76 Bunnies and boots

**Date = 10 July**
*Four days after the airport fiasco.*
**Place = San Francisco (UCSF Medical Center)**
*Taking the girls to meet my sister.*

**POV - Aria**

The sun’s out, the sky ridiculously blue, and the breeze smells like lemons and clean pavement. I could kiss the whole world right now.
Enrique leans closer to me as we approach the main entrance.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m proud of you,” he says softly. “You’ve held so much together lately.”
I blink at him. “You’re the one who bought an entire Build-A-Bear store just to make them happy.”
“Yes,” he says solemnly. “Because parenthood is sacrifice.”
I smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours.”
Oh.
Oh, that’s not fair.
I lean up and kiss his cheek, fast and firm, before the kids can notice — though I’m pretty sure River sees. She doesn’t say anything, but the side of her mouth twitches, and she adjusts her new stuffed toy like she’s shielding him from too much public affection.
The hospital doors swish open with that oddly theatrical hiss, like we’re stepping into a spaceship instead of a sterile hallway full of too-white light and too-clean air.
“Okay, remember,” I whisper, adjusting the blanket around Leyla’s surprise basket for the third time, “no yelling, no running, and no licking anything.”
“Who licks things?” River deadpans, slouching along with her brand-new purple bunny slung over her shoulder like it’s survived a war. One ear is missing a chunk, and one eye is literally stitched into an X like a mildly cursed voodoo doll. She loves it. Of course she does.
Two steps in front, Lili, clutching a white bunny in sequin-studded bootleg jeans, a rainbow tutu, and a sparkly unicorn crop top, walks with the proud solemnity of a bridesmaid approaching the altar.
“You do,” Luke answers dryly.
“Excuse you,” River replies, stepping around a hand sanitizer stand like it might bite her. “I licked a tire one time. And I was, like, two. People change.”
“She’s nine,” Lili stage-whispers to Enrique, who smothers a laugh.
“Oh, I’m keeping track,” he says, nudging me playfully. “We’ll print that quote on her wedding invitations.”
River flashes him a look. “Only if you want me to skateboard into the reception and do a kick-flip over your head.” I don’t know what a kick-flip is, but it sounds awesomely dangerous.
“I hope I’m alive for that,” Enrique sighs tragi-comically.
“You will be,” Luke says dramatically. “You’ll be like thirty. That’s old, not dead.” Specific. That’s like less than 10 years from now. He falls into step beside River, his arms crossed like he thinks he’s twenty instead of ten. He holds up the dinosaur she forced on him, dressed in the same outfit her bunny is wearing. The light hits, catching the faint shimmer of the edges of his revolutionary cast hugging his arm snugly from wrist to elbow. An open-lattice sleeve, sleek and weightless, wraps his arm so perfectly it’s easy to forget it’s even there.
I smile secretly. River was the cause of that broken arm … according to Enrique, the little guy fell on his face the first time he saw her during a fishing trip in Portland. Talk about coincidences and meet-cutes.
“Teddy bears are for girls, by the way.”
“I know,” River says with a smirk, swinging her bunny forward. “That’s why mine is obviously a demon warlock disguised as a bunny. He eats boys.”
Luke shrugs, but there’s a faint blush on the points of his ears.
“She let Luke pick the outfits,” Lili announces as if we were not there to witness the chaos. It’s most of these boys’ usual dress code, just tiny. Leather jacket, jeans, and boots.
“I added the cute pom-pom beanie and the glitzy skull shirt,” River says proudly. Yeah, that’s different.
“I was going for cool apocalypse survivor, not Build-A-Bear Barbie,” Luke mumbles. “You sort of ruined it.”
“I love it,” River says, softer than usual. Her fingers stroke the bunny’s single eye like it’s a treasured relic. “He’s called Misfit.”
“And I’m calling yours Rotten Bones,” she adds. Luke snorts. But I’m sure he likes the name.
Lili holds hers up — soft white fluff with sparkly purple eyes. “Mine’s named Princess Pixelbrain.”
Enrique leans over to me. “Should we be concerned about the distinct difference in names and vibes?”
“No,” I murmur. “We should be terrified.”
We round the corner to Leyla’s ward, and the atmosphere tightens a little. The laughter hushes like we have walked into a church. There’s always something about hospital silence — it hums beneath your skin.
The sliding glass doors of the children’s wing part with a gentle whoosh, letting in the sound of excited chatter, the soft tap of sneakers and boots on polished hospital tile, and the unmistakable energy that comes when three kids and two very mismatched adults attempt to behave like a calm, reasonable party of visitors.
Spoiler — we fail. Spectacularly.
“Do they allow the sick kids to skate in the hall?” River asks in all earnestness. “Because these smooth floors will be challenging for beginners.”
“Why?” I have to ask. I know nothing about skateboarding except that the board has four wheels and it’s a dangerous sport.
“It will be difficult to control the board.”
“Good thing, then, they don’t allow skateboards in hospitals,” I say.
“Difficult for girls.” Luke just has to open his mouth.
“I skate better than you surf, Goofy,” River sneers. Enrique explained that the nickname was not about his personality — in surfer-speak, it means riding with your right foot ahead, a little backward from the norm.
“Okay, everyone, can we please not emotionally unravel before we even reach the room?” I say, my arms filled with the picnic basket containing juice boxes, snacks, and a bright pink helium balloon shaped like a llama. I’m wearing a loose white dress with a sunflower pattern, my curls half tied up and the rest bouncing behind me. I was going for cheerful, but I guess I look like I’m trying to cosplay joy.
Enrique, walking beside me in a linen shirt and soft gray slacks that make him look like he wandered out of a coastal Italian photoshoot, leans in. “You’d make a beautiful unraveling,” he murmurs under his breath.
“Don’t,” I warn, smiling anyway.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t flirt with me when I’m holding a basket of juice boxes.”
“I’ll help you drop them.” He grins. “Accidentally. Then I’ll have to kiss you while you pick them up.”
Luke groans. “You’re both weird.”
River snorts. “Weird? This morning, she was calling him for her daily checkup. And he’s not even a doctor.”
“That’s private!” I hiss, scandalized.
“Not anymore,” River chirps.
The nurse at the station finally looks up, clearly trying to figure out if this group is lost or if a sitcom has begun filming. Her eyes flicker with recognition when they land on me. “Are you here for Leyla?”
“Yes,” I say, straightening and adjusting my arms like I’m not absolutely flustered.
“And you are?” She glares over the rim of her glasses, firstly at the three kids, and lastly at the three guards just behind us. She manifests a face that says she’s not impressed.
“Family,” I say through a tight smile. “We brought a surprise for her.” She pushes her glasses back with her index finger, her face long and pinched like an old stag that’s been hiding indoors for too long.
She exhales through her nose, sharp and dismissive, like we’re gum stuck to the hospital floor.
“I thought nurses were supposed to be friendly,” River snaps.
The woman’s eyes fix on River, sharp and mean, like twin sewing needles, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she exhales through her nose like she’s just swallowed vinegar and mutters, “You can go through.”
Her tone makes it sound less like an invitation and more like a punishment, but River skips forward anyway, chin high, as if she’s won.
“Actually,” Enrique says, squeezing my arm. “Give me two minutes alone with her, then you can come in with the mob.”
I nod, knowing he’s going to prepare her for what’s coming. It’ll be the first time the girls meet.
So before coming here, Enrique planned a whole Build-A-Bear trip — made sure each of them chose their own rabbit stuffies so they can play doctor, vet, bakery, mermaid, princess, and army together. Or something like that. The plot of their imaginary games shifts faster than the stock market. It’s another surprise for Leyla.
“Tell her we brought friends,” Lili whispers, practically vibrating with excitement.
River hides her bunny behind her back. “But don’t ruin the surprise. Or I’ll feed you to Dad’s shark.”
Enrique walks off with a casual salute, like a man arriving at a party with gifts in both arms — because, technically, he is. He’s carrying three extra food packs and a tote full of snacks shaped like animals.
The two girls immediately begin whisper-yelling to each other about how they’re going to present themselves and the bunnies. Lili wants to bow. River wants to cartwheel in and yell surprise. Luke wants to film it in slow motion. And I just hope my sister’s heart survives the attack.
I watch them with a hand over my mouth, my smile hidden but alive. For a moment, just one, everything is okay. Somehow, miraculously, the laughter feels real today. The joy isn’t forced. It doesn’t have the echo of grief underneath it.
I’m in love. I’ve got an awesome job. My brother is happy.
And Leyla is getting better. My baby sister made it through the worst thing I can imagine.
I feel … giddy. Breathless. Like I can finally take a full inhale without my chest caving in.
I exhale slowly and glance down the hallway toward Leyla’s room. Enrique peeks out and signals for us to proceed.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“YES!” Lili shrieks, standing up straight.
“I’m so ready I can explode!” River beams.
“Please don’t,” Luke grunts and softly taps on a band-aid on her elbow. “I’ve just got you patched up.”
Leyla is waiting in her glass room, her pink bunny, Banksy, tucked in the crook of her arm like it’s part of her. She’s seated on her hospital bed in a fresh pink gown, cheeks rosy despite the paleness that lingers from weeks of isolation and pain.
Her face lights up the second she sees us, and she waves wildly through the glass.
Rock is already digging into the food we brought them. Since the time Cindy tried to poison Leyla, they have only eaten food from trusted sources … like the club. I guess Tank and Brick are sleeping down the hall. They take turns to be on guard duty.
The thick, sterilized barrier keeps Leyla safe, but I can tell it also drives her a little crazy. Her fingers tap a rhythm against the glass, eyes dancing with excitement.
Lili gasps like she’s seen a unicorn. “Oh my gosh! You’re so pink! And so cute! And so —”
“She’s not a hamster,” Luke groans, but he’s smiling.
River charges right up to the glass, flattening her nose on it. “I’m River-Rose Moore. We’re your new friends. Don’t worry, we’re awesome.”
Leyla blinks. Once. Twice. Then her mouth twitches, the tiniest crack of a smile breaking through.
“Oh my gosh,” River gasps, clutching her chest like she’s discovered treasure. “She can smile! She’s officially ours now.”
Leyla twists her neck and gasps when she sees what River’s holding behind her back.
“No. You didn’t.”
River grins and swings her bunny forward. “We totally did. Now we’ve got a squad.”
“Meet Misfit,” Luke says helpfully, though he’s already halfway to the window, peeking out at the helicopter pad like there might be something interesting going on. There’s not. His own stuffed toy is dangling at his side like a discarded piece of cloth. The poor dinosaur doesn’t get an introduction.
“He’s a secret demon warlock and knows how to use a sword.”
Leyla squeals. “That’s so cool!”
“And this is Princess Pixelbrain,” Lili says, proudly holding up her bunny like a sacred offering. “She has her own tiara, does ballet, and probably runs an empire. Also, she likes cheese puffs.”
Leyla’s eyes sparkle like she’s just won the lottery.
Luke holds up his dinosaur. “Rotten Bones just farts a lot.” They all laugh.
“You’re so weird,” River tells him fondly.
He winks. “And you’re so cute it’s almost illegal.” River looks at him as if she might strangle him with her shoelaces.
Leyla almost falls off her hospital bed laughing. She’s paler than usual, but her eyes are alert and full of that very specific mischief that only returns when things start to feel okay again.
Hope tastes like sugar on the back of my tongue.
“So,” Lili says, arms crossed, “guess what?”
Leyla leans forward. “What?”
“My cousin —”
“Jackson,” River interrupts helpfully — since Lili has lots of cousins.
“Yes,” Lili says proudly, “he’s building us a brand-new skateboard rink at Black Pit.”
Wait. What?
I blink, then stare at the glass like it might correct what I just heard. Leyla can’t even balance on one leg without falling over. She’s a stem cell transplant away from the afterlife — she’ll break her bones or get a concussion.
“And River is gonna teach us how to skate,” Lili adds brightly, like that somehow makes it better.
Oh, perfect. Disaster-on-wheels, teaching disaster-waiting-to-happen. What could possibly go wrong?
“Really?” Leyla’s eyes go wide, already sparkling with reckless ambition.
“And an assault course,” Luke chimes in from the side, casually tossing in the death trap cherry on top.
“And we can design it all, adding anything we want,” River beams. “I want a shark tank.”
I whip my head around to glare at Enrique, who is suspiciously quiet — and smirking.
“You’re in on this?” I hiss.
He shrugs like the world’s most useless Greek god of chaos. “It builds confidence. And core strength.”
“And drains energy,” Marco snubs from behind.
“She has bones like paper, Enrique,” I whisper. “And the agility of a panda.”
He leans in, voice low and unrepentant. “Then we’ll wrap her in bubble wrap. I’ll get the glitter kind.”
“Oh my God.” I rub my temples. “You and your brother are trying to kill her.”
His smirk deepens. “Only if she lives fabulously.”
“I want a foam pit,” Lili says immediately. “And a donut stand and a high-tech gaming den,” she adds.
“Jackson said … we can add … anything?” Leyla double-checks.
River nods solemnly. “Jackson’s like so cool … like if Batman and James Bond had a baby who knew how to cook.” Jackson can cook? I would not have guessed.
“I can cook!” Enrique murmurs, offended.
“Great,” River fires back. “Then you can be Alfred.”
Lili snorts apple juice through her nose.
Enrique moans. “I’m offended you didn’t say I was Bond.”
“Okay, fine. You’re such a diva. You’re definitely the Bond girl.”
Even Leyla starts coughing from laughing too hard, and Ava waves a finger from next to her bed like she’s seen this chaos before.
River turns to the glass and holds up a finger. “Wait — I forgot something. I got us all matching friendship bracelets, but I left them in the car. Be right back.”
“Don’t forget mine!” Leyla shouts, a new set of viable energy in her eyes as if life just started again.
“Never.” River gives her a two-finger salute. “Now you’re part of the gang. We make fun of Enrique, eat too much pizza, and argue about which princess would survive a zombie apocalypse. Don’t worry, you’ll catch on.”
Then she grabs some paper and a pink crayon and stuffs them in the front pocket of her jeans. “To write you a friendship letter to go with the bracelet.” She throws Misfit over her shoulder.
“Where exactly are you going?” Enrique calls.
River smirks. “Why, Alfred? You gonna miss me?”
Before he can answer, she’s already out the door, her golden hair swishing like a war flag behind her. Marco is running to keep up.
Lili is sitting on top of a table against the window, listening to Leyla talk about how she wants to go back to school. Luke is spread out on a chair, making his dinosaur hit itself in the face over and over again.
And for the first time since we walked into this building, I believe — maybe the best medicine in this whole place isn’t tucked in an IV bag or buried in a chart. It’s a bunch of loud, wild little kids who don’t know how to treat her like she’s breakable.
I step back, watching my sister’s not-so-bleak face with a smile that’s just a little too watery. Enrique’s hand slides over my waist, warm and firm.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod. “Just glad they finally met. Leyla needs friends. And Misfit and Princess Pixelbrain? Perfect intro squad.”
“She’s glowing,” I sniff.
“So are you,” Enrique smirks. “Want to grab a coffee?”
“You offering caffeine or foreplay?”
He lifts a brow. “Can’t it be both?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m already walking with him toward the corridor.
“We’re going to grab some coffee downstairs,” I inform the guards. They just nod stoically.
Enrique softly bumps my shoulder with his, his smile soft and unreadable. “You know,” he says, “I forgot how much fun kids have with things that aren’t expensive or complicated. Just soft toys and imagination.”
“You’re getting sentimental,” I tease.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmurs. “It’ll ruin my reputation.” Then he halts so suddenly that I stumble over my own feet. I look up at him and notice that BEAST-smile on his handsome face.
“You remember the last time we were in this room?” he murmurs in a husky voice. Or rather, a horny one. I blink. He’s looking around as if scouting in a spy movie. He opens a door and pushes me in.
The on-call room is dim, tucked into a quiet corner of the hospital near the staff lounge. He’s barely closed the door when he backs me into the wall.
Oh, I remember this little room.
“You mean when you were vamped up on Viagra and said you could—” I pause dramatically, pretending to dig into my memory. “What was it again? Go six rounds and still have enough blood flow to carve a statue while quoting Shakespeare?”
Enrique gives me that maddening, crooked smile that makes otherwise rational women fling their panties across international borders. “It was a performance art piece.”
“Oh, it was something,” I mutter. “You pulled a hamstring in round two and knocked over a rolling tray trying to crawl on top of me like a wounded soldier.”
“Still the sexiest emergency of my life,” he murmurs, leaning in until I feel his breath tease my cheek. “Would easily get drugged another time.”
“And make me safe your dick’s honor, again?”
He slides his hand over my ass like he knows where this is heading. “Are you trying to resuscitate his dignity right now?”
“Nope. Just resurrect the little vital organ.” I grope him through his slacks.
“Little?” he laughs, because … hell … we both know there’s nothing little about it.
The door clicks shut behind us. He locks it without looking.
In two seconds flat, I’m against the counter, his mouth hot on my neck, his hands gripping my hips like they might disappear if he doesn’t anchor them.
The lights flicker on overhead. Harsh. Cold. Ugly.
None of it matters.
Because he’s already undoing the top button of my dress with the same reverence most people reserve for opening gifts on Christmas morning.
His kiss is urgent and cocky, all heat and teeth and promise. He pulls me into him like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment — maybe longer. My hands are in his hair before I know what I’m doing, tugging just hard enough to make him groan.
His pants drop like they’re trained to obey gravity. He bundles up my dress, and I gasp as he lifts me onto the counter, pushing my underwear to the side and thrusting into me with a groan muffled against my shoulder.
“Still quoting Shakespeare?” I manage to whisper.
“Cedamus amori,” he pants, thrusting hard enough to rattle the cabinet behind me.
I bite my lip, head falling back. “That’s NOT Shakespeare.”
“I’m improvising,” he grins, breathless, and then ruins me all over again.
His hips snap forward, and everything else disappears — time, sound, the entire goddamn hospital. There’s just him, his hands gripping my thighs, his mouth somewhere between a laugh and a moan, my fingers scraping down his back like I’m trying to memorize every ridge of bone.
“Holy shit,” I whisper as my orgasm explodes.
He stills. Firing off inside me.
Then slowly, deliberately, he mutters — “Sanctus cacas. Now that’s a great quote.”
“Still not Shakespeare.”
“It could be …” he pants.
We’re both breathing hard when he pulls out, and we try to get back to looking halfway decent. I’m still straightening my dress with one hand and trying to flatten my hair with the other when we leave the room. He’s flushed, smirking, and entirely too pleased with himself.
“That was reckless,” I say, breath still a bit uneven.
He zips up. “That was cardio.”
It was quick — almost comically fast — but so damn good I’m still doing the last button of my dress with shaky fingers when we stroll back, flushed and breathless. He’s fixing his collar when Luke spots us.
“Where have you guys been?” the boy frowns.
“Coffee run,” Enrique says smoothly. “Very fulfilling. Strong flavor.”
Luke makes a face. “You both smell weird.” I lift my arm and sniff underneath.
“It’s not that bad,” I mutter. Enrique laughs, and Luke rolls his eyes dramatically.
Then Marco rushes in, his eyes wild.
“River’s gone.”
“What?”
“Her bag is still here,” Luke exclaims, holding it up. Marco grabs it and pulls out her phone.
“Fuck. It means we can’t track her,” he swears.
“I — I just turned around for a second. Helped a nurse with a dialysis machine, which was blocking the hall — and she was gone. I thought she’d just ducked into the bathroom —”
“Show me where,” Enrique snaps. The three of us run through the ward, dodging carts and startled nurses. Enrique spins to face the nearby security office. “Footage. Now.”
It takes three minutes to pull it up.
There she is — blonde ponytail bouncing — walking past a food cart, eyes locked on something off-frame. Then we see him.
“It’s the guy from the airport,” Enrique and Marco say in unison.
Gray baseball cap. Faded hoodie. Camera. He’s standing near an old grayish white van, messing with his phone. River pulls the crayon and paper from her pocket and seems to write something, which she stuffs into her bunny’s boot. She circles around the front of a parked car and hides behind it, waiting until his back is turned. Then, quick as a fox, she hops into the back of the van and disappears from the screen. Moments later, the man slams the door shut, and the vehicle exits the parking lot, heading North.
Marco slams his fist on the table. “Fuck!” Then, in a grim voice. “Diabo is gonna kill me.”
“Can you get a plate number?” Enrique asks the security guard, leaning in.
The angle’s bad. Just shadows and glare.
“Not from this one,” the hospital security guard says grimly. “But we’ll scan the other feeds.”
Enrique thanks him and nods. We reach the double exit doors to the back parking lot, and there on the concrete, right next to the ramp, is a single black boot.
Misfit’s.
My breath catches. Marco picks it up with trembling hands, as if it’s a bomb. He pulls out the paper she stuffed inside. It looks like a number plate … scribbled in pink crayon.
“Let’s get back to the control room,” Enrique says.

He pulls out his phone. His thumb hovers over the contact like it’s the nuclear launch button. Then he presses. Holds the phone to his ear.
I already know who he’s calling.
One ring.
Two.
Jackson answers.
“River’s gone,” Enrique says, clipped and low.
A pause.
“She saw the man from the airport,” he goes on, voice now razor-thin. Is he afraid of his brother? “Climbed into his van.”
Silence.
Enrique lowers the phone slowly. Stares at the black screen like it just told him his expiration date.
“He hung up,” he says. “No breath, no curse, not even a growl. No goodbye. No plan.”
“He’s coming,” Marco shifts from foot to foot, looking like he’s trying to fuse into the floor tiles.
“And he’s going to kill me and rip you apart,” Enrique huffs.
“I — I swear —”
“Don’t,” Enrique cuts him off. His voice isn’t loud. It’s worse. It’s soft. Controlled. Absolutely lethal. “You left her alone for two seconds.”
Marco’s color drains. “The machine was blocking the hall … I didn’t think …”
Enrique takes a step toward him. Marco takes a step back.
I slide between them like a goalie intercepting a rocket. Press my hand against Enrique’s chest. Hell, his heart is pounding.
“It’s not his fault,” I say. It’s not. It’s clear on the footage. A huge dialysis machine was blocking the hall. A single nurse was struggling to get it into a room. It kept bumping against the walls. River pushed Marco forward to help the nurse. His back was turned to her for just a few seconds.
Enrique calms down. “I guess it’s not completely your fault.”
Marco drags a hand through his dark hair. “Jackson won’t think that. His number one rule for being a bodyguard is knowing where your **body** is at all times.”
“I’d run,” I tell him gently.
Marco blinks. “What?”
“From Jackson,” I clarify. “Because when he gets here, you’ll wish it was Enrique who got to you first.”
He pales. Visibly. “Fuck.”
“Don’t worry,” Enrique says sweetly. “You probably won’t die. Just … wish you did.”
Marco retreats down the hallway, muttering something about checking on the others.
I turn to Enrique.
He’s still staring at the monitor. Still watching that awful moment River steps into the van.
“Why would she do that?” he whispers.
“She’s nine,” I whisper back. “And she’s Lee’s sister. It seems they were born to do the wrong things.”
He rubs a hand down his face. “If I find that guy, I’m going to kill him.”
“Technically, the man didn’t do anything wrong …” I say softly. Because he didn’t.
Enrique exhales hard. “She was supposed to build a bunny army today. Not get into strange vans.” His voice cracks, and he stops.
I take his hand.
“She will be okay,” I say fiercely.
He squeezes my hand back. Then he looks at me.
“Don’t worry, Jackson will find her. He always does.”
And I realize the devil is already summoned. And heaven help the man who touched his tiny terror gremlin.