Page 100
Jaxon’s eyes close. For a brief moment, I think he’s regretting telling me. Too late. I open another tab.
Best motorcycle airbag vest for teenagers.
Behind me, Jaxon laughs. The deep, genuine laugh I once thought I’d never hear. It still catches me off guard. Five years later, and the sound still feels like a victory. I turn my chair and hold out a hand. He doesn’t hesitate. He settles into my lap as though it’s the most natural place in the world. The chair protests immediately. Loudly.
“The fudging chair, Conor.”
I bark out a laugh. “Fudging?”
He points a finger at me. “We have children now.”
“We do.”
“They repeat everything they hear.”
“They do.”
“So stop saying bad words.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re the one who just said fudging.”
“It counts less.”
“According to who?”
“Me.”
I smile against his temple. The man who once punctuated every sentence with military-grade profanity now polices my language. Not because the kids are in the room. He does it because somewhere along the way, it became a habit. He wants our children to grow up hearing kindness more often than anger. He wants them to have the childhood he never had.
I wrap my arms around his waist. The chair groans again. Louder this time. Jaxon sighs dramatically.
“We’re going to break another one.”
“Then I’ll buy another.”
“You said that five years ago.”
“And I meant it then.” I tighten my hold just enough to make him lean back against me. “I’ll keep buying chairs for the rest of my life if it means you keep sitting in my lap.”
His head falls against my shoulder. I kiss the side of his head. The chair creaks ominously beneath us. Neither of us moves. Some things are simply worth replacing.
A throat clears, bursting our little bubble. I look up to find Dad standing in the doorway. Behind him, I catch the top of Cillian’s head peeking around the corner.
The kid still hasn’t figured out that half his body sticking into the hallway negates the concept of hiding.
“Dad.”
“So, Cillian’s birthday is next month.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Your mother and I wanted to discuss what we’re getting him.”
“Cillian,” I call without taking my eyes off Dad, “get in here and stop lurking in the hallway. I can see you.”
Slowly, Cillian shuffles into the office. Busted. I really need to work on that kid’s stealth. Thomas, on the other hand, routinely appears in rooms without any warning whatsoever. I’m convinced the child can teleport.
“As I was saying,” Dad continues, completely unfazed, “your mother and I are paying for riding lessons.” He rests a hand on Cillian’s shoulder. “Cade Walker has an opening next month.” He nods toward Cillian. “It would be a shame to pass that up.”
“Who is Cade Walker?”
The question barely leaves my mouth before Cillian makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a wounded animal. His eyes go impossibly wide. Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. Jaxon slowly turns to stare at me. I glance between them.
