really glad about that. Grace and I have gotten so close. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t. I guarantee you, she feels the same way.” I kissed the top of her head. “Anyway, now is that time you’ve been talking about for so long. The Jill-on-the-go time. Jill-chases-her-dreams time.”

“Cuckoo!” Becca jumped in front of us.

“There you are, sweets.” Jill wiped at her eyes. “Did you have a good nap?”

Becca nodded and stretched her hands out to me. Jill sat up as I picked up Becs and brought her onto my lap.

My free hand went to Jill’s stomach, and she leaned her head against my shoulder, holding her daughter’s hand.

“Firefly, I want to fill you with us. How does that fit into your dreams?”

She met my gaze, her eyes shining. “I’ve got my dreams right here, Santi. They all came true.”