My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8) - Tillie Cole Page 0,87

safe… where he belonged. Flame’s cheeks were pale, redness ringed his eyes, and he spoke barely loud enough to hear. “Why didn’t he love me?”

I did not think it was possible for my heart to break for Flame more than it already had a thousand times over. But it did. It broke harder and more powerfully than ever before. He stared at me so earnestly, waiting for me to respond, as if I held the answer. I did not. But I saw the despair in his eyes, felt the need to know the answer to this question by how tightly he held onto me. I looked down and saw the tapestry of scars that littered his skin—old and new wounds, all caused by one person. One wicked soul who, instead of loving his son, tortured his innocent soul until it was torn into shreds and cast into the wind. “I do not know,” I eventually said, meeting Flame’s desperate stare. Flame’s chest deflated. I held his face in my hands. “I love you, Flame. I love you each day and I wonder how anyone could not.” I smiled. “Because you are so very easy to adore.”

His hand moved to my cheek, and his thumb ran along my bottom lip. “I like it when you smile.” I tried to smile more widely, but the sadness in his heartbreaking question stole it from my lips.

“Your poppa was not a good man, Flame. I believe he was not meant to love. I believe this because you are impossible not to love.” I kissed his cheek. “AK, Viking, Asher… they all love you so very much.”

“Asher doesn’t,” Flame said. “He told me I am like Poppa.” I drew back a fraction like I had been struck by lightning. Then I thought of Asher. Of how scared he was at seeing Flame so broken, in the woods.

“Asher is in pain too. He is in so much pain, that he does not mean what he says at times.” I knew that would be difficult for Flame to comprehend. He did not know what it was to lie. He only ever spoke the truth. “And Flame,” I said, moving my hand over my stomach. This time, Flame followed my gaze. “Our baby loves you too. Our baby moves when you are near.” I tried to not show my hurt when Flame averted his eyes, when he pulled his hand from mine. I was convinced it was so I could not guide his palm to my stomach and feel the bump. I closed my eyes and drew in deep breaths. When I opened my eyes, I said, “I need us to go somewhere,” I combed through Flame’s hair with my hand. “When you are strong again. When you have rested, I need us to go somewhere.”

Flame nodded, not even questioning where. I smiled at him and saw his lips part at the sight. “Come. Let us go back to bed,” I said, and rose from the bath. I wrapped a towel around Flame and guided him back to our bed. When we were dry, we lay back down. I laid my head on his pillow and gripped his hand.

Flame’s eyes drifted shut, but I could not sleep. Everything. Everything stemmed from Isaiah. Flame never had closure. He never got to mourn the baby brother he so tragically lost. Never got to move on from that tragedy and look forward to his future. As our baby moved inside me, I knew what I had to do. I just prayed it would work. I was not naïve. I knew we had a long road back to where we used to be. But this had to be done. It would hurt him, though I was not sure how much. But after pain came healing, of this I was sure.

Maybe then Flame could embrace the miracle we had made together. Against the odds, when we both feared we would never have anyone to love, we found each other. And soon, our child would arrive. Already I carried a love for our baby that I could never have dreamed. Leaning into my bedside table drawer, I brought out a picture I had sketched long ago… one of Flame and I… us holding a baby. An illustrated prayer, representing a heaven that waited for us to embrace.

So, we would travel down a dark road to bring us into the light. I would try to show my husband the way, hands clasped, the flames