Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Finn
Chloe is studying me.
And doing it intensely enough that I can feel the little laser beams of her gaze drilling into the back of my head.
I keep my eyes on the road.
Mostly because I’m driving.
Partly because I know that look.
It’s the same one she gets when she’s about to ask me a question that will send me scrambling for an answer.
Why don’t cats wear shoes?
Can mermaids drown?
Where do babies come from?
Why did Maggie’s parents get a divorce?
What is a divorce, anyway?
Why are Black Bears brown sometimes?
What’s 612 times 897?
Oh, and where do babies come from?
So yeah, I’m definitely bracing.
Definitely.
Because when I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror to see her face, there’s something more intense than usual about her expression.
Something thoughtful.
Something…dangerous.
I pull into her preschool’s parking lot and turn off the car, spinning around in my seat to face her. “All right, kid. Spill it.”
Her little mouth purses. Her nose wrinkles.
Her eyes, so much like her mom’s, come to mine.
“Do you love my dad?”
I choke.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
On air.
On my own spit.
Because Rhodes and I have gone on two dates over the last week—that amazing first night together (attempting to build my less than amazing Skating Skills) and the other just a couple nights ago with Chloe to have dinner and see the latest and greatest animated kids’ movie.
They were both wonderful.
It’s been wonderful—being able to cuddle with him on the couch, sneaking kisses (and sometimes not), holding his hand, our bodies brushing against each other as we cook or do dishes or fold laundry.
And best of all…
Sleeping beside him.
Even if sleeping is all we’ve done.
After he’s made me come, that is.
When he gets home from this road trip later tonight, though? That’s going to change.
I need him—every part of him.
Which is something I shouldn’t be even remotely thinking about with his daughter in the back seat lobbing questions like missiles.
“I—” I cough once, then again. “Excuse me?”
Chloe blinks at me like I’m being difficult on purpose then unbuckles herself and hops down, her hand smoothing up and down my back.
And God, she’s such a good kid.
Except when she repeats, “Do you love my dad?”
I manage not to choke this time.
But my heart begins launching itself against my ribs like it’s attempting to burst free and go rogue.
Only, it already has.
Because…
The answer is suddenly blindingly obvious.
And terrifying.
If I didn’t love Rhodes, I wouldn’t be here—wouldn’t be having this conversation with his daughter, wouldn’t be missing him so much when he’s away with the team, wouldn’t want to take away his grief, pleasure his body, fill his life with joy and happiness and…
Love.
Because yes, I love the man who wanted me to teach him how to braid his daughter’s hair.
The man who made me homemade soup when I was sick.
The man who calls Olive and Pear demons yet cuddles them so gently.
The man who looks at my blankets like they’re art and means it when he tells me I’m beautiful and kisses me like I’m something precious.
I. Love. Rhodes.
That realization is so huge I feel it in every single one of my cells.
And it’s something I absolutely cannot tell his daughter in the parking lot of her preschool.
So instead, I unbuckle my seatbelt, climb out, and breathe.
For just a couple of seconds.
Then I open her door, help her jump down, and take her hand. “Let’s go sit and talk for a minute.”
She doesn’t protest as I lead her to a bench in front of the school.
That alone tells me how seriously she’s taking this.
I sit beside her and rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, trying not to look as rattled as I feel. “I like your dad a lot, honey.”
Her face screws up. “But do you love him?”
Of course she’s giving me absolutely no mercy.
I let out a shaky little laugh. “That’s a big question.”
She shrugs. “I’m big.”
Technically…she’s not wrong.
But also…she’s tiny and young and sweet and—
What if she doesn’t want me to love her dad?
I exhale softly, gird my loins, and hedge, “Love for grownups is different.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why do grownups say stuff like that when they don’t want to answer the question?”
Hell.
I laugh despite myself.
Because I love how tenacious she is, love how she’s smart and strong and wonderful.
But I would feel a hell of a lot better if I knew exactly how to navigate this conversation.
Except…why do I feel like Chloe’s always going to be throwing me curveballs?
Curveballs I might not get to experience if I leave on my—
I shake my head, dislodge that thought, and focus. “Because being a grownup is complicated.”
“That sounds dumb.”
“It kind of is,” I admit.
She considers that for several heartbeats.
Then slides off the bench and shrugs. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, startled that she’s dropping this so easily.
Normally, she’s a dog to a bone when it comes to getting answers.
“Yup.” She starts toward the front door of the school. “Okay.”
I release a relieved breath and start to follow her.
She whips around. “Finn?”
“Yeah, honey?”
Her expression is suddenly serious—so incredibly serious that my lungs hitch again. But…it’s also fragile, something breakable creeping across her face, sinking into her frame.
As though, if I don’t answer her next question correctly, I’m going to shatter something in her.
Permanently.
“Do you love me?”
Fuck, my heart can’t take this.
“Now that’s not complicated in the least, Chloe girl,” I crouch down and open my arms. “I love you so much.”
Loving her has never once felt scary or complex or risky.
Not for one second.
She launches herself into my arms and hugs me back fiercely as she says, “I love you too.”
My eyes burn, and I blink back tears.
Because no one warned me that love could feel like this—as though every cell in my body is threatening to burst with joy, with happiness. I would take a bullet for this kid, confront a bully, push her out of the way of an oncoming car.
All because she’s made a place for herself in my heart.
I kiss the side of her head and force myself to breathe through the swell of emotions.
Luckily, before I can turn into a complete pile of mush, she pulls away and grins. “I’m going to go to school now.”
“Have fun with Jake,” I say, releasing her.
Grinning, she runs to the door, pulls it open.
I stay crouched for a second longer, watching her go with one hand pressed to my chest, my soul aching in the best possible way.
Because that little girl…
She owns my heart.
And…so does her dad.
So why does loving Rhodes feel so complicated?
So scary?
Maybe because loving him is different.
It asks more of me.
More trust.
More courage.
More willingness to risk…
Everything.