Chapter 35
Cody
We’re halfway through the season now, November settling in with its cold mornings and shorter days.
I’ve found a rhythm—if you can call it that—a balance between work and making sure I’m there for Karissa and Emma.
Most nights after scouting, I drive straight over.
Not every night, but almost. I’ll take Emma so Karissa can shower and eat without rushing, then half the time I’m the one rocking her to sleep.
After that, Karissa and I usually just sit, sometimes talking, sometimes not. Just being there feels like enough.
She’s been doing a little better. Therapy helps, I think. Once a week she’s either on a video call in the bedroom with the door shut, or, if someone can watch Emma, she’ll go in person. Depends on the day.
It also seems to have helped that Emma turned a corner. She’s almost six months old now and able to sit up and do more with toys and such. She’s happier, she’s not eating as frequently, she’s not waking as much in the night. I’m praying this is all she needed, that it was just the age.
The sun hasn’t come up yet. I’ve been coming by in the mornings too, to keep the woodstove going. Except today, it looks like she thought she’d get ahead of it for me.
I open the woodstove door to find one full-size log sitting on all the ashes with some kindling. Not a single hot coal in sight.
I glance to Karissa over on the couch, nursing and then hopefully going back to bed.
I laugh to myself. “Nice try, but it’s unfortunately not going to light like this.”
“I just did what you do.”
“Sweetie, this is not how I do it.”
“Well, from what I see, you just throw in a few logs and—voilà—it’s a fire.”
I can’t help but laugh. “No. Want me to teach you?”
“Sure.”
I move over to give her a better view and grab some newspaper.
“This comes first.” I crumple it into a loose ball and set it in the middle of the stove, right between the few glowing coals I found buried under the log she’d put in. I grab the kindling next, stacking it in a small teepee over the paper, slipping a few thicker pieces between the gaps.
“Oh…honey, I’m not much of a builder,” she says, unsure, laughing.
“Trust me, it’s not hard.” I lean in and blow at the base. The smoke increases and soon the newspaper fully lights. “See? Then you just wait until the kindling catches and add a slightly bigger piece to it. But not a full-size log.” I glare at her playfully. She snickers.
“You know, when we get married, it’ll just be easier for you to do this and I won’t have to stress.”
“I know. But I don’t want you to stress. It’s not hard.”
“I know.” She puts Emma up on her shoulder to burp and I add a little more wood to the flames.
I watch her carry her back to the room and she comes out a second later, shutting the door carefully behind her. Monitor in hand, no crying yet.
“She’s going down by herself good still?”
“Yeah. For now,” she mutters, eyes flicking to the monitor.
I stand and walk toward her, and before I get much closer, she opens her arms for a hug.
I want to stay right here, wrapped up like this with her. I miss her.
I tuck my chin down for a kiss, but she turns her head.
“I have morning breath,” she says quickly.
“I don’t care.” I slide my hand to her jaw, guiding her lips back to mine and kiss her anyway.
She lets me, but when I try to deepen it, she pulls back with a grimace. “It’s gross, Cody.”
“Well, if we’re gonna get married someday, you’re gonna have to get used to it. Morning breath, bed hair, your grumpy attitude before you’ve had your coffee, I want it all.” I grin.
She pushes me. “Nuh-uh.”
“Yes.” I laugh, kissing her again.
Speaking of marriage…just two weeks ago, Wesley had me, my parents, Jesse, and Mason all gathered in the living room to ask for my sister’s hand.
And as much as I want to hold on to this idea of her still being a ten-year-old little girl who was scared of Bigfoot, Addison’s grown.
And she and Wesley were made for each other.
Relationships are hard. Life is hard. Both she and Wesley’s work life can be grueling. And I worry about her balancing it all. I can barely balance it myself, no matter how put-together I might seem on the outside.
Karissa bites my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, her hand sliding up my back. Heat rolls through me, spreading fast, and for a second, I’m convinced this is the reason I walked through the door in the first place. But it’s not. I came to get the fire going, nothing more. I’ve got clients waiting.
“I gotta go,” I mutter, pulling back, breath shallow as I press my forehead to hers.
“I know.”
“I love you and I hope you get some sleep.”
She smiles. “I will.”
* * *
It’s been a long, successful day full of laughs, limits met, and satisfied clients.
The main house is pretty quiet when I step inside. The faint hum of the news drifts from the TV in the living room, and I catch the sound of the sink running from the kitchen.
I toe off my boots and leave my keys on the table by the door before turning the corner. Mom’s in the kitchen in her pajamas, scrubbing a pot; the microwave’s humming.
“Hey,” I call out, and she eyes me.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking about something, and I kinda want your take…and Dad’s.”
She nods and turns the sink off. “Sure.” She pulls her mug from the microwave and dips her tea bag in it. I follow her to the living room. Dad’s in his recliner, feet up, almost asleep.
“Oh boy,” he says when he sees me. He grunts and sits up.
I laugh and take a seat on the couch while Mom sits in her usual spot on the other couch, pulling a blanket over her legs and getting settled.
“So…” I breathe. “I’m thinking about marrying Karissa.”
Mom’s eyes widen and she grins.
“That sounds like a statement, not a question.” Dad laughs.
I exhale sharply. “Yeah, well…it’s both.
” I look down before I look up. “I love her and she feels the same. We’ve talked about the future and are on the same page.
It’s just…” I pause, rubbing the back of my neck.
“I don’t want to rush into it just because it would make life easier, being under the same roof and all. I want to do it for the right reasons.”
“You think love isn’t a good enough reason?” Dad asks, not rude, just firm.
“No, I know it’s a plenty good reason. But I’ve also done this before, and part of me is still…scared.”
“Does she know you’re scared?” Mom asks.
“Yeah.”
“And what did she say?”
“To trust her. That she’s not Bree.”
“Then trust her,” Dad says in a way that doesn’t warrant an argument.
“I do.”
“She’s not some crazy, off-the-wall, immature girl. She’s a mom,” he insists.
“I know. That’s what makes this heavier, I think.”
“You think you’re ready to take on that role?” Dad asks. I look at him. There’s a softness in his eyes.
“No.” I laugh and shrug. “But I’m gonna give it my best shot.”
“You’re already doing great,” Mom says. “She can’t say enough about you and about how helpful you are.”
“Yeah. I think I’ll be alright. It’s only been a few months, though.” I run the back of my neck and sigh. A few months? That just sounds crazy to me.
Dad leans back in his chair. “You’re nearly thirty. You’ve lived a lot of life already. You’re not some sixteen-year-old who needs five years to figure out if she’s the one. You know what kind of woman she is. You’ve seen her at her worst and still want her. That says enough.”
Mom nods. “When you’re older, it’s less about time and more about certainty. And sometimes that certainty comes fast. Look at Jesse and Ella. Even Wes and Addison. He’s gonna propose by the end of the year.”
I nod slowly, the weight in my chest easing up just a little.
“She makes me better,” I admit. “She makes me happier and I feel complete. As stupid as that sounds. I want to step up into that role, for good. I don’t see a point in waiting around for something we already know we want.”
“Then don’t,” Dad says simply, and it’s all I needed to hear.