12. Austin #2
“No plans,” I interject. I probably shouldn’t, in case she doesn’t want me here, but she looks stressed as fuck. Even if it’s just to keep the kids occupied so she can take a break, I want to do it. “If it’s okay with your mom, I’m pretty good at building blanket forts.”
“Can he, Mom?” Rhys begs, jumping up and down with his hands clasped together in front of him. “I promise, I’ll keep my room clean for the whole week, and I’ll never say the S word ever again, even if Uncle Memphis dares me!”
I can’t stop the laugh that bursts from my chest, knowing damn well that Memphis is the type of guy to do that.
He probably drives Paris nuts with it, teaching the kids all kinds of things they shouldn’t be doing or saying until they’re older.
But I guess that’s what being an uncle is all about, right?
Can’t fault the guy for wearing the title proudly.
Paris chews on her lower lip nervously, swaying back and forth in an attempt to keep Lennon asleep on her shoulder.
Anxiety grips at my chest, the fear of her saying that she doesn’t want me to stay causing a heavy pit to settle in my stomach.
There are a million reasons I want to be here, starting with my overwhelming urge to help, and ending with the fact that I just want to be near her.
The kids are really fucking cool, too, and I love that they’re comfortable with me sticking around.
Well, I still have to work for Rowan’s approval, but the other two seem to have warmed up to me immensely over the past few weeks.
“Okay, fine,” Paris replies. “But no more wrestling around and yelling. I’m about to put Lenny in her crib, so I expect you to be on your best behavior. Promise?”
Rhys stiffens his upper lip, tamping down his excitement, although I can tell he’s buzzing underneath the surface. “Promise,” he says, extending a pinky for his mother to take. She wraps hers around it, and they shake, sealing the deal.
“Go upstairs and get in the shower,” she tells him. “Rowan can go after you. And please don’t use my shampoo to make potions again.”
“I knooowww,” he replies, drawing out the word as he throws his head back in exasperation.
The kid is an absolute trip, always so animated when he speaks.
He definitely reminds me of Memphis with his outgoing personality and jokes, while Rowan is a carbon copy of Paris.
He’s quiet, but not necessarily in a shy way.
He just takes everything in, watching the way people move and speak as though he’s ready to jump into protective mode at any moment.
I get it, though. He’s the man of the house, saddling himself with the responsibility of keeping everyone safe.
The younger boy runs up the stairs like he’s on fire, scurrying down the hall and closing the bathroom door much louder than he probably should after the promise he just made.
But Lennon doesn’t even flinch, her little body tucked into Paris as she sleeps peacefully.
I’m sure she’s accustomed to the commotion with two older brothers, which probably comes in handy on days like today, when their mother is exhausted and desperate for just a moment to herself.
“Ro, would you mind taking out the kitchen trash for me and putting in a fresh bag? I was going to do it, but Len wouldn’t let me put her down.”
He nods tightly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth when he looks at his little sister. “Sure.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she replies, ruffling his hair before he takes off toward the kitchen.
He’s such a good kid. The rest of his teammates look up to him, despite the fact that this is his first year, and he seems to be a spectacular big brother.
I’m really hoping that he’ll continue warming up to me, because I’d love to learn more about him.
I have no doubt in my mind that he’ll go far if he decides to keep playing football—or any other sport, for that matter.
Some people were just born to lead and protect. He’s definitely one of them.
“I’m just going to put her down quick,” Paris says, blowing a rogue strand of hair off her forehead.
It falls right back down, making me chuckle as I reach out and brush it away with the tips of my fingers.
Our eyes lock, the connection almost stealing the breath from my lungs as she smiles softly, whispering a quiet thank you.
I can’t help but return the gesture, the corners of my mouth turning upward as my gaze drops to her soft, plump lips.
I’ve wanted to kiss her about a million times since we met—most notably in the hallway at Jett and Bailey’s house—but I fought the craving because I didn’t want to cross any lines.
It’s getting harder and harder to resist with every passing day, to the point where holding back is almost physically painful.
I long to taste her, to swallow every sweet sound she makes as I hold her tightly against me.
We’re in a trance, neither of us blinking for what feels like a lifetime.
It’s like she’s showing me a part of her soul, so many different emotions hidden right under the surface.
Aside from clearly being exhausted, which I can’t blame her for since it’s been a long, hot day in the sun, I also see what almost looks like curiosity in her stare.
It makes me want to peel back all the layers I keep firmly in place when I meet someone new, too afraid to let them see the real me because I hate the thought of getting attached, just to be left alone shortly after.
Oddly, that fear doesn’t exist with Paris, which should probably raise a whole slew of red flags, but it just doesn’t.
Maybe it’s because we’re friends, despite the way I’ve caught myself daydreaming about so much more.
Or maybe it has something to do with the unexplainable protectiveness I feel over her and her children, and wanting to keep them close in whatever ways they’ll allow.
It’s weird, but I’ll drive myself crazy if I question it, picking apart every detail when there’s no logical explanation.
A loud, floor-shaking crash comes from somewhere upstairs, and we break the connection, both of us immediately springing into action.
Paris hustles up first, her hand cradling the back of Lennon’s head as she takes the stairs one at a time, careful not to trip.
I’m right on her tail, my heart pounding wildly behind my rib cage because, whatever that was, it didn’t sound good.
“Rhys!” she shouts, reaching for the doorknob and twisting, only to find that it’s been locked. She tries again to no avail, and just as I’m about to nudge her aside and break the motherfucker down, a tiny voice bleeds through the wood.
“Sorry, Mom,” the little guy apologizes, giggling nervously. “I was climbing the shower curtain, and it fell down. But don’t worry. I’m okay, and I’ll fix it. I promise.”
Climbing the shower curtain?
Is that really a thing?
She huffs a relieved breath, the tension in her body releasing as she lays a hand over her heart. The baby is still fast asleep, her little face nestled into the crook of Paris’ neck. My speeding pulse slows down, returning to its baseline as she looks over at me with a sheepish smile.
“Welcome to life with boys,” she says, making me chuckle. “Good thing this little princess is as dainty as they come. She offers me a sliver of solace in a world full of ripped shower curtains and broken vases. I love those boys more than life itself, but they’re definitely a handful.”
“I can’t even begin to fathom how you do this all on your own,” I reply. “And they’re such good kids, too. Rowan and Rhys are kind to everyone, willing to help whenever a teammate is struggling, and Lennon always has a smile on her face. I’d attribute all of that to you being a kick-ass mother.”
She swallows thickly, her eyes glistening with emotion.
I know she doubts herself. She told me as much in the storage room the day she bumped her head.
But she needs to know that she’s doing an amazing job, juggling motherhood, work, and homeownership.
It’s not easy when there are multiple adults splitting up the responsibilities, which is exactly why I’m going to continue telling her that she’s doing a good job.
Because I’ll be damned if she goes another day without being made aware of just how incredible she really is.