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Chapter 34 - Lilac
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2025-04-18 18:22:42
BryantAll the people Stacey has hurt and threatened into silence are coming out of the woodwork.
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Troubled Heart Epilogue - Pockets
It started with boxes. So many boxes. And tape. And that loud, evil screeching sound the tape makes when Makayla yanks it across a box. I hated it. I barked at it. She didn’t stop. Lilac kept saying things like “fresh start,” “more space,” and “better for the baby.” What baby? I’m the baby! Meanwhile, Makayla grumbled about how the penthouse echo messed with her audio setup. I didn’t understand any of it. The apartment in the sky was our home. My home. The only one I’d ever known in all my two glorious years of life. I had a routine here—a rhythm. I knew which floorboards creaked, which elevator made a weird noise, and which neighbors gave me treats. I also knew exactly where the sun hit the rug every morning, so I could stretch dramatically and ensure everyone noticed. And Central Park? It was right there. Just a few blocks away. Prime walking territory. Squirrel central. I’d marked every important tree, bush, and trash can between our building and there. That was my kingdom. My pe
Troubled Heart Epilogue - Lilac
Spring in New York didn’t smell like the mountains, but it felt just as sacred that morning. The rooftop air was soft and full of life—honeyed light filtering through string and flowering vines overhead. Laughter drifted from somewhere behind me, punctuated by the unmistakable sound of a corgi barking in protest—probably Pockets voicing his opinion about something. My hands trembled, but not from nerves. Not really. It was unfiltered, unapologetic wonder at how far we’d come. From a firelit cabin in the Rockies to this rooftop, where the skyline bowed slightly to make space for love. I stood in front of a full-length mirror in a quiet corner of the venue, taking in the dress I had designed and stitched with my hands—ivory silk, scattered with embroidered lavender and wildflowers, delicate vines curling up the hem like memory. A dress meant to root me here, in this moment, in this forever. I stood just inside the floral archway leading to the aisle, my hand resting on my father’s. H
Troubled Heart Epilogue - Makayla
There’s chaos, and then there’s Frost-family-holiday chaos. And honestly? I loved every second of it. Eduardo Alfonso Nikolaidis, all eleven pounds of one-and-a-half-month-old chubby cheeked cuteness, had already stolen every heart in the room. Clay cradled his son with more care than I think he's ever held anything, while Xenia kept brushing her fingers through his dark curls like she couldn’t believe he was real. Between her and Clay, their son would grow up with the wildest stories, the best genetics, and more love than he’d know what to do with. Reese and Don were wrangling their almost-three-year-old twins—Nik and Leo—who were tag-teaming a mission to dismantle the Frost Christmas tree ornament by ornament. The triplets were trying, and failing, to keep a straight face while scolding their twins, the mischievous duo Saki and Akio, who kept sticking bows on everyone’s backs like walking presents. Hikari was reading peacefully in the corner, while little Ryū, at four, was already
Troubled Heart Chapter 42 - Lilac
The apartment smelled like cardboard and shipping tape a week after moving in. Boxes were stacked in the hallway, the dining room, and beside the front door, and one particularly stubborn box served as a makeshift coffee table. Fabric bolts leaned like sleepy giants against the wall in my studio space, and my sketchbooks were scattered across the couch. And somehow, it still felt like home. Pockets trotted past me with a sock he stole— Makayla’s sock, of course — and disappeared upstairs like he was on a top-secret mission. I smiled and let him go. We had all fallen into our roles around there. He was the guardian of snack time and chaos. I was the hurricane in leggings and paint-splattered sweatshirts. And Makayla was the gravity holding the whole thing together. She was in the kitchen, half-dressed in one of her favorite hoodies — her rainbow curls tied up in a bun as she typed one-handed on her laptop and drank coffee with the other. I could tell by the set of her jaw she was
Troubled Heart Chapter 41 - Makayla
By the time we pulled up in front of the building on East 83rd, the city had shaken off winter like it never happened. Sure, it was still cold, it’s fucking January, after all, but it’s not like winter in Colorado. It was bright, loud, alive—everything Aspen wasn’t. My doorman greeted us before we even made it through the revolving doors, and I felt Lilac’s hand tighten in mine. She didn’t say anything, but I could read it in how her gaze swept upward, eyes tracing the limestone façade with equal parts awe and apprehension. It was a world away from the cabin, Colorado, and Four Pines. It was also home. Inside the elevator, I leaned into her shoulder and whispered, “Don’t let the marble floors fool you. I still eat instant noodles barefoot in the kitchen.” Lilac laughed softly, nerves unraveling just a little as the elevator ascended. I felt the shift when the doors opened to the penthouse floor. The air up here was still but not sterile. “Okay,” I said, typing in my keycode and s
Troubled Heart Chapter 40 - Lilac
The airplane’s hum enveloped me in a soft cocoon, quieter than I had anticipated. Down below, Colorado’s breathtaking landscape melted into an expanse of thick, downy clouds and snowy-ridged peaks whose white tops reflected what was left of light. My forehead was against the cold glass on the oval window, and I watched the familiar landscape drop away, with my breath tracing ephemeral clouds on frost-nipped glass. I didn’t cry. Nor did I feel the restless urge to flee or look back. This was not an escape; it was a bold beginning. Beside me, Makayla slumbered peacefully, arms crossed like a guard, a stray lock of hair spilling across her cheek in a soft curl. Pockets, our diminutive travel companion, was rolled tight between us in his cozy carrier, snoring with all the force of a small beast fighting off the silence of the plane. Across from us, Clay was already asleep, noise-canceling headphones askew and a half-full bag of pretzels clutched in his palm. I pulled my sketchbook out o
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