Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EMIL
Poor Anders.
After the little confession, Anders looked ready to melt straight into the doorstep. He was one wrong breath away from turning green, and even though every instinct in me wanted to scoop him up and carry him back out the door, I didn’t push. I just leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth.
“I hope this isn’t a mistake,” Anders muttered when I pulled back.
That was my cue to return and linger. His lips parted, just a little, and I kissed him properly this time. He needed soothing, not claiming.
When I pulled away, Anders took a breath and muttered, “Here goes nothing.”
Anders led me down the hallway toward the back of the house, where the party was happening, and holy hell, it sounded like chaos.
The shouts of boys laughing and playing bounced off the walls, layered over the deeper, steadier sounds of their Daddies talking. When we stepped through the entryway, everything stopped. Every conversation. Every laugh. And every head turned.
Anders tensed beside me like a deer caught in headlights. One glance told me he was right on the edge. I dropped a hand on his shoulder and said calmly, “Hello, everyone. I’m Emil.”
A chorus of “hello” and “nice to meet you” answered back. Eight sets of eyes stayed locked on us, and it felt like walking a gauntlet. No wonder Anders was nervous. This was a lot of attention, the wrong kind, all at once.
“Hi, I’m Gabe. It’s nice to meet you,” a dark-haired man said as he stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “Although I think we met at a Chamber of Commerce event a while back.”
Rory followed close behind him, someone I recognized from his lunch with Anders.
“Yes, we did. Good to see you again. Architect, right?” I asked.
Gabe nodded, and one by one, the rest of them came forward to introduce themselves.
Some of them were deeper into little space than others, some chatty, some quiet, but it was obvious they were all protective of Anders.
Curious about me too. I could see the wheels turning about how I’d ended up here, standing so close to him.
“Anders, Anders, you gots to eat your salad. No sharing,” Jakob said, shoving a plastic bowl toward him.
Anders barely caught it before it hit the floor.
“Thanks, Jakob. That’s really sweet,” Anders said quickly. “I bet it’s delicious.”
“You gotta try it right now,” Rory insisted.
“We all made it together,” said a barrel-chested Hispanic man wearing a bright pink princess dress. “Owen stirred ’cause he’s a good stirrer.”
He stood next to a guy who vaguely reminded me of a local hockey player I’d seen on billboards around town.
Off to the side, another little hovered with a bottle in his hand, slightly behind a fourth one.
That fourth one kept shooting me looks every time his gaze bounced between Anders and me, like he was trying to decide whether I was a problem.
I glanced down into the bowl Anders was holding. Under the plastic wrap, I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at.
“How is this a salad?” I asked.
“Salad is doing a lot of work in that description,” Anders muttered. I didn’t miss the defensive edge in his voice. Honestly, I couldn’t blame him.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Cool Whip with cheese and pineapple. Don’t judge until you’ve tried it. It’s delicious,” Anders said.
“Better be nice,” the scowling one added.
All around us, I noticed people looking at Anders like he’d completely lost his mind.
Barrett, the large, heavily tattooed man, stepped forward and added, “Delicious might be several steps too far.”
“I’m willing to try it, I guess,” I said. Anders rolled his eyes. Under the circumstances, that felt like progress.
“Boys, thank you so much for my salad,” Anders said, lifting the bowl. “I’m gonna put it in the fridge and eat it with dinner.”
He took a deep breath, marched to the kitchen, and slid it onto a shelf.
And then he was mobbed.
Every boy wanted his attention. One after another, lining up to talk to him. All except the one with the bottle, not a sippy cup like the others, who didn’t speak at all. He just held things up for Anders to look at, one item after another, solemn and serious.
From where I stood, it was obvious how much the boys loved him. They were used to Anders being part of the mix. The Daddies, who clearly adored their boys and respected Anders, stepped back and let him take over. They chatted. They laughed. They gave him space.
Anders fetched snacks. Refilled cups. Smoothed over minor frustrations. He did everything short of changing diapers for the ones who’d regressed that far.
He looked damned exhausted.
And no one seemed to notice.
I knew eavesdropping was wrong, but I absolutely did not give a shit.
I excused myself to use the bathroom, and when I came back, the boys were gathered exactly as they had been all afternoon, clustered tight around Anders.
He was literally trapped in a circle of them.
Every single one was smiling. Loving. Vying for his attention.
And Anders was utterly miserable in the dogpile of their affection.
His shoulders were hunched almost up to his ears, tension etched deep into his posture. Lines bracketed his mouth, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line. My boy was hanging on by a thread.
“Anders, I know who the man is,” Jakob said conspiratorially.
“Me too,” Rory added in a stage whisper.
“He your Daddy,” the one in the pink dress said, forgetting to whisper entirely before the others shushed him, reminding him their Daddies might overhear.
I’d heard their Daddies earlier ask them to give Anders some breathing room, but once the noise level settled, they drifted back to their conversations and let the boys sort themselves out. It didn’t feel malicious. Just familiar. Anders was treated like the grown-up of the boys’ group.
“Emil is my friend,” Anders said quickly and likely not as firmly as he’d like. “He’s not my Daddy.”
“No,” the scowling one, whose name I’d learned was Nico, cut in. “He take care of you. He watch you. That makes him your Daddy.”
I let the word settle in my chest.
The realization hit me hard. That was exactly what I wanted to be. What I already was, even without having the language for it yet. These boys saw it clearly. They saw Anders and me. They saw our dynamic. But none of them noticed how close Anders was to the edge.
And somehow, today of all days, those things couldn’t coexist.
“No, no, he’s not,” Anders said weakly.
Seeing such a big man folding in on himself like that broke something in me. If Daddy was what I was to him, what I wanted to be, then it was time to act like it.
“Hey, boys,” I said calmly. “I need to steal Anders for just a second.”
I didn’t wait for permission. I stepped into the circle, held out my hand, and helped Anders to his feet. Once he was standing, he didn’t let go. I kept his hand in mine and guided him toward the front of the house.
I pressed him gently back against the wall and threaded my fingers through the loose strands of hair that had escaped his bun.
“I know,” I said quietly. “I know you’re struggling.”
For the first time since we walked in, his shoulders dropped and his head came to rest against my shoulder.
“I love them,” he said softly. “They’re the best friends anyone could want. And I know they love me too.”
“They do love you,” I said. “And that’s why they’ll be okay if you step away. Give them that credit. They love you enough to understand.”
Anders nodded and relaxed enough to let a little more weight settle into my hold.
“I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly.” He nodded but didn’t look up. “Do you want to go home?”
The sigh that left him came from his soul. “Yes, please.” He paused, then added, “Jakob and the rest of them will be upset though.”
“You said they love you. Trust them.”
I stepped back just enough to cradle Anders’s jaw in my hand and press a soft kiss to his lips. He breathed a little easier.
“I just don’t want them to be upset.”
“Let them love you,” I repeated. “Trust them.”
Anders gave a slow nod. I kissed him again. “Let’s go tell them. I’ll do the talking.”
He didn’t even pretend to argue. He kept his hand in mine and followed half a step behind as we reentered the living room. The littles had rejoined their Daddies while we’d been in the entryway.
“Thank you for inviting us,” I said. “Jakob, happy birthday. I hope you enjoy your gift.” I handed him the envelope I’d tucked back into my pocket. “We’re going to head out.”
“Tell them I just need quiet time,” Anders whispered near my ear. “I’ll message the group chat when I get home.”
“Anders needs a little quiet,” I said evenly. “He’ll update the group chat later.”
“Anders, you mad?” Jakob asked. The worry in his voice was immediate.
Reed stepped forward and rested a reassuring hand on his boy’s shoulder. “Emil will take care of Anders. He likely just needs rest. Anders knows I’m a doctor, and he can call me anytime if he needs to.”
He handed me a slip of paper. When I glanced down, I saw his number. I nodded and slipped it into my pocket.
Anders stared at the ceiling, fighting back tears. Whatever weight had landed on him today, it had been too much. He was holding it together by sheer force of will. There was no damn way I wouldn’t give him a soft place to land.
We said our goodbyes and stepped outside. The boys seemed confused, but they said goodbye from a distance. They’d finally recognized Anders’s fragility in the moment.
Anders sat quietly in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around himself. I turned on the heat and the seat warmers.
“Let’s go home, sweet boy.”