37. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Weston
“ T hanks for the assist tonight, little man,” I whisper against my son’s forehead. “Love you.”
The corners of his lips tilt up like he hears me, even though he’s already in a deep sleep. Today was just about as exhausting for him as it was for me, so I’m about to be right behind him on the way to Dreamland.
I brush the white-blond hair out of his eyes and step back from the crib, thinking about how incredible it was to see him take his first steps tonight. I imagined them happening at daycare without me. Or maybe in his playroom, with only me around. But the fact that they happened while he was surrounded by people who love him, made me more emotional than expected.
Being a single parent isn’t just challenging because you feel like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s challenging because you worry that you’ll do it alone forever. That you’ll be the only one who experiences the milestones with your kid, and you wonder if that will be enough for them.
Tonight, I realized that I don’t have to worry anymore. Because even though we fight occasionally, this group of friends has become so much more than friends—we’re family. A family that works through challenges, and comes out stronger on the other side. A family that’s held together by mutual love, respect, and experiences. A family that’s chosen every single day.
“That didn’t take long,” Caroline says, looking up from her phone as I close the door to my bedroom.
She’s wearing one of my button-down shirts, her damp hair creating nearly transparent spots on the white cotton as she sits beneath my gray duvet cover, looking cozier than ever.
I glance at the fireplace mantle to ensure the baby monitor is on before stepping out of my joggers.
“Told you,” I reply with a wink as I shed my long-sleeve compression shirt and toss it on the floor.
Caroline offered to help with bedtime, but I brushed her off because I knew it would be easy. Carter was so tired that the entire process took less than five minutes, including the diaper change. Plus, I wanted to give her a few moments to herself after the chaos of the evening.
“Do you want a prize or something?” She arches her brow at me in challenge.
I slip under the covers, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. “Just a kiss.”
She turns her head, quirking her lips into a mischievous smile. “A kiss where?”
Her tone is teasing, but my cock still twitches in response. I let out a low chuckle, brushing my lips against her temple. “Don’t get any ideas, princess. I’m running on fumes.”
Caroline giggles and nestles her head against my chest. “I was going to say the lips. Get your mind out of the gutter, old man.”
“I felt old today,” I sigh, closing my eyes as I inhale the scent of my shampoo in her hair. “Well . . . at least compared to your brother.”
I love Parker, but holding my tongue when he reacted like that today was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I figured he might take issue with our relationship for a whole host of reasons—my friendship with him, my age difference with Caroline, even the fact that I have a son. But I never expected it to be about medicine.
It wasn’t just frustrating—it was hurtful. He looked at me, someone who’s been to hell and back with him, and decided I wasn’t good enough. That I wasn’t enough to support her, to love her, to be part of her life without pulling her off track. And maybe that’s what stung the most—that he couldn’t see how much she means to me, or how I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she thrives.
In addition to his ass-backward viewpoint that women can’t be successful doctors if they have families, everything Caroline said about his incessant career pressure finally made sense. He didn’t see her as his sister—he saw her as his protégé. Someone who was supposed to carry out his vision of success, not her own. And he thought that being with me meant she might not achieve the goals he had in mind for her.
All I could think about in that moment was how I wanted to take him outside and shake him. To give him a healthy dose of perspective and show him that there’s more to life than medicine. To teach him that a job isn’t the same as a life.
But that’s the thing about perspective . . . you can’t force it on someone. You have to wait until they experience it for themselves. And for all our sakes, I hope that Parker eventually does.
Caroline gently elbows me, drawing me out of my head.
“Careful there,” I say, opening my eyes to see what she’s doing.
Her phone is in her hand, and the notes application is open on the screen as she types and deletes several phrases. From this angle, I can make out the last one: Getting into bed at the end of a long day.
I squeeze her arm to get her attention. “What’s that? A schedule?”
Caroline glances up at me, her lips quirking into a subtle smile. “No. It’s just this thing I do.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“It’s dumb,” she says, shaking her head. “But each day I write down one thing to be happy about.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I suspect that I already know the answer.
She shrugs, her fingers idly tapping the edge of her phone. “I guess because when Mom died, someone got me a similar book with a list of thousands of things. And ever since, I started keeping a list of my own. I don’t know how to explain it, but finding one good thing in each day helped me work through my grief.”
I pull her closer, squeezing her arm. “And what were you thinking of writing for today?”
“I don’t know.” She laughs and scrolls through the list quickly. “Probably something like, ‘ Family drama that finally resolves itself .’ Or maybe, ‘ Fighting with words instead of fists .’”
The light from the fireplace reflects in her midnight-blue eyes, turning them into a shade so vibrant they look almost like amethyst when they meet mine. “Do you have any suggestions?”
I don’t have to stop and think because I already know what I’m going to say—the same thing I wrote in the book when I gave it to her last year.
“Memories made with someone you love.”
Caroline’s breath catches as her phone slips from her hand and lands softly on the duvet in her lap.
“You . . .” she trails off as the weight of the realization hits her.
Her eyes dart between me and the list, like she’s trying to make sense of what’s always been right in front of her.
“You,” she repeats, her voice steadier now, more sure. “It was you , Wes.”
I nod, feeling goosebumps settle on the back of my neck because I haven’t thought about that gift in a long time.
When Caroline’s mom died, I knew that she would probably internalize a lot of her grief. That she wouldn’t process it because she would throw all her attention into school and her future. But as someone who’s lived through plenty of loss, I’ve learned that avoiding your pain isn’t healthy. You need to let yourself feel. To let yourself remember. To let yourself heal. And that’s what I hoped the book would do for her.
My family kept the same one on our sitting-room table, and over the years I would occasionally flip through it when I was bored at a function. I always found it comforting because it reminded me not to take life too seriously, even when parts of my job felt heavier than I could handle.
Caroline studies me, her gaze searching for answers.
“Why didn’t you sign your name?” she whispers, like she’s trying to keep her tears at bay.
“You wouldn’t have opened it,” I say softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I figured you needed it more than you needed to know it was from me.”
Her face crumples as she leans forward, wrapping her arms around me in a hug so tight it feels like she’s holding on for dear life.
“Thank you,” she sniffles, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
I stroke her head as I hold her close. “You never have to thank me for caring about you, Caroline. I’ve been doing it since the day we met.”
Her cheeks are lined with teary streaks when she pulls back and lets out a watery laugh. “I really thought you were going to say something like, ‘ A toddler’s first steps .’”
I chuckle because that would have been a good one. Especially because Carter’s first steps were so much more than a developmental milestone—they were a peace offering.
He wormed his way out of Walker’s arms, holding onto the coffee table as the tension in the room reached an all-time high. Then, inexplicably, he chose Parker as the person he wanted to walk toward. And that single step changed everything because it reminded everyone—including Parker—about what was important in life.
“I think that falls under memories made with someone you love. Does it not?”
“Or two people you love,” she teases, her lips twitching into a massive smile.“Don’t think I missed that earlier.”
“I wouldn’t dare, princess.”
I grin because I’ve been waiting for the right time to talk about my slip earlier. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have dropped the L bomb in front of everyone—I would have done in it private, just the two of us. But now that it’s happened, I don’t regret it. Because now they know exactly how I feel about her. Exactly how much I adore her.
Caroline’s smile falters for a moment as her gaze locks onto mine, like she’s trying to commit this moment to memory. “For what it’s worth . . . I love you too, Wes.”