Chapter 5 Carson
CARSON
I can’t do this.
Nylah needs to stop thinking I can.
Owning my own business? Why does she believe I’m even capable of succeeding with such a massive feat?
I mean, sure, I’ve dreamed about it, but those are just my imaginings. Dreams don’t actually come true that way.
Yes, they do.
My scoff is impossible to hold down.
“Hey.” Nylah gives me a stern look. “Stop doing that. You are capable, and I kind of hate that you think you’re not.”
“Just because I’m a good mechanic doesn’t mean I can run a business, Kitten.” I keep my voice short and clipped, because that’s all I can manage right now.
I’m still kind of reeling over one-point-four million.
What the fuck?
Dad was loaded and we didn’t even know?
He never lived like he had means.
I didn’t see him after he got out—not until I visited his deathbed—but from what I’ve heard, he was living in a shithole. Mom went by his place to get a few things for him when he was laid up in the hospital, and she said it was a sparsely furnished matchbox.
The only thing of value he had was his motorcycle, which he also left to me.
Shit, I don’t even know if I have the guts to go and collect it.
“Everything is going to be fine.” Nylah buckles her seat belt, adjusting it to sit below the curve of her belly.
I glance at her beach ball stomach before starting the car and waving a final goodbye to Mom. She blows me a kiss, her smile sweet with understanding before she pulls away.
She’s heading to the airport now, returning the rental car, then flying home to San Francisco.
She’s still with the douchebag, although he’s turned out to be a pretty fucking awesome grandpa. The girls adore him, at first to my angst, and now to my reluctant acceptance.
He’ll be waiting for Mom when she lands, his arms wide open with a hug and a listening ear.
Shit, I should be happy she’s got a stable guy in her life.
Reversing out of the parking space, I head home, thinking about that bombshell that just blew up in my face. Dad left me a shit ton of money.
Holy fuck.
Gripping the wheel, I try to feel grateful for the gift.
And yeah, I am. I mean, it’s awesome, really.
But I would have given up every fucking penny if I’d gotten to spend more time with him when he was alive. If he’d let me reconnect with him after he got out of prison… shit, I would have taken that over any amount of money.
“He believed in you,” Nylah whispers. “He wouldn’t have left you that money if he didn’t. Please, don’t waste this chance, Carson. You’ll regret it forever if you do.”
“I…” Huffing out a sigh, I shake my head and finally mutter, “Just let me process this shit, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Nylah mumbles.
Resting her hand on her belly, she rubs the side, a habitual move she’s probably not even aware she does. Oh man, she can’t wait for this pregnancy to be over. It’s been tough on her, and I’m really hoping it’ll be her last.
I didn’t even want a third, but when she told me she was pregnant, I had to act happy, right? And when we found out we were having a boy, she got so excited.
I hugged her and smiled the way I was supposed to, but man… I’m fucking terrified.
A boy?
How the fuck am I supposed to raise a boy?
It was hard enough getting my head around two girls, but a boy?
What if I let him down?
What if I can’t teach him everything he needs to know?
And now Nylah’s thinking I can run a business on top of that?
She must be out of her mind.
She definitely is. That’s the only explanation. Pregnancy brain is making her say stupid shit to me.
Once the kid is born, she’ll come to her senses and things can just go back to the way they should be.
You mean working for a shit boss?
A growl rumbles in my throat, but it’s quiet enough to get drowned out by the music. Nylah’s now singing, rubbing circles on her belly and serenading our son.
We’ve decided to call him Jonas, although we’re gonna wait until he pops out before telling anyone that. We just want to make sure he looks like a Jonas.
The name is Nylah’s choice. I don’t mind it so much, but she let me name the girls—Portia and Harley—so it’s only fair.
I was really hoping she’d pick something like Aston or Axel, maybe Ryder, but she was stuck on Jonas. So we’re gonna have a little Joe running around and…
My lips twitch before I can stop them.
Jonas McAvoy.
Yeah, it’s got a good ring to it.
Lil’ Joe.
My lil’ Joey.
A sudden vision of him forms in my mind.
Will he be blond like me?
Will his skin be dark like Nylah’s?
Or will he be a blend of us both?
The twins definitely surprised us, so who knows what this one will do.
When the girls were born, I was expecting two little blends—darker skin, probably brown eyes with curly black hair.
But nope, we got one pale-skinned, brown-eyed blondie and one dark-skinned, blue-eyed beauty with thick black curls just like her mama’s.
I love how different they are, yet they share some of the same mannerisms. You’d never guess they’re twins. You probably wouldn’t even guess they’re sisters.
Pulling up outside the Joneses’ residence, I go to get out and collect my babies when Nylah stops me with a hand to my arm.
“Caveman,” she whispers.
I turn back to look at her.
“I know this is all really overwhelming right now, and I’m not saying we have to decide on the spot or anything, but just know…”
I swallow as she pauses to lick her lips.
“Just know that you’re capable of anything. You’re an amazing man, a good father, a wonderful husband. And you can be a successful business owner too.”
She’s so fucking sure of me.
How the hell did I score this woman?
I have no idea what to say, so I simply lean over and kiss her lips. Her pretty, plump lips, which I love so much. I love the shape of them, the taste of them… I love the way they smile. I don’t even mind it when they frown.
I love them because they belong to her, and she is everything.
“Love you, Kitten.” My voice comes out all husky and gruff.
She grins and presses a final kiss to my lips before the front door opens and two excited four-year-olds start careening toward us.
As usual, Harley runs straight for her mom while I gather Portia into my arms.
“How’s my girl?” I stare into her bright blue eyes and am rewarded with a sparkling smile.
“Good. We’ve been baking!”
“Nice.”
“We made Christmas cookies for the weekend!” Portia starts telling me the icing colors and shapes while Harley holds Nylah’s hand and quietly watches on, only speaking up to correct Portia.
“We didn’t use that much food coloring. It was just a few drops.” She tries to share her side of the story but gets overridden by Portia. So typical. They’re night and day, these two.
One is overconfident, loud and smiley. The other is gentle and quiet, slow to smile and preferring to hide in the shadows than be front and center.
But she still deserves an opportunity to speak as well.
Nylah squeezes Harley’s hand. “What cookies did you make, baby?”
“I already told you.” Portia flicks her hand up.
“Yes, you did.” Nylah crouches down to get eye level with her shy daughter. “But I’m asking Harley.”
Portia gives me an exasperated look, and I ruffle the top of her hair while Harley takes her sweet time softly explaining how she made the Christmas tree ones. Her words are slow and deliberate, and she always takes way too long to explain anything because she goes into so much detail.
Portia’s soon jittering on her feet with impatience. I cover her mouth when she goes to speak, and she frowns up at me before I finally let her go so she can blurt, “But mine are better.” Her chest puffs out with pride while I roll my eyes. “I made angels.”
“I like Christmas trees.” Harley frowns. “What’s wrong with Christmas trees?”
“Nothing. Angels are just better.”
Harley’s lips dip into a wounded frown while Nylah laughs. “Oh, Portia, stop. Angel cookies are not better than Christmas trees. They are both wonderful, and I can’t wait to taste one of each.”
Nylah smiles at our youngest daughter—by twenty-eight minutes—lightly brushing her pale cheek until a tentative smile forms on Harley’s lips.
The way she looks at my wife… yeah, she truly trusts and adores her mama.
It makes my heart bleed that she doesn’t have Portia’s confidence.
All I can hope is that she’ll get there and won’t let this shyness and uncertainty hold her back from anything.
“Girls,” Nylah’s mom calls from the doorway. “Come and get your things.”
Portia skips away from us, and Harley trails after her. I wrap my arm around Nylah, helping her up the front steps.
“Do you need me to get your cane?”
“No, we’ll only be here for a minute. I’ll get you to help me back to the car, though.”
“Of course.” I kiss the side of her head as we enter the house, then shake Coach’s hand. The guy might be my father-in-law now, but I still call him Coach. I always will.
“How’d it go, son?”
I open my mouth to try and respond, but in the end I just shake my head.
The words have turned to ash in my mouth, and I don’t want to bring up this discussion right now.
We’ve got a Football Frat Christmas to get ready for, and I can’t be thinking about one-point-four million dollars and what the fuck I’m supposed to do with it.
Nylah comes to my rescue. “We’ll update you later, if that’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure. Maybe we can catch up for dinner after your special weekend.”
“Sounds good.” She smiles up at her dad, kissing his cheek and then letting her mom say hi to her belly before we trundle the kids down to our car.
It’s like herding cats, and there’s only two of them. I don’t know how we’re gonna manage three.
It used to be one per parent or one hand each when you were flying solo.
But three?
How the fuck is that supposed to work?
The girls start bickering over who gets to open the door, and as usual, Harley gives up and lets Portia win. I really need to teach that girl to fight a little harder for herself.
Nylah tuts. “We need to teach that girl that she doesn’t have to get her own way every single time.” She eyes Portia with a frown as I help her down the last few steps and walk her around to the passenger door.
Helping her up, I then check that both girls are buckled into their car seats before waving goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa.
“Thanks for having them,” I call, noticing the first snowflake hit my sleeve.
Glancing up, I watch the soft flurry that’s starting to fill the air.
Nylah’s gonna be stoked. She can’t get enough of light snow like this.
“It’s magical,” she always says.
“They’re always welcome.” Nylah’s mom grins at me, wrapping her arm around Coach’s waist as they wave us off.
I maneuver out of the driveway and head back to our place, Nylah running through the logistics of the afternoon.
We’ll probably be the first ones to arrive at the house Sienna booked for us, so we’ll have a chance to set things up and make sure the place is nice and warm as people trickle in throughout the evening. It’s gonna be good to see everyone again.
I need to talk to my boys.
They’ll totally get that I can’t open a business right now. They can help back me up when I tell Nylah it’s not happening.