Chapter 37
Ava
“Let them in,” I say, full mama bear by this point.
“Ms. Alvarez. Oh my God. I didn’t realize these tiny people belonged to you. I’m so sorry.”
The second Snooki launches herself into my arms, I completely lose the ability to breathe.
“My sweet girl,” I whisper shakily, hugging her so tightly she squeaks.
“We thought you left,” she sobs against my neck.
I am leaving, and it nearly kills me.
Ollie crashes into us next while Connor hangs back looking painfully thirteen and emotionally wrecked.
I reach for him and tug him into our little huddle.
Connor pretends he doesn’t need comfort when he absolutely does.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
The receptionist suddenly rushes around the desk like she’s realized she accidentally barricaded the royal family outside Buckingham Palace.
“Ms. Alvarez, I just remembered we have a private VIP waiting area available if you’d like somewhere quieter,” she offers sweetly. “No one will even know you’re there.”
She just remembered?
Impeccable timing.
I’m pretty sure by private, she means soundproof.
Judging by her expression, she’s terrified the kids might stage another uprising at any second.
“That would be great,” I say graciously. Then I remember one very important problem.
“Where’s your father?”
The three of them freeze for half a second.
It’s subtle.
But absolutely suspicious.
“He’s in the bathroom,” Connor says a little too fast, already yanking out his phone. “I’ll text him.”
Hmm.
That answer feels weird.
Like, I don’t know, maybe they weren’t supposed to say bathroom.
Which means one of two things is happening here:
Either Harrison Evans is actively avoiding me…
or the man is currently trapped in an airport stall in the battle of his life against explosive diarrhea.
Honestly?
Both options sound equally satisfying.
Karma’s a real bitch.
The truth is, I’m too emotionally wrecked and not remotely prepared for his ridiculous face or stupidly attractive flannel.
And for the moment, I’m perfectly content letting three kids wrap me completely around their fingers.
The receptionist guides us down a quieter hallway past the cramped seating areas and food stations.
Snooki remains glued to my side like an emotional support barnacle while Ollie rapid-fires approximately seventeen conversations at once.
“And then Connor called dad Harrison, which he hates.”
“Hates worse than matcha?” I ask, because the man really does hate it.
“I thought his head was going to explode,” Ollie holds his hands out like his head is exploding.
I bump my shoulder against Connor’s. That earns me a smile.
“Then Snooki started crying,” Ollie continues, “and then we tracked you here—”
“Just like Sherlock Holmes.”
“Enola,” Snooki corrects me.
Then, Ollie suddenly digs into his pocket.
“These are from all of us.”
He proudly holds out three very crushed marigolds.
I have no idea how long he’s been carrying them around, and my vision blurs instantly.
“They’re the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.”
Snooki’s hugging my neck to the point I may pass out.
Ollie wedges himself against my side.
Connor settles shoulder-to-shoulder beside me, close enough that our arms stay pressed together.
Like maybe if he lets go for even a second, I’ll disappear again.
Right back at you, kiddo.
The receptionist leads us into a quiet private lounge tucked behind frosted glass doors.
Everything inside feels soft and expensive. Warm lighting. Marble tables. Cream-colored couches that will absolutely be dirtier by the time we leave.
Massive windows overlook the runway where planes glide across the tarmac beneath the gray afternoon sky.
We all pile onto the sofa together.
I smooth Snooki’s hair back while she chatters excitedly about how smart they were to find me.
Connor proudly walks me through the Instagram investigation like he’s presenting evidence before Congress.
While Ollie interrupts every thirty seconds to remind everyone he was the first person to recognize me beneath my enormous bug-eye disguise.
Somewhere, Coco Chanel’s ghost gasped into the void.
And for one dangerous, beautiful second, life feels normal.
And God, I want to hold onto it with both hands and never let go. Completely ignore the twist in the pit of my gut.
I’m an actress.
I should be able to do that.
But I can’t.
I glance between the three of them, soaking them in for one selfish second.
I love these kids so much. Like somewhere along the way, they curled up in a part of my heart I didn’t even know existed. A quiet little home that will always be theirs.
I glance down at my watch.
They’re going to board any second and you know what? Fuck the flight. I’ll catch another.
But the longer I sit here with the three of them tangled around me, the more something cold starts settling in my gut.
They’ve been here awhile now.
And Harrison still hasn’t checked on them once.
“Are you sure your father knows how to get here?” I ask carefully. I don’t want to alarm them if he’s wrapped up in work.
Or copious amounts of airport strength toilet paper.
Ollie hesitates. “Uh…”
“Yep,” Connor says quickly, covering for him instantly. “Totally. One hundred percent.”
Okay, something is definitely wrong.
Normally, they’d be bickering like caffeinated squirrels over the last double-fudge brownie on earth.
Right now, they’re backing each other’s play.
And I am absolutely onto them.
I flick my gaze between all three of them. “Unless your father has been abducted by aliens or is currently losing a very serious battle against diarrhea, there is absolutely no universe where he’d leave the three of you unsupervised in a luxury lounge this long.”
All three of them suddenly become deeply fascinated by the sky outside.
I fold my arms slowly. “Spill, mis hijos.”
“Tell her,” Ollie mutters, nudging Connor.
“You tell her. It was your idea.”
I lean closer to Snooki and whisper near her ear, “What are they trying to tell me?”
Sweet as anything, she whispers back, “We ran away.”
Oh, shit.
My stomach drops to the floor.
My gaze shoots straight to Connor, who I’m now ninety-nine percent sure never texted Harrison at all.
“Connor James Evans,” I say carefully. “Call your father. Right now.”
“But—” He slumps back against the couch cushions. “He’ll ruin it.”
Ruin it?
Ollie’s arms suddenly wrap around me tight enough to crack a rib.
“We already decided,” he says quietly. “We’re going to Iceland. With you.”
My heart tears in half.
Connor’s eyes squeeze shut. “If you leave without us, you’ll forget us.”
Oh God.
How could they think that?
I pull all three of them closer instantly. “No, I won’t.” My voice breaks softly. “I could never forget you.”
Snooki curls tighter against me while Ollie clings like an emotional octopus.
And I soak them all in.
“You guys wouldn’t let me,” I whisper, smoothing Connor’s hair back. “We’ll FaceTime constantly.”
Connor looks at me for a long second. “You didn’t answer our calls.”
It’s the second time he’s reminded me, and my heart cracks a little more.
Ugh, why did I listen to Harrison? I swear, I’m never doing that again when it comes to the kids.
They’re not strangers.
They’re mine.
Because somewhere along the way, these tiny humans adopted me. It’s the kind of love that roots deep, binds to the soul, and never, ever lets go.
So no take-backs, jack.
“I won’t do it again,” I promise quietly.
Connor studies me another second, then spits directly into his palm and holds it out.
“Swear.”
Oh. My. God.
Eww.
I stare at the tiny spit-covered hand in absolute horror.
“Well…” I point cautiously. “Counteroffer. I swear with my hand over my heart, and you go wash whatever biological warfare situation is happening there.”
Ollie snorts.
Even Snooki giggles.
I stand and clap my hands once. “Actually, all of you go wash your hands. Then we’re calling your father and raiding the buffet.”
That gets them moving so fast you’d think they haven’t eaten in days.
Which seems probable considering Connor’s grown an entire inch since I saw him forty-eight hours ago, and Ollie’s stomach has growled twice.
It’s going to take military-grade intervention to stop Snooki from clearing out the cookie station first.
Then a deep voice behind me says, “Did you just tell the kids they could raid the buffet?”
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
Fuck.
A.
Rubber.
Duck.