“Fuck off.”
“Language,” he says on instinct, but there’s no bite to it.
I finish my own food while Isaac retrieves his duffel bag and dumps it on the couch. Fuck, he looks exhausted.
“Dude, take my bed,” I say. “I can handle the couch for a week.”
“Nah, I want to be in range if the kids need me in the middle of the night. The couch is fine, man.”
It’s his back, I guess.
Tiny feet stampede down the hall, and Daphne rushes up to Isaac, pulling her shirt out for emphasis. There’s a sequined unicorn on the front with ballet shoes.
“Dad, look what Uncle Benji got me.”
Even at five, it’s obvious she takes more after my side of the family—confident to go after what she wants and smart enough to know how to get it. Dom is like my brother, through and through. Quieter, more sensitive, but no less intelligent. Smarter, in my opinion, because, unlike me, Isaac’s patient.
He wraps her in a hug. “That was really nice of him. Did you say thank you?”
Daphne barely turns her head to scream, “Thankyou, Uncle Benji,” while a softer echo comes from Dom in the guest room.
Isaac mostly hides his wince. Dude needs a massage and a holiday.
I cross my arms over my chest, watching them. “Where’s Rebecca? I thought she was coming with you this time?”
Daphne answers first, “She’s working.”
And then the boring adult conversation sends her back to her brother.
Isaac sags back into the couch with a sigh, which isn’t a great sign.
I fold myself into the armchair beside him. “Everything okay?”
He’s nodding, wiping his hands on his knees. “Yeah, uh, I’m going to ask Bec to marry me.”
Something in my chest just … fucking clenches and burns, but it’s good. It’s really, really good because I’m proud of how happy Isaac is and the future he’s building. It’s just … I want that too. A future. A family.
I want it with Paige. I don’t want anyone else.
“What the fuck? I thought you were dying or something. Shit, man, that’s amazing.” I grab him and pull him into a hunched-over hug, slapping his back. “Congratulations.”
He’s smiling when he pulls back. “Thanks. She’s incredible, you know, and, oh, the kids love her. I love her. Why waste any more time?”
Fuck, I know exactly what he means. Hell, it was theprime topic of conversation when I was staying with him. Taking the bull by its horns and all thatcarpe diemstuff. But his knee is jumping, and he only ever babbles when he’s nervous.
“Hey,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “She’s going to say yes, all right? And as long as you don’t go eloping in Vegas without telling me, I can start designing something for the invites.”
Before last year, I hadn’t picked up a pencil to draw anything in years. Had talked myself out of it, too choked up on not being good enough. I talked myself out of a lot of good things that way, Paige being at the top of the list. But I’ve been practicing, and it would be good to do this for him.
Isaac was a model kid. StraightA’s, perfect posture—I’m convinced he used to tape a fucking ruler to the inside of his shirts—and always agreeable. I always knew he’d be a great dad—he got enough practice with me after all.
It was rough for him after his wife died, but he pulled through, and those kids have never gone a single day wondering if he loves them. He’d go to the ends of the earth for his kids.
He exhales, but it’s less stressed and more of a release. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
He leans his head back and closes his eyes, and I head back into the kitchen. Champagne is usually the right thing for celebrations, right? I don’t have any, but maybe beer will do.
I pull two out of the fridge. “Hey, do you want—” I turn, only to find Isaac asleep on the couch. Poor guy.
