Whit
There’s still so much we need to discuss, but tonight I only care about the glimmering stars overhead and the weight of his hand on my lower back as he guides me up the porch stairs.
We stop for a brief kiss outside the door.
He smooths my messed-up hair, tucking loose strands behind my ear, and I fix the collar on his button-down.
I don’t know if this is how regular couples with kids have sex, but it’s how we do—sneaking away whenever there’s a free moment and neither of us can keep our hands to ourselves for another second.
Binding him and edging him and coming so hard we need at least another ten minutes to compose ourselves.
I love him.
Colt follows me inside, letting the front door softly click shut behind us.
Kate and Jackson’s home is warm, loud, and cozy, with most of the older wedding guests having migrated into the kitchen as soon as the sun set.
There are classic country songs—and somebody who’s apparently trying their hand at karaoke—carrying down the narrow hallway.
In the living room, the kids are sprawled on a giant floor bed watching a movie. A sleeping Rhett has an arm and a leg strewn over Jonas’s torso, and a tender ache radiates through my chest at the sight.
Before the raw pang of longing takes up too much unwarranted space in my heart and my brain, Colt’s hand slips around my waist to ground me. It’s amazing how the simplest touch alters my brain chemistry, reminds me that nothing matters outside of here and now. Us.
The family we’re building together—me, Jonas, Colt, and Betty—is enough.
Jonas cautiously cranes his neck when he catches me in his periphery. With a questioning expression, I give him a thumbs-up. The arm that isn’t being held hostage by a sleeping toddler returns the sentiment.
How could I ever feel like I need more when I already have the best kid?
Sure, we’ve had our fair share of difficulties—he and I have been through so much together over the last ten years. But the love in his heart is unmatched, and I’m finally starting to believe he’ll be okay.
Colt and I stroll into the busy kitchen, and I grab his hand when we approach my parents.
No sense in trying to hide this for a second longer.
Mom smiles up at us; she’s been relatively lucid today, with only a few small bouts of confusion.
I’m so thankful Blair had a present and happy mom at her wedding. It’s the least my big sister deserves.
Whether she’s lucid for my future wedding or not, it’s okay. I want her to be there, but I don’t need her blessing. I’m content with myself, and my decisions, and the family I’m creating in a home where we don’t put conditions on love.
“Hey, Mom.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders, sinking back on my heels into a partial squat so I’m at her level. “Having fun?”
“Oh, yes. It’s quite the party.”
“Yeah, it was a beautiful wedding,” Colt adds, eyes flitting between my parents. He’s got the cutest smile, trying hard to make a good impression without realizing just how much that effort means to me.
“Was it your wedding?” Mom asks Colt. Thank God Blair isn’t around.
His face twists and he opens his mouth to correct her, but Dad cuts him off. “No, no. It was one of the other boys.”
Mom nods knowingly. “Right. Well, yes. It was a lovely day.”
Dad places a baseball-glove-size hand on my shoulder; it’s firm and heavy and laced with judgment. “I was looking for you. We’re going to head home.”
“Oh, yeah, we were…outside.” I hook a thumb toward the front door, as if he doesn’t know where outside is. “But um, hey…before you go. This is Colt. He’s, um…He’s my—”
Without hesitation, Colt extends a hand to my father. I can’t help but notice the red marks around his wrist. “Future husband.”
I choke on my own spit, leaning into my mom’s shoulder to cough and regain composure.
I’m genuinely terrified to look at my dad, because I remember in vivid detail when Alex made a similar comment about getting married one day, and my dad lost it.
He told Alex he’d be allowed to marry me over my dad’s “dead fucking body.”
It’s silent. Well…not actually silent, because everyone around us is chatting and laughing and singing, completely unaware of our conversation.
But Dad warily shakes Colt’s hand. “You’re the one Jonas was telling us about.”
I gulp. “Yeah, Colt’s been…um, he’s—”
Wow, I’m failing epically at forming words tonight.
“Jonas is the best kid,” Colt says, willfully ignoring my malfunction. “He was telling me all about how you guys go fishing. Oh, and hey, you’re a bit of a handyman, right?”
Dad nods, clearly unsure where this conversation is heading.
“I was showing Whit the space we’re working on over in the barn for Jonas to raise some animals in the spring. I’m not the best carpenter, and Jonas…well, he’s only ten, so if you ever wanted to come out here and give us a hand…”
The distrusting flatness across Dad’s weary face perks up a little, and he looks at me with a couple slow blinks of disbelief. Almost like, for once, he’s doing whatever the opposite of judging me for my choices is. Commending?
“I’d love to help with that.” Dad’s eyes come fully to life, which is a surefire sign that…“Ah, speak of the devil.”
He beams at Jonas, and Mom pulls him into a tight squeeze, making the poor kid groan.
“Hey, kiddo. You ready to go home?” I ask.
Freeing himself from Mom’s clutches, he replies with a small yawn. “Yeah, the little kids are asleep.”
“Excellent job babysitting.” I smile at him.
Noticing Colt, Jonas looks between us and the gears inside his brain are visibly turning. It’s as if he’s trying to gauge whether Colt told me about their talk earlier. He wants to know if I know he knows.
And before he can figure out a way to verbalize his thoughts—honestly, sometimes I thank the lord he inherited whatever bullshit makes it so hard for me to form sentences—I urge him to say goodnight to everybody and veer him out of the house.
Colt follows, and then it’s only the three of us traipsing through crisp mountain air and grass wet with dew. My shoulders tuck up to my ears with a shiver, and Colt slips an arm around me.
“So…” Jonas rubs at his nose, staring straight ahead to my car. “Is, uh, Colt coming to our house?”
“Oh, I don’t think…” While I would love nothing more than to sleep next to him, wake up to feel his warm body next to mine, and not be in a rush to sneak him out of the house, I also don’t want to put Jonas in a potentially uncomfortable situation.
We should at least have a conversation about how things are going to go first. “No sleepover tonight.”
His shoulders fall. “Oh.”
“You were hoping he was?”
Colt’s hold on my upper body gets a little tighter.
Jonas gives a disappointed half-shrug. “He lets me have cinnamon rolls for breakfast.”
I bite back a laugh. Priorities.
“Yeah, I like when he gets us cinnamon rolls for breakfast, too. But maybe he can come over in the morning?”
“Dad used to come for sleepovers.”
Fuck. Fucking shit.
“Uh, um…no. That’s…different.”
I don’t actually know how that’s different. Take that back—it’s worse. Because those were one-night stands, and he had no intention of feeding us breakfast the next morning or spending half the day lounging on the couch with Jonas. He had no intention of sticking around, period.
Colt tugs open the driver’s-side door of my car for me, letting his other hand skim across my back.
Completely unthreatened by the mention of my ex.
“Dude, I would love to have a sleepover with you guys. But tonight would be boring as hell because it’s already past my bedtime—and yours.
Betty and I will be there bright and early with cinnamon rolls.
We’ll save the sleepover for a night when we can kick your mom’s ass at video games. ”
I playfully scoff. “As if I’m not going to kick both of your asses again.”
Jonas smirks, climbing into the backseat. The door closes, and Colt’s eyes flick to meet mine.
“You’ll let me know when I can sneak in tonight?” he asks in an excited whisper.
I bite my lip flirtatiously, then lean in so my mouth brushes against his ear. I pat an open palm against his chest, lingering to feel the steady thrum of his racing heart.
With clear enunciation, I breathe out the word “No.”
“What? Why?”
“You broke my rules, and I warned you there would be consequences.”
Even if it’s punishing me just as much.
He drags a hand down his face with a dramatic groan. “You’re killing me.”
Lifting up on my feet a little bit, I kiss him softly.
His lips are warm, his hands fall naturally to my waist, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to invite him over.
Especially when I know I’ll be regretting not having him there as my bare legs glide across cold sheets and I clutch a pillow to my chest, pretending I’m snuggling him.
“See you in the morning.” I slip into the driver’s seat.
His expression’s pained, and his fingers drum on the top edge of the door, hesitating to close it. Hoping against hope I’ll change my mind. After a moment of silence, he reluctantly sighs. “Goodnight, honey. Sleep tight.”