Chapter 4
Reese
Ramsey's driving is a whole mood today—jaw tight, knuckles white on the wheel, staring at the road like it personally offended him.
His right hand tapping and flexing along the gear shift.
I've been watching him from the passenger seat for the last twenty minutes, and he hasn't said a word since we left the house.
Just classic brooding Ramsey, looking hot as fuck while being completely impossible to read.
"Are you still mad about the Justin thing?" I finally ask because the silence is killing me. "Because I swear I haven't talked to him since you hung up on him three days ago."
His eyes flick to mine for half a second before returning to the road. "I'm not mad."
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England." I roll my eyes and shift in my seat, pulling my knees up to my chest. "You've been stomping around like someone pissed in your protein shake for days."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "Maybe I'm just thinking about having to chase two toddlers around for the next twenty-four hours."
"Bullshit. You love those boys, and you know it."
He doesn't deny it, because that would make him a liar, and he doesn’t lie to me. We turn into Penn and Reagan's neighborhood, and I'm practically bouncing in my seat.
"They're not going anywhere," Ramsey mutters, but there's fondness in his voice.
"It's been almost a month since I've seen them," I remind him, already unbuckling my seatbelt before the car even stops. "They've probably grown like six inches."
"That's not how human development works, baby girl."
"Whatever, hockey boy."
The front door flies open as we're walking up the path, and my sister appears, looking frazzled but gorgeous in a tight black t-shirt and ripped jeans that shows off the baby bump starting to form.
Reagan's hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her makeup flawless despite the wild look in her eyes.
"Thank god you're here," she says, yanking me into a hug. "The monsters are destroying everything, and Penn is just encouraging it because he thinks it's hilarious."
Behind her, I can hear the unmistakable sound of tiny feet thundering across hardwood and Penn's deep laugh. Ramsey brushes past us, already heading toward the chaos.
"I'll go handle it," he says, disappearing into the house.
Reagan pulls back, studying my face. "You look tired. Is everything okay?"
"Just dance stuff," I lie, because I'm not about to tell her about the Justin drama. "You look amazing, though. How are you feeling?"
Her hand drops to her stomach automatically. "Like a beached whale that's also starving all the time. This one's already matching their brothers."
Just then, all four boys come barreling through the hallway, dinosaurs and darts being thrown before the two overgrown ones stop in front of us. Penn smirks before walking behind my sister, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Ramsey Blackwood," my sister says, pointing one perfectly manicured finger at his chest. "Do NOT encourage their bad habits. They get enough of that from their father."
Behind her, Penn is grinning like the devil himself, silently mouthing "ENCOURAGE IT!" while making exaggerated nodding motions. The man is literally the worst influence on his own children, and he's proud of it.
"I would never," Ramsey replied with such fake innocence that I almost choked on my own spit.
"I mean it," Reagan continues, her mom-voice in full effect. "No jumping on furniture, no teaching them to tackle each other, and absolutely no showing them how to pick locks again."
"That was one time," Ramsey protests. "And Penn's the one who taught them how to disable the baby monitor, not me."
Reagan had turned to glare at her husband, who quickly rearranged his face into an unconvincing look of angelic innocence.
"What? They're Blackwoods," Penn shrugs. "Better they learn from me than figure it out themselves and end up in the ER."
We get my sister and brother out the door before looking at the two adorable identical little devils that stole my heart three years ago. Their dark curls are sticking up at all angles, and Riot's got a smear of peanut butter on his cheek before they both attack me to say hello.
I've got a three-year-old clinging to each leg as I try to walk across my sister's living room. It's like dragging two giggling anchors across the hardwood.
"Aunt Weese! Faster!" Ransom shrieks, his little hands gripping my thigh like he's riding a mechanical bull. His twin brother, Riot, is equally determined on my other leg, his dark curls bouncing with each exaggerated step I take.
Ramsey leans against the kitchen counter, watching us with that half-smile that makes my stomach do weird flips. He's dressed in black joggers and a faded SCU Hockey shirt that stretches tight across his chest. His hair is still damp from the shower he took right before we drove over here.
"Don't just stand there looking pretty," I call out to him. "Help me!"
"Nah," he says, crossing his arms. "This is way more entertaining."
I shoot him a death glare just as Riot decides to flop backward, still clinging to my leg, which nearly sends me toppling over. Ramsey's across the room in an instant, steadying me with one hand on my waist.
"Uncle Mini-Me!" Ransom lets go of my leg to launch himself at Ramsey, who catches him mid-air with his free arm, swinging him up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion.
Ramsey groans, rubbing his face with his free hand. "Little man, can we talk about this? Uncle Ramsey, Uncle Ram, Uncle R—anything but Uncle Mini-Me."
Riot and Ransom both start shaking their heads vigorously, tiny faces scrunched up in determination.
"Nope!" Ransom declares from his perch on Ramsey's shoulders. "Daddy said it's Uncle Mini-Me!"
"Uncle Mini-Me! Uncle Mini-Me!" Riot chants, abandoning my leg completely to wrap his arms around Ramsey's knees.
Before I can even blink, Ramsey's got Ransom flipped upside down, tickling his belly while the kid shrieks with laughter. Riot takes this as his cue to start climbing Ramsey like he's a human jungle gym, scrambling up his side and clinging to his back.
"You little demons," Ramsey growls playfully, somehow managing to keep both boys secure while they squirm and giggle.
My heart does this weird stuttering thing watching him with them.
There's something so fucking perfect about seeing this giant of a man—the same guy who terrifies grown men on the ice—being so gentle with these tiny humans.
His huge hands that can crush a hockey stick to splinters are carefully supporting Ransom's weight, making sure he doesn't fall while being tickle-tortured.
Fuck, it's doing things to me. Things I shouldn't be feeling about my best friend.
I've seen Ramsey knock a guy's teeth out for looking at him wrong, but here he is, letting two toddlers use him as a human playground. The contrast between terrifying hockey player and soft uncle is melting something inside me I didn't know could melt.
"Okay, okay!" Ransom shouts suddenly, wriggling to get down. "Let's go play racing!"
"Yeah, racing!" Riot echoes, already sliding down Ramsey's body to the floor.
Before either of us can respond, they're tugging Ramsey toward the back door, their little hands wrapped around his fingers.
Ramsey follows them, glancing back at me with that crooked smile that makes my stomach flip. "You coming, star?"
I nod, not trusting my voice right now. There's a lump in my throat I can't explain, watching him with the boys. Something about seeing him like this—patient, playful, protective—stirs up feelings I've been trying to bury for longer than I care to admit.
He looks at me a beat too long, like he's reading my mind, before turning to chase after the twins. I take a deep breath and follow them outside.
I follow them into the backyard and stop dead in my tracks. Holy shit. The entire yard has been transformed into what looks like a mini motocross track, complete with small dirt mounds, gentle curves, and—
"What the actual fuck?" I whisper as I spot two tiny motorized dirt bikes parked at what appears to be a starting line.
The boys are already running toward them, their little legs pumping with excitement as Ramsey helps them strap on helmets that look professionally fitted to their tiny heads. He's methodically checking the straps, making sure they're secure before moving on to elbow pads and knee guards.
"Are you kidding me? They can't ride those!" I hiss, my heart rate skyrocketing as I watch my three-year-old nephews being prepped for what looks like an X Games audition. "They're babies!"
Ramsey doesn't even look up from where he's adjusting Riot's helmet. "They're not babies; they're Blackwoods. And they've been riding these for months."
"Months?!" My voice comes out as a squeak. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because you'd freak out." He finally looks up at me with that infuriating smirk. "Like you're doing right now."
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to calm the panic rising inside me. "They're three, Ramsey. Three! They can’t even tie their shoes!"
He stands up, moving over to help Ransom with his little padded riding jacket. "For how much my cousin causes chaos, he wouldn't give the boys anything they can't actually use. These are specifically made for toddlers—speed-limited, auto-braking system, roll cages. Penn had them custom-built."
"Of course he did," I mutter, watching as the boys bounce with excitement, their little bodies practically vibrating with anticipation.
Ramsey finishes the safety check and walks back to stand beside me.
Without warning, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side.
His hand slides up to rest on the back of my neck, his fingers curling around the side, gripping lightly as his thumb strokes the skin just under my ear.
It's something he's done for years—whenever I'm stressed or anxious, his hand finds my neck like it belongs there.
I hate how instantly it calms me, how my body immediately responds to his touch by relaxing into him.
"They'll be fine," he murmurs, his voice low and close to my ear. "I promise. I wouldn't let anything happen to them."
I lean into him almost involuntarily, my side pressed against his warm body as we watch Penn's mini-me’s take their positions on their tiny bikes. Ramsey gives them a thumbs up, and they're off, the little engines purring as they navigate the track with surprising skill.
My stomach is in my throat as they take the first turn, but they handle it perfectly. There’s no denying that they know what they’re doing. Riot even makes a show of popping his front wheel up slightly over one of the dirt mounds, earning a yell of approval from Ramsey.
"See?" His breath is warm against my ear, his body a solid wall of heat beside me. "They're naturals."
I can't help but smile as the boys make another lap, their little bodies leaning into the turns just like they've seen their dad do.
"They're absolutely fucking fearless," I say, my eyes glued to the boys as they zoom around the track. The words tumble out before I can stop them. "You're so good with them, Rams. Your future kids are gonna be so lucky."
The statement makes me pause. I’ve never really thought about Ramsey having kids, but since I just said it, that’s all I can see. I don’t want to linger too long on how that happens. I’m not ready to think about losing my best friend.
Ramsey's hand freezes on my neck, his thumb halting mid-stroke. I feel him tense beside me, and when I look up, there's something dark and intense in his eyes that makes my breath catch.
"Yeah, they are," he says, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. My heart hammers against my ribs as his gaze drops to my lips for the briefest second before returning to my eyes.
"Aunt Weese! Watch me!" Riot yells, pulling my attention back to the track where he's attempting some kind of miniature stunt.
I force a smile, waving at my nephew even as my heart pounds against my ribs. What the fuck just happened? That look Ramsey gave me wasn't friendly. It wasn't brotherly. It was…hungry.
"I'm watching, Ry!" I call back, my voice higher than usual.
The boys race for another ten minutes before they're ready for a snack break. Ramsey helps them park their tiny bikes and remove their gear with the efficiency of someone who's done this many times before. His big hands are gentle as he lifts helmets from little heads and unbuckles safety straps.
"Snack time!" Ransom declares, already running toward the house.
Riot follows his brother, leaving Ramsey and me alone in the yard. The silence between us feels loaded now, heavy with something I'm afraid to name.
"I should go make sure they don't demolish the kitchen," I say, desperate to escape the tension.
Ramsey catches my hand before I can move, his grip firm but gentle. "Reese."
Just my name, but the way he says it makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. I look up at him, trying to keep my face neutral even as my pulse races under his fingers.
"What?" I manage to ask.
He studies me for a long moment, his blue eyes searching mine like he's trying to read something written there. Finally, he lets go of my wrist.
"Nothing," he says, but his voice says it's definitely not nothing. "Let's go feed the monsters before they start eating the furniture."
We walk inside together, but everything in me is conflicted.
It’s not nothing; it’s not even the first time this has happened.
I don’t know why he won’t tell me, but it’s like he physically can’t.
Like some spell has been cast on him where he can’t just open up his mouth and tell me what’s going on.
He’s allowed to have secrets even though I don’t.
I tell him everything because he’s my person, but I’m gonna get what’s bothering him out of him sooner or later.