Chapter 5 #3
“This isn’t peanut butter and jelly,” he said, his voice tight.
I blinked. “No, it’s ham and cheese. That’s what I made for everyone.”
Kesha opened her mouth, her expression shifting to something like alarm. “Milo—”
“I WANT PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY!”
The shout was sudden, raw, and loud enough to turn heads three blankets over.
Oh.
Oh, shit.
The kid had been holding it together all day. The heat, the noise, the chaos of the beach, the grit of the sand, the unpredictability of the waves—every single one of those things was a small, just-manageable irritation on its own.
But…they’d added up.
And I’d just handed him the wrong sandwich.
“I WANT PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY!” Milo screamed again, eyes screwed shut, limbs drawn in too tightly, ready to crack.
It’s not about the sandwich.
Jay froze mid-chew, eyes wide. Kesha’s face flushed, her hands fluttering as if she didn’t know whether to reach for Milo or pull him away from the stares.
But screw whoever was staring, screw whatever they thought of us. All I could focus on was the pain in front of me.
I dropped to one knee on the blanket, my focus narrowing to the small, shaking boy I’d come to cherish. “Milo,” I said quietly.
He didn’t look at me. His grip on the sandwich was white-knuckled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Tears were building at the corners of his eyes, his whole body vibrating with the effort of not completely losing it.
I reached for the sandwich. Slowly. Carefully.
Milo didn’t let go.
So we both held it, the wax paper crinkling between us.
“I’m so sorry, buddy,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “I didn’t know. Please forgive me?”
The question seemed to derail him. He blinked, his breath hitching. “O-okay.”
I took a deep breath. Then let it out, slow and controlled, holding his gaze.
He watched me, confused, his chest still heaving.
I did it again. In. Out. Longer on the exhale.
Milo sucked in a desperate breath, trying to match me. His exhale was shaky, uneven.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “A question and an answer, buddy. Like the drums. You got this.”
Another breath. Another exhale. His shoulders started to drop, just a fraction.
I stayed there, kneeling on the sand-covered blanket, my knee digging into the grit, one hand still on that damn sandwich. I didn’t look away from him. I didn’t rush him.
The world could wait.
Finally, his breathing evened out. The shaking slowed. He was still hiccupping, little aftershocks of the storm, but the worst had passed.
Without looking, I held out my free hand behind me.
A juice box landed in my palm.
I didn’t have to check to know Kesha had put it there. That she’d known exactly what I needed—what we’d needed. The rightness of it made my chest feel…warm in a way that had nothing to do with my Kteer.
I offered the juice to Milo. “Here.”
He took it with trembling hands, lifting the straw—of course Kesha had already punctured the box in preparation—to his mouth. He sucked on it like a lifeline.
I let go of the sandwich and shoved it back into the cooler. I’d eat it later. Or Jay would inhale it. Didn’t matter.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, softer this time. “All I made was ham and cheese, Milo. But you could have extra chips.”
“Or you could have a ham and cheese,” Jay offered, his voice a little tentative. He was still watching his new brother with wide, uncertain eyes. “Dad makes them really good.”
Milo pulled the straw from his mouth with a pop. “I—I guess. I dunno. I like chips.”
Not wanting to press him, I figured chips for lunch would be fine, just this once. I grabbed a bag from the cooler and held it out.
He took it with a shaky hand. “Thanks, Dad.”
The word hit me like a full-body check from my youngest brother.
Dad.
I rocked back on my heels, my breath catching in my throat.
Milo called me Dad.
Kesha swooped in, taking over the lunch distribution like she was used to tag-teaming with me, handing Jay another sandwich, passing around napkins. She was moving fast, trying to smooth over the moment, but I couldn’t move.
Dad.
I stood slowly, my legs unsteady, my chest a tangled mess of pride and worry and something so fierce it felt like it might crack me open.
From her knees, Kesha turned to look up at me. Her eyes were bright, a little damp at the corners, and when she saw my face, she grinned.
It wasn’t a small smile. It was approval. It was relief. It was thank you and we did that together, and I felt it in my stomach. In my chest.
I nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak. I could barely breathe—that sensation of almost that came when a loud song finishes and leaves the space ringing.
Her grin widened.
And slowly, my lips curled in response.
A family.
Kesha wasn’t my Mate. But she’d brought me something I hadn’t known I was missing—not a replacement or a consolation.
A family.
I looked down at the boys—Jay cramming chips into his sandwich like a brick mason, the way I’d taught him years ago, and Milo methodically eating his own chips one at a time, his breathing finally calm—and felt something blooming in my chest.
Pride.
This was my family. Mine.