Noaz (Van Doren #2)

36. Noaz

36

NOAZ

Three weeks later

I wring out my hair and bring my brush through it. When it glides through easily, I spray some leave-in conditioner and then some hair protector cream. I don’t often curl or straighten it, but I like to make sure my hair remains as healthy as possible. It’s one of my favorite features.

Today is the first day I’m taking the time to do my hair since getting home. I’m not doing anything extravagant with it, but it makes me feel better once it’s all dried and looking cute. I don’t do much makeup. Just what I consider ‘house makeup.’ Subtle, but again, enough to make me feel better. Evening out my skin tone. Putting a bit of extra focus on my eyes.

Enough so I feel like me when I look at myself in the mirror.

Grabbing a pair of underwear, I slip into them on my way out and pause in the doorway. Briar is lying on the bed with our baby on his chest, sharing a skin-to-skin bonding moment. My chest warms.

As it does every time I look at Briar, my gaze drops to his leg and where it’s still bandaged. There’s no permanent damage. The bullet grazed his leg at an angle that meant it ripped through a good chunk of skin and a bit of muscle under it. Recovery is about the reconstruction of the skin before he can get back into the gym to regain his leg strength.

I hate that he was shot. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve had nightmares reflective of killing people. But for the last two weeks, all I’ve dreamed about is Briar getting shot and me not getting there in time. Voss was smart not to tell me that Briar was shot until I was already on my way back. I’d have probably abandoned what I was doing, even if Voss assured me that Briar was fine.

The thought of losing him is the most terrifying thing.

My gaze rises to our baby, and I correct my thoughts. No. The idea of losing either of them. I don’t think I’d live through it. Not with my sanity.

Briar’s eyes open, and he smiles. Taking a breath to clear my thoughts, I cross the room and climb onto the bed to lie with them. I gently kiss baby’s head before pressing my body alongside Briar’s. He wraps his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder.

“You okay?” I ask.

I know he’s grinning, even without seeing him. “Perfect, love.”

Sighing, I gently brush baby’s hair with my fingertips. He’s a very happy baby. Very content. I can’t help but wonder if the trauma of the first few days of his life is going to leave a lasting impression. Is he going to remember being carved from Miranda’s stomach? Is he going to remember the shooting? The screams ?

“Doc called while you were in the shower,” Briar says. “Miranda is ready for visitors.”

I grin. “Good. I can’t wait to see her.”

“Maybe we’re ready for visitors, too.”

Shifting so I can look at him, I ask, “Yeah?”

Briar nods. He leans forward to press a kiss to my lips. “I think maybe we won’t pass him around, but they can come meet him. If you’re ready for that.”

“I think so. I’ll get him dressed if you want to go take a shower.”

“Sounds good.”

We share another kiss because we kiss often, and I don’t ever want that to change. Then I carefully pick up our son, trying not to jostle him too much, so he remains asleep. For a minute, I snuggle him to my chest and Briar wraps his arms around us both.

He’s so peaceful. So content.

One more kiss for each of us and Briar climbs off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom. I follow, though I head out of our bedroom and into the nursery.

When we got home, the piles in the nursery were all taken care of. Everything was opened and put away. All the diapers were sorted and stored. All the laundry was washed, divided into sizes, and secured in totes in the nursery closet.

Our bed was freshly laundered. Our clothing washed. There was a casserole in the oven and a whole variety of formulas for us in case the baby didn’t like the one we were using or had a bad reaction to it.

Our family and friends took care of everything while we were gone, so we came back to everything in order. It meant a lot .

I lay baby on the changing pad and cover his stomach with a towel before securing the strap. He doesn’t move much, but the idea of him ever rolling off gives me anxiety. Still, I don’t move very far and I don’t even take my hand off his stomach as I sort through drawers to find the clothing I want.

I enjoy sticking to neutral white, though we have lots of colors. I like the white on him, though.

I’d been unsure about giving him gender pronouns all through the pregnancy, but once he was born, I realized I needed to. This isn’t about me and we’ll make sure he understands that how he feels is important, without influencing his opinions. If he tells me differently later, we’ll respect that.

The thing is, the kid in Voss’ school is all too potent in my memories and more than anything, I don’t want to subject my child to the cruelty of other children. Especially not due to my actions or choices. I get that some people think that they’re doing the right thing, but the thing is, that’s not the world we live in and they’re single-handedly making their child’s life difficult when it doesn’t have to be.

We live in a cruel world. I don’t care who wants to argue about my outlook on that. I really don’t. You’re entitled to your opinion. But I remember being a child and not feeling like the boy I was supposed to be. I remember growing out my hair and painting my nails because it made me happy.

And I remember being picked on. I remember the name-calling and being made fun of.

Of course, it only lasted a little while because while Kairo was a dick, he was also a big brother, and fuck you if you thought you could pick on me. However, it didn’t win me any friends. I continued to struggle through school, trying to find my place .

And that was by my own volition, because I wasn’t comfortable in my skin.

Imagine being a kid and your parents deciding that you need to choose how to identify at three or four when you enter preschool. Imagine not understanding why there are boys and girls and you’re neither. Why they’re referred to as he and she and your teachers struggle to remember to call you they/them. Imagine being confused about which bathroom you’re supposed to go in.

That parent isn’t doing that kid any favors. That’s not progressive. When the world is still stuck in the middle ages and you are determined to make your kid feel isolated so you don’t influence how they feel? You’re causing more damage to that kid than you are helping them.

There’s a right way and a wrong way. Giving them the tools to identify how they feel and making sure that everything they feel is valid, regardless of whether it’s different from how someone else tells them to feel. That’s giving your child the skills to grow up and be strong against the walls and obstacles he’s going to face.

At least, that’s how I feel. That’s how Briar and I have decided to raise our children. We don’t need to dictate their identity, but we don’t need to strip them of it either. Not when they’re far too young to understand why you’re doing it and making them the black sheep among their peers. That’s not fair to them.

He’s changed and dressed by the time Briar steps into the nursery. I hand our son over and tell him I’ll meet them downstairs after I throw on some clothes. I follow them into the hall and watch Briar’s retreating back. He has a slight limp, and he rarely keeps weight on his left leg for any length of time, but he’s getting around like nothing bothers him .

It still hurts my heart. I hate that he got hurt. Nothing hurts me worse than that.

Thankfully, I know the man who shot him is dead. Furthermore, I know Vanessa and the detective are dead via a long, drawn-out, torturous death that Loren enjoyed probably far too much. But he got a lot of information from them.

Half of the information we’d already gleaned through Voss’ detective work and more we learned from the property itself. However, we got the rest of the names involved—such as the doctor who carved the babies out of the women.

We also learned what happened to the babies. They were sold to the highest bidder. The detective didn’t look into who was buying them or for what reason. His sole concern was delivering a healthy baby, as agreed upon, and getting paid.

It’s… horrifying.

Voss is now doing a lot of detective work to trace the bank transactions into Malone’s various accounts, trying to track down all the bought children. His initial number of fifty over the last eight years turned out to be at the lower end of the estimation. This wasn’t a centralized operation that only took place in Colorado. There were other farms like this around cities all along his property lines.

The man was disgusting.

The two newborns we’d recovered were checked over thoroughly. One was a boy—ours. The second, slightly older infant was a girl. Voss was able to identify the dead woman on the floor and found she’d been another person who was going through All For Love Adoption Agency, though with another agent. He had the newborn delivered to the family who was in line to adopt her, with a note and all the official documents in the carrier—anonymously, of course .

We spent a few days in Colorado while Doc Mark made sure our son was okay to travel and to get Miranda in stable condition. He said that if we’d been too much later, she’d likely have faced the same fate as the corpse she was sharing a shed with.

As for the detective and Vanessa, once Loren was done with them, he fed them to the pigs but made sure they were alive and still conscious. You know, kind of a parting gift. We’ve been assured that what happened there would be erased. The property would be abandoned. The pigs would go to slaughter.

By the time someone stumbled upon the properties, the horrors would be a memory that the land held on to and nothing more. There would be no trace of life, but definitely hints of death.

I dress in a pair of gray cotton pants and a white crop top. I pause in the doorway to assess if this is the level of comfort I’m feeling today. Yeah. I’m good.

As soon as I hit the bottom landing, there’s a knock at the door. Briar is rocking our baby in the den just off the front door. He glances at the door, then at me with a question in his eyes. I shrug. I haven’t sent any texts yet.

Opening the door, I’m surprised to find Kairo. He has a box in his hand. The kind of box I know came from the café in the business center. My mouth is already watering when he offers me the box. “These are addicting,” he says. “I think I’ve gained eight pounds since being here.”

I take the box and give Kairo a smile. “Thanks.”

He nods. “I’m leaving. I need to get back to Chicago, so I’ll meet him next time I’m here.” I tilt my head, and he holds up his hands, scowling. “This isn’t me trying to see him right now. I respect you needing your space.”

“Do you want to meet him? ”

Kairo hesitates. I swear, I can see the war in his expression. His default is dickasaurus, but he definitely wants to meet him. “Yes,” he answers. “But I mean it. I’m not pushing. If you’re not ready?—”

“We are. We were about to head out to visit Miranda since Doc has cleared her for visitors, but then we were going to invite everyone over.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Come in.” I back up, opening the door for Kairo. He steps inside and I close the door again. Briar gently places our baby in my brother’s arms.

Kairo stares, holding him gently and exactly how Briar placed him.

“His name is Emerson Zesiro,” I tell him.

Kairo’s eyes meet mine, slightly wide. “Zesiro?” he echoes.

I smile. “Yeah.”

He holds my stare for a minute before quickly dropping it to look at my son again. He takes a deep breath. Swallows. Otherwise, he doesn’t say anything. Another minute passes before he hands our baby back to Briar.

“Thanks,” he says. “Jalon’s going to be pissed I held him first.”

I roll my eyes as I try not to smile. “Enjoy rubbing it in.”

Kairo flashes me a grin. “See you later.”

With that, he’s out the door and in his car before I even reach the door. “Strange man,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“He’s your brother,” Briar says, chuckling quietly.

I turn as he puts Emerson in his car seat. He makes a quiet squawk, but he’s easily placated with a gentle rock of the seat .

We brought Miranda back to the Estate for Doc to watch over her. Once we explained why we weren’t taking her to the hospital, she readily agreed. She also promised her family could be trusted, which we’re not entirely sure about, but Jalon already has contingency plans in place.

Miranda, Heath, and their five kids between them are occupying three of the guest cabins deeper in the trees behind my house. It only takes us a handful of minutes to drive there.

We’re just getting Emerson out of the back when the door opens, and Heath is in the doorway. He’s got a wide smile as he waits for us. I’m a little surprised when he wraps us both in a tight hug and doesn’t let us go for a minute. He doesn’t speak, but I can feel him trying to keep in his emotions.

Miranda is sitting on the couch. She’s lost a lot of weight, but she’s looking less gray. She also has a big smile as I cross the room and give her a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I’m glad you’re doing better. We’ve been worried.”

She nods. “That was the most terrifying experience I can even imagine. But you’ve given me a second chance. Also, your doctor is amazing. He made sure I wouldn’t have any more pregnancy accidents and therefore no adoption-abduction accidents.”

I hug her close. “They’ve been dealt with. I’m not going to promise there aren’t other awful people like them in the world, but at least they’re not going to hurt anyone else again.”

“Doc didn’t tell me much, but… there were other girls. Other babies…”

“This is for your own protection when I tell you you shouldn’t worry about it. If it can be taken care of, it will be. I promise. ”

Miranda nods. “Don’t worry. We will never breathe a word of this. You gave me a chance to live again. Our family will never forget that.”

“You’ve given us a family, too,” I say. “You’ve let us grow. We won’t forget that.”

She smiles. “I couldn’t have made a better decision when choosing your family, Noaz.”

“Speaking of family,” Briar cuts in. He has our baby in his arms now. “Do you want to hold him?”

Miranda sighs. “Yes. Please.”

Briar places Emerson in Miranda’s arms. She looks down at him adoringly. Then she laughs. “I think he has your hair, Noaz.”

I grin.

She leans her head on my shoulder. “I was so damn scared when they took him. I didn’t know what I was going to tell you.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I’m really humbled that you thought of us at all right then. I can’t imagine how terrified you were.”

Miranda sighs. She hands Emerson to me and kisses my cheek. “You’re going to be the best parents. I can’t wait to see you grow together.”

I meet Briar’s eyes, and we share a smile. Neither can I.