Ever After Always (Bergman Brothers, #3)

by Chloe Liese

“Shit!” Her hands shook, her finger tracing the bridge of my nose. “I’m so sorry. I have a short fuse, and it’s like you’re hardwired to push every button I have.” I grinned up at her, my eyes watering. “I knew we had a connection.”

I tried explaining it to Pete once, when he asked, like a good friend, what was going on. I told him anxiety is like whack-a-mole. Unpredictable, always waiting beneath the surface. Sometimes it’s a trigger that you can pinpoint and deal with, but even then, unexpectedly anxiety rears its head and you’re spinning, wishing you could locate that thing, for there to be one thing, that makes you this way so you can isolate it and smack the shit out of it, or…more accurately, fix it. Somehow. Anxiety isn’t always debilitating, and for me, more often than not, it doesn’t spiral into depression, because my meds seem to help with that aspect. But anxiety doesn’t leave, fully. It’s never out of the building. It lurks. It reminds you it’s there. Biding its time. At least, for me it does.

Then I spot Rooney as she wanders Axel’s section of the gallery.

“Who’s sweet?” Axel says, eyes on Rooney.

His eyes are back on Rooney. “Mhmm.” I pause, waiting for him to give me his attention. He doesn’t. He watches Rooney as she laughs with Freya, as they turn and smile for someone from the gallery asking to take their photo. “Ax, you’re not subtle,” I whisper. “True,” he says, still staring at her. “No one’s ever called my work subtle.”

Asshole. Pranks are unfortunately as common among the Bergman siblings as oxygen is in the air.

Finally, I can see, and if I weren’t so damn angry at them, I’d kick myself for not having anticipated something like this. Ren’s driving us like heisters in his minivan. Axel’s riding shotgun. Oliver sits on my lap, Ryder’s in the bucket seat next to me, and Viggo pops up from the third row.

fallen. Oliver says, “When you and Freya started dating, Dad sat us down and made something very clear.” “‘Leave Aiden out of it,’” Viggo says. “That’s what Dad told us. ‘None of your brotherly tricks or hazing, no sinister gang-ups. Be kind to him. Most importantly, stay out of his relationship with your sister.’” “And?” I ask. “And that worked,” Ryder snaps. “Until you started fucking shit up.” “Jesus.” I scrub my face. This is really the last thing I need. “At which point,” Axel says evenly, “we realized an intervention was necessary.” Viggo claps his hands on my shoulders and squeezes. “Welcome to your first Bergman Brothers Summit, Aiden. You’re in for a wild ride.”

“Aiden,” Oliver says, “I know the Liam Neeson angle sort of undercuts this, but you can trust us. I love you. We all do. You’re our brother.”

Oliver stands, too, and pats me affectionately on the back. “You have us.” “It’s not the same,” I mutter. “No, man. Don’t buy that bullshit,” Viggo says, slapping his book on the table. “This idea that you’re all on your own, that your financial success or failure equates to your success or failure as a man. It’s seriously damaging, and it’s the lie that an oppressive capitalist patriarchal society wants us to live enslaved to.” All the brothers blink at him. “Wow, Viggo,” Ryder says. “Got some fire in there, don’t ya?”

He turns back to me. “No matter what life brings, no matter what hardship, you will be surrounded by people who love you and are ready to help you, Aiden. People who know you’ve done everything you can to make it. Struggling will never make you less of a man or less of a husband to Freya. Struggling means you’ve been brave. It means you’re showing up to life and trying. And that’s enough, man. More than enough.”

“Well, now that we have some initial feelings before us, now that I have a sense of what we’re tackling,” Dr. Dietrich says, “let me circle back briefly by saying my company line: There’s a lie we’ve been told in our culture that our romantic partner’s attunement to our emotions and thoughts should be nearly psychic, and that is the barometer of our intimacy. If we feel like they aren’t ‘getting’ us, we reason that we’ve stopped having that magical intimate connection. “But that’s not the case. The truth is that we change and grow significantly in our adult years, and to stay close with a committed partner, we have to keep learning them, examining if our growth is compatible or divergent. However, we can’t know that until we take action to understand our partner, particularly as they change to the point that we feel we don’t recognize them. If we discover that we can engage and appreciate and value their evolution, that they can reciprocate those feelings for us, we’ve rediscovered intimacy.” “So what does this have to do with us?” I ask. “You’re saying we’ve changed?” She tips her head. “Haven’t you?”

“Now you, good sir,” Dr. Dietrich says, adjusting her glasses. “One thing you love about your wife.” “She lives out her love, so you can’t help but feel it. The moment I knew Freya loved me, I knew it. I didn’t have to guess. We hadn’t been dating too long. I came down with the flu and she stayed with me even when I was contagious. When I was finally not delirious and begging to die—yes, I am a man-child when sick—I asked her what she was doing, risking herself in staying with me. She just smoothed back my hair and said, ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’”

“Ah.” Dr. Dietrich lifts her hand. “About that word, fair…the idea of ‘fair’ in a marriage, any relationship, I mean it’s impossible. No marriage is fair. It’s complementary. The idea of ‘fair’ is absurd at best, ableist at worst.” We both swivel our heads and look at her. “Ableist?” Freya asks. “Ableist,” Dr. Dietrich says. “Because saying a relationship has to be ‘fair’ implies only a certain balance and distribution of skills and aptitudes is valid. It upholds an arbitrary, damaging idea of ‘normal’ or ‘standard’ as requisite for fulfilling partnership. When in reality, all you need is two people who love what the other brings and share the work of love and life together.”

“Freya’s just been trying to protect me,” I tell Dr. Dietrich, my eyes not leaving Freya’s. “And I’ve been trying to protect her, too.” “Yes,” Dr. Dietrich says. “But we protect our spouses from things that cause actual harm—abuse, violence—not our inherent vulnerabilities and needs. Those are there for them to love and complement. If not,” she says pointedly, “it comes at the cost of our intimacy, our connection…our love.”

“Here’s the thing, Aiden.” Dr. Dietrich leans in. “A relationship is like a body, and without the oxygen of communication, it can only last so long when one person pulls away and deprives it as much as it seems you have. I know it’s hard to be vulnerable. I know you wanted to protect Freya. But your protection keeps you at arm’s length. If you want to feel close to your wife, you have to draw close, to trust her, even if you’re terrified—no, because you’re terrified. Breathe some life back into this marriage.”

I’m saying when your wife acts like she wants you to be gone, she’s asking you to prove that you want her bad enough to stay and fight.”

“I’ve been in your shoes,” Tom says. “And I learned it the hard way. Get home.”

“Tom, those are Aristotle’s thoughts on tragedy.” “Exactly. At some point, every love is a tragedy. It just doesn’t have to stay that way. We choose our endings. That’s Aristotle’s point. Tragedy is built—it has a structure. And if that’s not the ending you want, then you get out of that trajectory. You change the narrative.”

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, blinking away sudden tears, hoping they’re not obvious. “What are you doing here?” “I wondered if you’d want to—” He clears his throat. “Whenever you’re done, that is. With your patients. I wondered if you’d want to get ice cream—that is, have an ice cream date…with me.”

“Why?” He stares at me unblinkingly. “You know why.” “I need the words,” I whisper. “Because I miss you. Because I know dessert for dinner makes you happy and—” His voice catches. He stares down at his shoes. “And I just want you to be happy, Freya.”

He’s flirting with me. Aiden is…despicably good at flirting. He wears his charm like he wears his clothes—with a genetically predetermined comfort and grace. And when he leans close and drops his voice, when his sea-blue eyes glitter and a dark, rakish lock of hair falls onto his forehead, he turns me into a big, gooey, doe-eyed puddle. Always has.

The line moves, making us next to order after the group in front of us. “Stop flirting with me. I need to pick my flavors.” There’s a pause, before Aiden’s knuckles brush mine. “That’s what you said on our first date.” I glance up at him quickly. “I did? How do you even remember that?” His eyes hold mine. “I remember everything about that date, Freya. You wore a strapless yellow sundress and gold sandals, and your toes were painted hot pink. Your hair was down in these sexy beachy waves before you threw it up in a bun because it was sweltering hot. And you were so fucking pretty, I could barely remember my own name, let alone order ice cream. So I got—” “Two scoops of vanilla,” I whisper. “You said you liked vanilla.”

“You felt like the missing part of my life.”

“I don’t remember what you wore or the precise date. I just remember standing next to you, looking into your eyes and knowing I was…exactly where I was supposed to be.”

He smiles, then turns toward the cashier and says, “Two scoops of vanilla in a cup, please, then chocolate peanut butter swirl and salted caramel on a waffle cone.” Our fingers thread tighter as he says, soft enough for only me to hear, “For old times’ sake.”

before he was on Prozac,

Me too, Aiden, me too

Aiden exhales slowly, steadying himself. “I’m sorry I mauled your face. It was half CPR, half Oh, thank fuck, you’re alive.”

“What’s going on?” I ask. “We,” Viggo says, turning and spinning me away from the house, “are on an all-day brother bonding adventure.” I stop in my tracks, causing a collision of Bergman brothers, domino-effect style. “Idiots,” Ax grumbles from the back. “I’m surrounded by idiots.” I turn and face them. “I’m not your brother. Don’t you want to do this stuff, you know…without me?” They all fold their arms across their chests and tip their heads the same direction. It’s beyond weird. And also…shit, it’s kind of endearing. “So that right there,” Oliver says, “is exactly why we need today.” Viggo pins me with his sharp stare. “Somewhere along the way, you forgot the day you became Freya’s, you became ours, too.” Ah, man. My eyes blur with tears. I stare down at my feet and blink them away as I clear my throat. “So to answer your question,” Ryder says. “No. We don’t want to do this without you.” Ren grins. “Today’s for all six of us. Brother time.”

“So.” Ryder nudges Axel. “What Ren said, is that what happens?” “I haven’t gotten that far,” Ax says. “But I imagine it’ll have something to do with a woman showing up and infiltrating his brain until all he does is think about her, worry about her, draw her, dream about her, until he’s miserable and his tidy plans to enjoy a long, uneventful bachelorhood are completely upended.” Axel stares into the fire and mutters darkly, “In other words, rampant chaos ensues.”

“Aiden’s expertise is seduction,” Ryder explains. “He could charm the panties off a nun. That’s what he taught us. Groveling, however, is not in his repertoire.” Viggo rounds on me, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Wait.” He leans in. “Holy shit. You’ve never groveled.” My cheeks heat. “How?” Oliver asks. “How have you never groveled?” “Because before Freya, no one was worth groveling for,” I mumble.

“I haven’t sung in…months. Haven’t karaoked in years.” “Well, let’s fix that,” Willa says. “Starting with a round of shots.” Ziggy sighs and draws up her knees. “At least I brought my Kindle.”

Alex drops from floating in the water and closes the gap between us, breaking me from my thoughts. He clasps my shoulders and holds my eyes, then says, “It sounds like you’re carrying a lot, Aiden, but you don’t have to carry it alone. I’m always here. While I know I’m not your father, I love you like you’re my own. I’m proud to call you son.”

Aiden turns on the water again and adds more soap. “Personally, I’m not too broken up about staying in here with you, enjoying the quiet, but you can go out if you want.” “No.” I shake my head. “I’ll stay.” Peering up at him, I feel us lean, closer…closer… Aiden’s eyes flick to my mouth, and then he closes the distance and presses one deep kiss to my lips. When he pulls away, we both turn back to our task, side by side. The water runs. Aiden scrubs. Quietly, I rinse and dry. Then my hum returns, steadier, louder. As Aiden wipes down the sink and the water drains in a slow, lazy spiral, it dawns on me— Somewhere along the way, he started humming, too.

She narrows her eyes playfully. “Is this more grand-gesturing and groveling?” “Is it working?” Turning toward the picnic spread on the sand, tiny tea lights in lanterns circling it and hibiscus flowers strewn across the blanket, she sighs dreamily. “Yes.” “Good. Then, yes. I am an unabashed grand-gesturing groveler.”

“Why are we dancing?” she asks. I press a kiss to her temple. “Because you love to dance, and I love to hold you.” “Well, that’s a nice reason.”

“When did you watch the movie?” I ask quietly. “When you were in Washington,” Freya says as she sets down her coffee. “I cried. A lot.” I peer up at her. “Why?” She smiles faintly. “Because it’s about waiting for the one you love for a long time, after they’ve hurt you and you’ve hurt them. It’s about deciding the outside world doesn’t get to dictate your happiness, about forgiveness and second chances and love that grows with people as they grow, too.”

“We can’t possibly hope to always live ‘happily.’ But ‘ever after’? That we can hope for and choose. Because ‘ever after’ isn’t an idea. It’s a person—an imperfect person who’s perfect for you.” Her eyes search mine as she gives me one soft, tender kiss. “You’re that person, for me. You’re my ever after.” My heart glows as I stare down at her, the woman I love more than anything in this world. I clasp her face, wiping away her tears, blinking back my own. “You’re my ever after, too, Freya. Always.” She wraps her arms tight around my waist and smiles up at me. “I like that. Ever after always.”

Sitting on the bed, he sets it in my lap, then joins me beneath the sheets. “Happy anniversary, Freya.” He holds my eyes. “I love you beyond words and time and space. I wish I could articulate how grateful I feel each morning, to wake up and see you next to me. Even when life’s shit and the world feels heavy, I look at you…” He sighs. “Knowing I have you…that’s everything I need.”

“‘This dark is everywhere’ we said, and called it light” — Orpheus and Eurydice, Jean Valentine

He lifts the chain and its thin, rectangular pendant, reading it silently. Aiden + Freya = 3,650 days 520 weeks 120 months 10 years 1 ever after always

Viggo steps up and says, “When things were hard for you two, we tried to tell Aiden we were there for him. And in our ass-backward way, we tried to show him, too. But we’ve realized through…you know…everything that happened since vacation, Aiden needed to know that truth not just our way, but his way, too.” “So,” Axel says, “we pooled resources.” “And did a little reading,” Ryder adds. Ren smiles wide. “And we are now proud to join as tiny but still technically—" “Angel investors,” Oliver says brightly, handing me the envelope that Aiden held loosely in his hand. “Meaning the Bergman brothers now have a vested interest in our brother’s work. God help you, Aiden.” “First time anyone would ever use ‘angel’ and ‘Bergman brothers’ in the same sentence,” Viggo points out.

Growling in frustration, Rooney swivels and faces Axel where he stands, leaning against the threshold, watching her. She marches toward him, throws her arms around his neck, and crushes her mouth to his. “Kiss!” I scream, right as time ends. All the men gape in shock.

“I think…” he says hoarsely. Rooney leans a fraction closer. “You think…?” Ax swallows roughly as his fingertips brush hers. “I think…I have a new appreciation for charades.”