Epilogue #3
“Come on,” Sam said, slapping a hand to one of Caymen’s shoulders. “Let’s see what you’ve learned over the years.”
Dixon moved over toward me, watching the men walk away.
“I know this was for Caymen, but thanks for this too,” Dixon said, absentmindedly dropping the yo-yo and flicking it back up. “Don’t think either of us knew how much we needed to see him until he showed up.”
I wrapped an arm around Dixon, pulling him in for a sideways hug.
“I always want the best for the both of you.”
And I did.
Caymen was the love of my life.
But Dixon had quickly become the little brother I’d never had. Even at his big age, he totally tagged along with us; he teased me just as much as he teased his brother; and we even argued the way siblings do.
I loved the heck out of him too.
“Go on. Get in there,” I said when I caught him watching Sam and Caymen talking at the grill.
“I don’t grill.”
“Now is a great time to learn,” I told him.
It was all the permission he needed.
Velle moved in at my side, handing me a bottle of water instead of the beer in his hand.
“Figured this is the right route, given…” he trailed off.
“How the hell do you know everything?” I said, shooting him small eyes.
His smile was warm.
“At first, I thought the way you were watching Caymen with the kids was just some future yearning to see that with your own kid,” Velle said. “But then I saw you press a hand to your stomach. You should tell him tonight.”
“I don’t know if that’s exactly the right birthday present either.”
“It is,” he assured me. “Trust me, it is.”
He was right.
It was the second time in one day I swear Caymen was close to tears.
And I couldn’t wait to see him be the amazing father I knew he could be.
Caymen - 9 years
“You okay?” Noa asked, coming out on the front porch to hand me a coffee as she sat down beside me on the bench.
We’d bought the house when Noa was around six months along with our first. But only after Nathaniel fully vetted it to make sure it was ‘safe enough’ for his family. We had to pass on five houses we liked because he didn’t see them ‘protectable.’
We’d gone with a simple three-bedroom bungalow style. Not huge. But plenty of room for us. It had a nice backyard, and both back and front porches—something Noa and I decided were nonnegotiable. It was also under ten minutes away from the club, so Huck had been happy when we moved out of Miami.
“Yeah,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee.
I watched our two kids playing with their water table, which they were steadily filling with dirt and leaves, making a muddy mess that was all up their arms and down their clothes.
My father would have beaten me black and blue for messing up the water table. My mom would have slapped me for messing up my clothes.
And I just… couldn’t fucking fathom that. How you could raise your hand to a kid for chasing joy wherever they could find it? Even if it did mean ten extra minutes of work for me later.
Each time I watched our kids fearlessly doing something that a younger me would have been terrified to do, it both broke and healed me.
Broke, because… how fucking hard would it have been to give me grace? To love me? To not make every day of my life a living hell? How fucked up of a person were you that you despised your own kids so much? Loving my kids was the easiest fucking thing in the world.
But it was healing because I knew that these two would never know that feeling of walking on eggshells, of not being able to trust the very people who were supposed to take care of them. They’d never flinch when someone raised a hand. They’d never get a bellyache when someone yelled.
“It’s sad and happy, isn’t it?” Noa asked, knowing me too well.
“Yeah,” I agreed, snaking an arm around her lower back and pulling her closer.
Our son took that moment to grab a handful of the mud and smush it on his brother’s head, making him squeal.
Alright.
So add a bath on top of some laundry and hosing off the water table. Still no big deal.
“I got more!” Dixon’s voice called, coming out of the wooded area of our backyard with a handful of dirt.
“And there’s our third child,” Noa said, letting out a little laugh as the kids cheered for their uncle.
“Almost thirty, going on three,” I agreed as he saw the muddy head of the one kid and reached to smash some on top of the older one’s head.
“Hey, hey,” a man called, making both of us stand to see Sam making his way through the gate with Nathaniel close on his heels. “We thought we’d bring everything for a little barbecue,” Sam said, waving the bags he was carrying.
“And I brought those boat brochures you wanted,” Nathaniel said as he closed the gate.
Sam moved up the back porch after narrowly avoiding being mauled by mud-covered children. Nathaniel was not so lucky. But he was laughing about it.
Our kids knew so much love.
Us.
Dixon.
The club.
Their two grandfathers.
Sam clamped a hand on my shoulder as he watched the kids and Dixon running around trying to toss mud balls at each other.
“You did good here, Caymen. You did real good.”
I felt like my ribs might crack with how big my heart felt.
I reached for Noa’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
Yeah.
Yeah, we did.