AARON WALLACE POV

The R&D projects are confidential and couldn't be left in San Francisco or Florida on their own. The journal carries every secured innovation and technological advancement research I've been working on, along with collaborative partners for future models, ever since the first project was completed and is on production run. Just this morning, on my way to the country club, I received an email reminding me it was time to distribute the project to our company contractors and partners with non-disclosure agreements for access control. The moment we returned to the lake house, I accompanied Liv and Bubble to their room but couldn't stay through Liv's overdue dose, which rescheduled her final dose for tonight to past midnight, forcing an interruption of her sleep.

Scaling up to my family's suite on the third floor, Keenan opened the doors and stayed outside. There were charity event magazines strewn on the coffee table with Cynthia Wallace's name on them; Mom must have been back. Aside from the ominous side of her, she'd always exert to exhibit her power, there is this side of her passion for hosting these kinds of events for children in need. With these papers as proof, I assume she was planning another one soon. Without delay, I headed to my room, cleaned up, changed into something less formal—a black long-sleeve knit shirt tucked into cream-colored high-waist trousers—and went to work for the next four hours.

When everything was wrapped up from the virtual meeting, I traversed down the steps, expecting Keenan had arrange everything we talked about yesterday. On the first floor, he had Bubble with him; the boy was fiddling with some sort of cube in his hands, which I can bet is from the antiques in the house. Liv and I have agreed to meet with his doctor next Monday after the engagement party so he can transfer the reports to a trusted family doctor we have in Portland, who's looked after me and my cousins until our teenage years.

"Are you ready?" I asked Bubble, who Keenan had dressed in white shorts and a polo shirt for our first golf lesson. He nodded eagerly and held out his small hand for me to guide him.

"Way ish Livy?" he mumbled in his own gibberish as we made our way down into the backyard, which turned out to be less reserved than I had expected.

"She's decided to stay in her room, so it's just us hanging out together. What do you think?" I asked.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, looking up at me with eyes that strongly resembled Liv's.

A smile spread easily across my face as I watched him. "Good,"

We decended the first set of steps and spotted Aunt Kathleen, Debra, and my mother amidst the serene lush landscape, surrounded by shrubs, deciduous and evergreen plants, all wearing gardening gloves and accompanied by their packs of Maltese and Pomeranians.

The putting green, prepared per my request, was adjacent to an irregularly shaped swimming pool, with a golf bag equipped with various clubs nearby.

As we ascended the next two steps to the putting green, perfect for fun and practice for the young kids, Bubble's hand slipped out of mine, and he raced towards the clubs.

'No running,' Liv had warned.

"Bubble,"

Impulsively, I chase after him alongside Keenan, carrying the oxygen tank, and I grab hold of him before any damage is done—I hope there's no harm done.
I stoop to the height of the grinning boy next to the golf bag and adjust his collar.

"Do you want to learn the first rule of golf?"

He eagerly nods, his tongue poking out.

"Etiquette. Do you know what that means?"

He shakes his head, his eyes innocently absorbing the lesson.

"It means fineness for handsome boys like you. It's in your pace of playing, no running to tire yourself out, always staying calm so you can intimidate your opponent. Can you do that?"

He agrees with a smile, and we find a club that fits him. I hand it to him.

"Bitch?" he blurts out.

My eyes widen, meeting Keenan's embarrassed gaze as he looks away.

"Did I really use that word in front of him?" I asked Keenan because I was befuddled.

"No, sir," Keenan replies, head bowed.

Then where did he learn it from, and of all things he could say clearly, it was this word that sounded so distinct.

Just great!

"Buddy, we don't use that word."

"A bitch," he chuckles mischievously at me, and my heart skips a beat.

Are kids really this brutal? Inexplicably picking the most inappropriate things to innocently turn into their favorites and wittingly embarrassing you, in my case, as the bad influence image.

As I rose, scanning nervously to ensure no one else but Keenan and I had overheard, he gestured quietly behind me.

The lake.

It started coming to me. Liv said something about him having never seen places with water like this, and she was planning on taking him to a beach.

Of course, he means the beach.

Relieved, I rubbed my neck.

"I think he meant the beach, "Keenan added, also having figured it out.

"Yes, yes."

We went on with the basic training for the rest of the time. It was difficult practicing with a toddler who wanted to go to the lake, run around when he wasn't supposed to, or chase after you with a golf stick, but we progressed, learning a thing or two.

Heels grated against the stone paving as someone approached. Climbing onto the putting green, I didn't take my gaze from Bubble working on getting the ball into the hole even when they spoke next to me.

"Look at you babysitting, something I wouldn't have thought in a million years," Emersyn teased.

"Really?" I shoved my hands in my pockets, supervising him.

He finally got it in and looked over with a gasp, making sure I didn't miss it.

"Mini–goes!"

I shot him a thumbs up, and he reciprocated before going back to another hole with another ball. A foul when I was a child, but I wasn't a psycho to take away fun from a child and replace it with solemn lessons. As long as he's happy, that was the plan.

"Aren't you two adorable? When I was young, I used to think Mom and Dad were siblings. But then I learned that when you're in love, you just start to look alike. It's with you and the Kelbys." Emersyn laughs, and I shake my head smugly at her.

"I'll see you later, Emersyn." I sent her off, and she went away laughing, high-fiving Bubble before heading down toward the pavilion where the twins and two girls had recently gathered after coming back from tennis, as their outfits suggested.

A few more minutes passed while Bubble continued to play dirty against me, making me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt. Then, Keenan let me know that my request had arrived.

"Alright, bring it here." I collected the oxygen tank from him and carried Bubble to a nearby seating area for a break. We were immediately served water, and he got a cup of mixed fruit smoothie, as he had requested.

"I lie ate," he said, gasping for air after a long sip. Alarm stabbed at my sanity as my eyes widened, fearing he had choked in my presence and I hadn't noticed.

"Hey?" I started, pushing out of my seat, but he repeated that he liked it.

"Are you okay?"

"You one to tess?" He nodded and held out the cup, which seemed a bit burdensome to carry. I began shaking my head in response, but his small legs struggled down from his seat and over to me. He pushed the cup in my face, and I began to wonder if he really liked it or if this was his way of getting rid of it.

Skeptically, as the boy is a rascal and can't be trusted, I took a sip from the straw. Finding nothing amiss but performing an act, pretending it was the greatest thing I'd ever tasted. It made his day. He laughed loudly, and though I wanted to control it as Liv advised, he was so plainly happy that I couldn't intervene until a cough interrupted, nearly turning critical. Luckily, he soothed it down with some water.

"No more excessive laughing," I suggested, and his eyes thinned as he giggled slowly, testing me. "Seriously," I warned, and he laughed more, forcing it just to see me worked up. Thankfully, my cousins arrived, sunglasses off, and settled around the lounging area.

"Babysitting?" Dane asked, and I shrugged at the obvious.

"From where?" I questioned them instead.

"The clubhouse," he answered as their drinks arrived, served by the female staff.

Kyle leaned forward, setting his phone on the table in the middle, and gave the staff the sweater earlier draped and tied over his shoulder before they left.

"Hello, Bubble?" He waved the suddenly shy boy over, and his tiny legs once again worked to get down from next to me. I helped with the nearly finished smoothie and set him down, clearing a path for him to shuffle to Kyle. Meanwhile, I joined Mason's conversation about pearls, who later professionally introduced himself to Bubble with a handshake as Dane.

"Do you also have friends?" Kyle asked in his discussion with Bubble.

"A girlfriend," Bubble answered, bringing out a stupefied attention from me. His small, adorable face reddened with embarrassment as all the boys burst out laughing at his silliness.

"Bubble what?" I shake my head at him as he blows his flustered cheeks, chewing his lip.

"Let him be. Now, tell us about this girlfriend of yours," Kyle interjects, enjoying the tiny human conversation.

"What's her name?" Dane adds with interest, now leaning forward, focused on Bubble.

"Batiny."

"Bethany is a good name. I used to know a Bethany too," Kyle chuckles. I shoot him a severe glare, which only seems to excite him more. "Does your sister have friends too?"

Now, he's being intentional, taking advantage of the boy's naivety. My glare hardens.

But Bubble nods, and in my sudden attempt to decipher the information, whatever control I had is lost to the ambushed curiosity. "Who are they?" The question slips through my dry throat, ignoring the boys holding back laughter at the inquisitiveness in my tone.

"Cambell, Gustin," Bubble naively counts on his small fingers, spurring my chest to tighten, because why are we counting? Are there that many? "Sadly en Mini-goes," he points at me, easing my suffering slightly, though not enough because there's still Cambell and Gustin to consider.

"Cambell and Gustin, huh?" I sit back, a myriad of questions swirling in my mind. Meeting Mason's eyes, he quickly raises his hands in surrender, acknowledging my internal fuming.

The awkwardness dissipates when Keenan returns, and Bubble's eyes widen at the three mascot performers in their PJ Mask costumes.

"Why do we have mascots in our backyard?" one of the girls called from the Pavilion while joy overtook the boy, who was pointing, jumping, and clapping.

"Ish Carboy," he giggled hysterically, retreating to me with his fingers woven together in front of him. An inkling of terror, shock, and joy was all perceptible in his reaction.

"Don't tell me you're scared now that your guests are here?" I whispered in his ear while he chewed his knuckles, beaming from a distance. "Are you?"
"No," he mumbled.

"You did that?" Kyle asked, his eyes wide with shock, among the three faces straining to decode me.
"Uh-huh."

"We are looking for a friend, Bubble?" the girl in the red costume called, managing to imitate the voices of the cartoon characters. A weary Bubble, taking shelter in me, chuckled maniacally and clutched my fingers.

"Is that him?" The one in the blue costume waved over as Emersyn joined us.

"Scared?" she mouthed, interested.

"A bit."

She crossed over, smiling warmly at the nervous boy.
"Come introduce your friends to us, Dane, come on," she kicked his leg, picking the boy up without his protest and collecting the oxygen tank to have Dane carry it for them.

"Hmm, not bad, Aaron Wallace, you'd be a fun dad," Mason remarked, straightening his blazer as he got up. He patted my tense shoulder and headed for the backyard door, his statement punching my heart to a racking severity.

The reminder that I will never be a father—the closest I'll ever get to that feeling is caring for Bubble as he grows, and maybe being an uncle to my cousin's children.

"The girls kept asking about the scar on her stomach, and I think it's odd too. Don't you?" The question crashed into my mental relapse, and my eyes shifted to Kyle, the only one left, his gaze attentively set on where Bubble and Emy were talking to the mascots.

"What are you implying?"

"I think you should get a DNA test. It seems like you're overlooking the clues right in front of you," he said, meeting my confused, clouded eyes, deepening the creases on my forehead.

"Why would Liv lie? She's not like that. She clearly got the scar because I demanded she abort at six months; it had to require some risky procedure that caused it." The words, coming from the knot in my heart and burning on my tongue, were hard to speak.

He scoffed frustratedly. "Excuses. Men always make them when it comes to commitment to the humans they created."

"Kyle," I warned sternly.

"Perhaps she's unlike those girls who seek something from you. Doesn't that underscore precisely why she should keep him away from you? Have you ever considered that? There's something familiar about that boy, something you might not see but I do, and I urge you to listen. I couldn't forgive myself if that boy were denied his rights because of our childish decisions and promises." He silently exclaimed, leaning forward with a piercing stare and a quiet intensity while I absorbed his words. Images of Liv's scar reappeared in my vision, etched into my memory since the first time I saw them. Looking away as Bubble giggled, unable to find words for Kyle, he continued to peel open a wound in my chest as he planted his thoughts in my head. "Look, he's here. Have a look through, please—just a test won't hurt, Aaron. Don't regret it later, that's all I'm saying. Liv won't know; it will stay between us, as everything did, and this way, it will clear our doubts. You have to think about it sometimes too."

Needing air, feeling all my muscles stiffen and the suffocation drowning me, I stood up and left him to sort through my cluttered thoughts.

Now, Bubble had joined his playful friends, running around and laughing, while Emy kept an eye on him.

"He—he shouldn't run," I let out, stepping forward, but my voice was held back, and none of them heard. He was happy, teaching Emy some jumping methods along with the mascots.

Lively won't lie to me when she knows me down to the barest of all emotions and all pretense.

He can't be my son. What do we have in common? Perhaps his hair, but so do a hundred other people I encounter every day. He has Liv's eyes and a smile so gorgeously innocent. Maybe I feel an instinct to protect and care for him, but it stems from his tender age, effortlessly winning over anyone's emotions—as he just did with Emersyn over there, already captivated by his company.

"Already going above and beyond for your second family?" A female voice interrupted my thoughts, coming uncomfortably close. I showed little surprise, hands deep in my pockets, eyes fixed on the joyful scene in the garden.

"If you're here to speak against Liv, save your breath. My feelings towards her and her family are firm," I replied dryly to Aunt Kathleen.

"You can relax; that conversation is with your mother. I want you to know I've arranged dinner for Lively's mother."

My brows furrowed, distrustful of her intentions.

"She'll meet the family before the gift opening ceremony, and I'd like to discuss some matters with her. Father mentioned you insisted on her involvement in the wedding plans. We'll consider her suggestions and requests, provided they meet Wallace's standards, they'll be added to the list," Aunt Kathleen explained.

"You'll do that?"

Aunt Kathleen left my question hanging. "Will you sever your ties with the girl in our guest room?" she asked pointedly.

I scrutinized her suspiciously, shaking my head. "No."

She smiled knowingly and turned her attention back to Bubble. "I suppose I'll have to relent to you then,"

With a maternal pat on my back, she returned to the women gardening, putting back her gloves.

As I watched her depart, a realization churned in my mind; today, nearly every conversation I've had felt oddly surreal.

Through the window on the second-floor hall, my gaze met Lively and it lingered there. She stood in a gown of white cotton and lace, her sleek golden blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Her presence cast a spell that left me stunned, willing my legs to move where she was, yet they remained rooted in place. All I could do was watch.

Unaware of the captivation she held over me, she was lost in admiration of the boy whose laughter echoed through the air. Her eyes, greener than the garden surrounding me, fixated on him as if he were her entire world—pride, rapture, and unmistakably, reckless love reflected in her gaze. A sharp taste of salt filled my throat.

Finally, my legs obeyed, carrying me into the house towards her.

"Lively?"

Startled, she spun around, her expression caught between guilt and uncertainty—perhaps my own paranoid perception.

"Hey?" She called out as she turned. "You left him there?" Concern etched across her face.

"Keenan and Emy are watching over him. He'll be fine. Why are you so unnecessarily worried?" I replied, tension lacing my words.

I shouldn't be mad at her. If I hadn't been such an asshole on the case six years ago, asking her a simple yes-or-no question now wouldn't feel like the weight of the world.

"Because he's critically ill, Aaron," she countered softly, stepping closer, her hands finding my neck as she stood before me. "Why are you so tense?" She exhaled gently, seeking an answer.

"Nothing." I managed a strained smile, working to organize my overwhelmed thoughts but failing miserably.

"You said you are stripped of pride and offered to help me, so don't hide anything from me either. If anything is bothering you, share with me, let me help you in a way I could." Her voice was gently haunting. Until a tear rolled down my face, I didn't realize she had torn my power of conduct.

"Aaron," she gasped, her face altered into heartbreaking sorrow as she caressed the tears away. "Did I do something—or someone?" she asked cluelessly.

The question was on my tongue, but I couldn't muster the heart to ask. I caused this. I did this to myself.

"Come," she directed my broken body, abandoned by an impaired soul, to her room.

When we were inside and seated on her bed, she straddled my lap, plowing her hands into my hair.

"Talk to me, I will listen," she begged.

I was mute, cause If I talked, the pressure in my chest would be outpour. And God, this was so unlike me, I wasn't one to bitch or weep for anything. So the slim control I have left is put on keeping quiet.

The apology was due, the question was due too—they were stabbing me inside, keeping them.

If a world where Kyle was right existed, then I wouldn't be hopeless anymore. But do I have the right to deserve a child that I rejected, or the courage to ask a shameful question I once gambled to solve before? But then again, that kid is her brother.

When I grappled with silence, she embraced me. I could swear it was a cure induced through my painful veins because my fear was vacuumed under her gentle touch.

She had us snuggle on the bed, hugging my head to her chest. The calm was settling, lasting quietly until my eyes began to fight with sleepiness.

"Who's Cambell and Gustin?" I began the conversation, doubting if she was even awake in the comfortable silence.

"Where did you hear that?" she replied, a tinge of laughter in her tone.

"Bubble might have mentioned your friends that I haven't met. I think sadly is Sadie," I muttered in repose.

"Aaron, were you interrogating the boy to share information?" she finally laughed.

A smile pulled at my lips as well. "Not exactly like that. I picked it up from his conversation with Kyle. They were talking about his girlfriend."

"He has a girlfriend?" she sounded surprised.

"Her name's Bethany. You didn't know?"

"Never knew about any Bethany."

"Well, he does. I bet he trusted the boy's chat more, and now that I've exposed him, you have to keep it a secret."

"I don't know what to say about that," she sighed, my head rising and falling with the heaving rhythm of her chest. "But Gustin is Justin Tampa. He's a teenage sensation like 5SOS. I had his songs and posters around our room, and Bubble calls him Gustin."

"Uhmm, who would have thought you for a boy band fangirl?" I mused.

When I first saw her at the game, I perceived her as a nerd who hated social events, but a pretty nerd—the kind that would make me feel academically inferior around her, and I was anything but academically inferior.

She breathed a smile above my head, her fingers continuing to make delicate circles in the hair at my nape.

"What about Cambell?" My curiosity was piqued after another beat had passed.

"Campbell was my situationship. It was the year before the last one. Bubble's cancer was just diagnosed, and apparently, I didn't have time for a relationship. He was admitted to the hospital for a long time for treatment, so Campbell broke up with me just before we can call it a thing."

My nerves fried, something dying in me at a certain word in her statement. I pull back, able to face her, making sure I heard her right.

"Cancer? Is that what Bubble has?"

Her lips were pressed together as she watched me intently, her fingers coming to my cheekbone, gently wanting to erase the unconcealed grief I crumpled into at the gut-wrenching information.

"Yes." The response was weak, almost like a whiff of breath in a nightmare.

"I—I thought you said it was his vocals." That's what she said the first time in the kitchen when I met her.

Her eyes drifted away to the ceiling above us.

"He's at stage three of nasopharyngeal cancer." Her voice was another feeble tone, causing a violent thud in my chest that stopped life for a minute.

My eyes were heavy and sore with tears that burned harshly under my lashes. My heart dropped, and my head fell back onto her labored, rising chest to hide there.

"How? He's fine. He goes to school." I selfishly considered different thoughts for it to end where that little human would be fine—a scenario to decieve myself he's illiness isn't that severe, but there is only one truth and it is what Liv had said.

"He's fine because his radiation therapy and chemotherapy had stopped weeks before we met. Regarding daycare, he has to go because we need to work to pay bills for his medication," she explained.

It speared my heart, jarring a pain that rose in my throat, and the tears dropped, soaking her dress.

"Say you are kidding." My voice was hoarse, betraying the heartsickness in my hollow chest.

"I'm as serious as I can get, Aaron," she mutters, caressing my hair consolingly. It should be in reverse, but I've never exerted so much energy into wanting to do something and felt so incompetent.

This shouldn't hurt this much, but it has defied every strength I thought I had, leaving me emotionally vulnerable.

"It shouldn't be him. He doesn't deserve this," I push out the words.

"I know."

A tense silence descends between us, and deep in the recesses of my mind, the dread of Bubble's fate sinks heavily in echos, as the impact of a rock dropping from a great height.

As my ragged breaths steadied under Liv's unwavering comfort, and I had it in me to string sentences again, I asked, "What is it the cancer about, specifically?"

Almost as if she wasn't going to answer, the hesitation prevails for a few seconds. "It started in the part of the throat behind the nose. It harmed his hearing, caused ringing in his ears, and changes in his speech. Those are the least of it."

"What's it like for him?" My voice almost breaks at the thought of the pain he must be in, and he's so tiny for it.
It's so fucked up.

"He's undergoing aggressive treatment. No second is too short to expect anything. Twelve pills daily, four each morning, evening, and night, that cannot be missed. He sometimes protests, but it is necessary, unlike how we can efficiently approve him to stay home and one of us will take a day off from work to look after him."

"And you? How are you holding up?" It's a stupid question to ask when I can hear the pain in her voice, and she had only just cried in my arms this morning.
"Striving," she chokes, and I hug her tightly, wishing her anguish away.

To stay strong for her, I choose silence.

***

After changing for dinner, I stopped to check on Liv, finding her still asleep alongside Bubble, who Emersyn had brought in earlier while Liv and I slept. They both needed rest, particularly Liv, who by midnight will be awakened for her final dose of medication.

"Missus Kelby has arrived," Keenan informed me while I directed towards the active dining room, prompting me to change course.

Beneath the portico stood Mary, visibly nervous yet determined to enter; the lake house had that effect on guests.

With a reassuring smile, I approached her.  Her face brightened with recognition.

"Welcome, Mary," I greeted her warmly with an embrace and offered my arm as we headed back inside for supper.

"Thank you for having me," She was excited.

"It's our pleasure. Is Mister Kelby not joining us?" I inquired, surprised he wasn't present, assuming they would both attend.

"Anthony couldn't make it; work held him back. Your aunt mentioned there's much to discuss for the weekend event preparations. Hopefully, he'll be here for the rest of the events," she explained.

"We would be delighted to have him," I said, leading the way to the dining room. The entire family was gathered there, except for her two children who were fast asleep in their room.

I think Mary's visit will be a surprise for Liv tomorrow, so it's best not to wake her and ruin it. Her timing for sleep is just perfect. Imagine the joy she'll have when she learns our families are finally getting along. I want to be the one to share that news and capture her reaction.

"Unfortunately, Liv and Bubble are asleep, so they won't be joining us for dinner. I hope you don't mind," I explained to the woman, her hand hooked around my arm.

"We'll see them at the gift opening," she agreed easily, her trust in me satisfying to learn. My smile widened.

I've always wondered how they would treat me if they knew I was the one who had hurt their daughter so severely, but I never wanted to find out.

"Welcome to our home, Missus Kelby," Grandpa stood as we entered, and everyone on the long table followed suit.