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Inside, the house is buzzing again. Kathryn’s finished making dinner, plates are being passed around, kids are shouting, and the smell of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes fills the kitchen.
Blaire stands with her hands on her hips, one brow raised in that “I’m serious” way that used to make teenage me fold instantly. Theo and Chance’s six-year-old Leo are both sniffling, bottom lips wobbling.
“What did he do?” I ask Chance quietly.
“Pulled the twins’ hair,” he shrugs. “You know how kids get. He’ll learn.”
A knot forms in my chest. My first instinct is to step in and lecture Theo about keeping his hands to himself, but I hold back. It doesn’t feel like my place. This is technically Blaire’s custody day, and we’re at her family’s house. It hits me suddenly that Theo has never really been our son in the day-to-day sense. Sure, he’s both of ours, but we’ve never had to navigate disciplining him as a team. We’ve always handled things separately on our own days, and there’s never been an issue that carried over. Though if he’s anything like me when he gets older, I’m sure he’ll find all kinds of creative ways to get himself in trouble.
“Go to the table,” Blaire says firmly, sending the two boys off with one final mom-glare.
As they scamper away, she gives me a look that says she’s thinking the same thing. We’re going to have to figure out how to be parents together, not just co-parents.
Theo disappears into the chaos at the kids’ end of the table. Blaire starts fixing his plate, and I move beside her, reaching for it.
“Let me,” I say quietly, trying to take the plate from her hands.
“I can—”
“He’s my son,” I murmur, leaning close to whisper in her ear, “and you’re my girl.”
She freezes for a fraction of a second, color already blooming across her cheeks.
I lower my voice even more. “Let me take care of you both. Please.”
Her breath catches. Then she slowly hands me Theo’s plate and grabs one for herself.
Something warm cracks open in my chest.
I always made sure Blaire and Theo were taken care of. Even when we were broken. Even when she wouldn’t look at me longer than a few seconds. I paid more than the court required—not because she asked, but because I wanted them to have everything. Because she deserved comfort. Because Theo deserved security.
But this—standing here next to her, making our son’s dinner plate at her family table—this is a kind of providing I never got to do but always craved and dreamt about when Theo was a baby and she would barely talk to me except through polite nods and custody hand-offs.
Blaire glances up at me shyly, the same look she used to give me when we were younger and she wanted to sneak off after dinner to fool around. I lean in with a chuckle and press a soft kiss to her temple.
The red on her face deepens instantly, and she ducks her head to hide it.
My chest tightens with something almost feral.
This is what I’ve been missing.
***
Richard rests a steady hand on Theo’s shoulder as we linger in the doorway. “I’ll keep Teddy another night,” he says, voice warm but firm. “You two seem like you’ve got a lot to discuss.”
Blaire hesitates on the front steps, looking down at Theo before looking at her dad. She turns back, brows drawn together. “You sure you’re alright with him another night? I don’t want to put too much on you-“
“Blaire,” Richard cuts her off gently, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m sure. He’s not anywhere near as big a troublemaker as your brothers were growing up.”
From inside the house, two indignant voices ring out at once.
“Hey!” Chance and Carter yell in unison.
Chance appears a second later, one arm hooked around the wriggling torso of his toddler while the other two boys dart past his legs like escaping puppies. “You sure you don’t want to keep all the kids, Dad?” he tries, half-laughing, half-pleading.
Even Sophia, leaning against the banister with their infant tucked against her shoulder, lets out a soft laugh. “He’s only taking Theo because he actually listens. Our kids are feral barn animals.”
I catch the way Theo’s face pinches the moment he realizes he’s not coming home with either of us tonight, his lower lip wobbling as he watches Blaire and me step farther down the driveway. The sadness hits him quick and sharp and before I can say anything, he bolts forward, bare feet slapping against the wooden porch steps.
