31. Who’s The Real Mr. Incredible? #2
The extra tequila is wonderful, and so is the strawberry daiquiri Cara makes me next, but if I’m being honest, it’s the people that make this night so effortless.
To exist here with them, to be at ease with being myself.
Watching them welcome Connor into their family, dancing around the living room with him, interacting with him the exact same way they do Ireland.
There’s no difference here, not with them. Family is family, plain and simple.
And they’re treating us exactly like we’re theirs.
“He keeps whacking me in the balls every morning. Like, as soon as I step out of bed.”
“Maybe sleep with underwear on?” I suggest to Jaxon, who is apparently being abused by Mittens every day.
He flashes me a look of disgust. “No way. I like to free-ball it. My boys love to hang free.”
“Okay, well, you could slip a pair on before you get out of bed.”
“And take ’em off two seconds later when I go for my morning pee? Nah.”
“I might be out of solutions for you then, Jaxon. Wrap your junk, or Mittens will continue to use it for batting practice.”
He huffs, sinking back against the couch, but smiles at his screen saver. It’s his and Mittens’ faces, smooshed together side by side. “He’s lucky he’s so damn cute.”
My gaze coasts the room, finding the same people it’s been looking for all afternoon.
Adam hasn’t been more than three steps away from Connor, and the only time he’s taken his eyes off him is to put them on me.
Right now, he’s sitting on the floor with Connor, Ireland, Garrett, Carter, and Emmett, the kids squealing with laughter as the boys entertain them.
“There’s something so innately attractive about men with kids, isn’t there?” Olivia asks me on an exhale, her eyes on her husband.
I watch as they aggressively sing the words to “The Wheels on the Bus,” actions and all, until Connor and Ireland’s shrill giggles fill every inch of this house, and when Adam scoops my son against his chest, hugging him tight and dropping a kiss to his cheek, fireworks explode in my stomach. “ So
attractive.”
Olivia turns to look at me, grinning.
“What?”
“He deserves this, you know. You. He deserves you. Someone who sees him for everything he is and doesn’t ask for anything more. Someone who loves his gentle heart and matches it with her own. Someone who looks at him the way you look at him.”
Adam’s eyes come to mine then, a softness that melts me from the inside out, love that shines like the flecks of golden sunshine in his cerulean blue gaze, and when he smiles, my whole world rights itself.
“The same way he looks at you.”
I wave a flappy hand through the air to distract from the feelings that are staring me down the nose, demanding me to toss this slow
notion out the damn window and pick up right where we left off: me, with three little words on the tip of my tongue, meant just for him. “You don’t know this yet, but I’m an exceptionally emotional person.”
“Oh my God, me too! Even more so after I had Ireland.”
“Postpartum hormones are wild. As if I didn’t cry over enough things before having a baby. Like those commercials with the puppies, you know the ones I’m talking about? The SPCA ones with—”
“—Sarah McLachlan! Yes! I had to bite my tongue to stop from crying over one the night I met Carter!”
“Is that song necessary? It makes it so much worse.”
“Kills me every damn time.” Olivia takes my hand, pulling me up with her. “C’mon. Let’s make another drink.”
She putters around in the kitchen, tossing ingredients into a blender while I examine the tray of snacks on the island. It’s BYFS Night—bring your favorite snack —
something Adam explained to me as he loaded five boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups into the wagon.
You’d think we were at a kid’s birthday party by looking at this elaborate setup, mostly made up of several kinds of Oreos, Dunkaroos, Pop-Tarts, and random assortments of fruit snacks and cereals, but apparently, this is just how they like to celebrate the start of their season, and tomorrow is their home opener.
“If you choose an Oreo over a Fruit Roll-Up, Carter will hold that over Adam’s head forever,” Olivia tells me.
I laugh, peeling open a Fruit Roll-Up, and Adam grins at me from across the room. He winks, mouthing, Good choice, trouble,
and my insides heat.
“What’s this?” I ask, finding a scrapbook among all the food. The front cover shows a picture of Carter in his hockey equipment, holding a smiling Ireland, the words Daddy Goes to Hockey
scrawled over the cover.
“Carter’s been working on that all summer. It’s a book for Ireland for when the boys are out of town for hockey. Go ahead and look at it.”
I flip through the pages, obviously created with so much love, pictures upon pictures of their family, of Carter on the ice, Olivia and Ireland in the stands.
It goes through their daily routines, morning snuggles and a messy breakfast, walks in the park, doggy kisses, and bubble baths before bed.
And then it shows Carter boarding a plane, explains how he’s going somewhere far to play hockey but that he’ll be thinking of home, and soon, he’ll be with his girls again.
On the last page is a photo of Carter with Ireland tucked in the crook of his arm, Olivia held tight against his side. The love reflected in his gaze is staggering, but it’s the words beneath the photo that tug at every bit of my heart.
Daddy goes to hockey, but his love stays here.
Carter sidles up next to me, peering over my shoulder, wearing a small smile. “I don’t know what I’ll do being away from her so much.”
“You’re really gonna miss her, huh?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m kinda
obsessed with her.”
My gaze flicks to his Daddy
T-shirt. “You don’t say.”
“What if she forgets about me, you know? What if she forgets what I look like?”
I look to Ireland, sitting in Garrett’s lap, her dad’s face on her outfit. “I truly don’t think that’s possible.”
“You’re right, Rosie. I should have more shirts made for us. One for every day of the week. Great idea, thanks.”
“What? I didn’t say—”
“Ollie! Rosie told me to make more shirts for me and Ireland!”
“Carter, you’ve given that poor girl down the street a full-time job making shirts for you, and she’s only fourteen. You need to give her a break.”
“Okay.” He winks at me. “I’ll definitely do that.” Wink, wink
.
“You’re a menace,” I whisper to him.
“You have no idea how high I can soar, Rosie.”
The girls pull me outside, gathering around a fire pit with all the fixings for s’mores while we sip at our drinks.
“I can’t believe we’re trusting those five alone with the kids,” Jennie says as she rotates a stick of marshmallows over the coals.
“Are you kidding me? I found a giant roll of Bubble Wrap in the garage two days ago. When I asked Carter what it was for, he said it was for Ireland when she starts walking. I thought he was joking, but when I laughed, he said, ‘Our daughter’s safety is not a joke, Olivia.’”
Cara gasps. “He called you by your full name?”
She nods somberly. “Connor and Ireland are possibly too
safe with those boys in there.”
Jennie hands me a gooey s’more, and something thick settles in my throat as I stare down at it.
“You okay?” she asks me softly.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. This is just really nice. It reminds me of my parents. We used to camp several times a summer, and s’mores were my dad’s specialty. I haven’t had one in a long time.”
Jennie smiles, squeezing my forearm. “My dad passed when I was sixteen. It’s weird, isn’t it?
Doing things now that we used to do then?
It’s nostalgic in all the right ways, and it makes me feel like he’s right here beside me.
But it’s still hard too. Because sometimes the feeling that he’s right next to me is so strong, I look over to say something to him, and… ”
“He’s not there.”
“Yeah. It’s almost like I forget how to breathe for a second.”
“I know that feeling.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
The four of us settle into easy conversation, and once the boys pop outside to let us know they’re going to lay the kids down, Olivia and Cara decide to add just a little more
tequila to the next pitcher.
“I’m not a violent person—”
Olivia interrupts Cara’s monologue with a snort.
“—but if I were given five minutes alone in a room with her—”
I snicker, and Cara points at me.
“You’re laughing, but I’m serious. If Courtney was standing on the edge of a cliff, my elbow would absolutely accidentally nudge her ribs just right
, and we’d never speak her name again.”
“Was she really that bad?” I ask. All three of them level me with a look, and I cringe. “I thought maybe the media was embellishing.”
“There was no embellishing.” Olivia sighs. “She was exactly as awful as they painted her to be, but truthfully, we’re just glad she’s out of Adam’s life. He’s always deserved so much more. She never felt like a part of this family.”
I look down at my lap at that f-word, the longing that pulls at me when I hear it. But then Cara speaks, coaxing my eyes back up.
“Not like you, Rosie.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re a family. We want you and Connor to be part of this family.”
Something happens then. The smallest shift but with the biggest impact.
Like the final piece was already here, just slightly ajar, and someone tapped it, so gently I’d probably not notice it.
Except finally, it slides right into place, this perfect fit that was just waiting to be filled, and suddenly everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.
My heart pounds a relentless beat, and I struggle against the tight grip on my throat, the emotion holding it hostage.
Never in my life have I had this, this immediate love, this acceptance without question, without hesitation.
It’s scary and beautiful and…incredible. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.