It’s not really a question, more a demand, a plea, and I don’t care because I’ve been his for so long now that I don’t ever want to think about being with anyone else. If he’d said no, I’d have been begging and pleading too. We belong together.
With no ability to talk at the moment, I nod enthusiastically, and he bolts to his feet to pick me up and swing me around once again. Joy consumes my entire body, and I’m not sure how my overly emotional boyfriend—ha! Fiancé—is containing all his many big and messy feelings in his body right now because I’m close to my limits.
Happiness overwhelms me. Electricity buzzes through my veins as he slides the ring onto my finger before kissing each of my fingertips and leaving a trail of kisses up the inside of my forearm.
“We need to call everyone back again to tell them the good news.” I’m staring at my ring over his shoulder as he holds me, mumbling sweet nothings in my ear about how he’ll always make sure the dishwasher is run before we go to bed, and how he’ll never let my ice cream supply run empty.
As though it heard me, my phone chimes, and we both freeze.
Could we be three for three today?
“Are we making it a hat trick?” Justin echoes my sentiment as he hands me the phone without looking at the screen. His eyes never leave mine as though sending me unspoken waves of support and steadiness.
We have talked about our plans to start a family time and again. We want to foster, foster to adopt, and to have biological kids of our own as well. We want a big family, he wants enough kids to have his own hockey team, but I think I’ve talked him down to the right side of six.
I think four is a good number, one for each of our hands to hold onto when we’re out in force, any more than four and we’re going to start needing leashes. I think that’s frowned upon. A shame, really. A few more leashes at my local grocery store wouldn’t be amiss, and I don’t even mean for the kids.
My insides warm at the idea that the message waiting for me on the phone could be the beginning of making our family. I glance at the “stuff” drawer in the kitchen. Everything my parents and the private investigator found out about my birth family is in an envelope in there. I read it from time to time, but I haven’t felt the need to do anything with it. I’m not sure I ever will.
They never tracked down my father, but my birth mother has a sister who is married with two kids, and a few cousins from her dad’s side.
Other than diabetes on my birth mother’s father’s side, nothing came back in the reports to suggest anything sinister in my future.
“You’ve got to look at it, pretty girl.”
The words swim as I cry for the third time in less than an hour. Not only has our application to become foster parents been accepted, but our newly assigned case worker says we might have an emergency foster child with us in a few days, maybe even as soon as tomorrow. She’s calling me in an hour.
“We’re going to be parents.” My words out loud confirm the words on the screen of my cell. Surely this is a dream? How can this much good happen to two people all in one day?
I show Justin the message, and he picks me up, tossing me over his shoulder like I’m as light as a kitchen towel.
A sharp smack and the ensuing sting makes me stop wiggling in his hold.
“If we’re getting a kid tomorrow, we need to take advantage of the quiet house and being able to do what we want, when we want, where we want.”
I’m picking up what he’s putting down, and by the time he tosses me onto the bed I’ve already shucked my shirt and bra.
“Wow. It seems my fiancée has some upside down stripping skills I didn’t know she had.”
“Shut up, get naked, and make me scream.”
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Pulling the Goalie
Chapter 32
Eloise
I hate sports.
And I’m not just saying that because my dad’s back in town and dragged me damn near kicking and screaming to the UCR hockey game tonight, though that might be a contributing factor. I’d rather boil my head.
It’s cold. I’m cold. All the way to my size five feet. Can your bone marrow be cold? I feel like as a nursing student I should probably know the answer to that question, but I’m only a freshman. Maybe you learn that particular answer in your sophomore year.
Whether or not it’s possible, it’s happened. Maybe I’m the first ever person to have cold bone marrow, but I’m cold all the way through. I’m pretty sure I’m going to get frostbite in my fingers and nose. Though I guess if my nose turned purple, or black, people would have a reason other than the jagged scars to stare at my face.
I shiver, more from the memory than the cold, and on instinct my hand drifts up to where my vibrant pink hair falls to just below my chin level. I have it cut such that the bangs typically hide the remnants of the worst day of my life. I can’t ignore the stabbing in my chest, the lump in my throat, or the welling of tears in my eyes as Mom’s dying face flickers into my mind.
