Her hand pressed against the side of my cheek with a soft, whispered sigh. “Yes. Yes I’ll marry you and have your babies. But can we go to sleep first?”
I chuckled, unable to control the grin spreading across my face at such a Molly response. “We can sleep first.”
I spun her around, moving us into our usual sleeping positions, curling her into the little spoon as I let sleep take her.
My last thought as I drifted off behind her?
This life wouldn’t be for everyone, but it’sours, and for us, it’s perfect. I don’t want to change a second of it.
The next chapter’s about to begin.
And I can’t fucking wait.
- THE END -
PROLOGUE
No one likes a Tuesday. That is a well-known fact. Or at least it’s well known among the Tuesday Club members, anyway. All three of them.
The reasons were solid.
Tuesday was the day Murray came home to find a baby on his doorstep with a note saying she was his. Although that one turned out good in the end, it was fairly harrowing for the first week or so.
Tuesday was the day Rafe had been corralled by his mother into representing her friend in a divorce case, one which he later discovered had pitted him against his law school nemesis, and the bane of his existence, Beulah Holmes. That one also turned out alright in the end, but again things were fairly harrowing for a while.
And Tuesday was the day Penn found out his eldest sister had gone behind his back, and pushed him out of the job he’d worked his entire adult life preparing for. It didn’t help that it coincided with a dramatic and embarrassing loss for The Yankees against The Red Sox.
It was that precise moment which had Penn reinforcing the club rules, the ones which had existed since its inception at their Beacon Hill brownstone; no girls, no drama, no injuries.
And that’s all fine and dandy; except when the first rule is broken, the others aren’t going to be too far behind…
Chapter 41
Do you know what it’s like to have your world implode? Where everything you thought you knew was ripped away from you in the blink of an eye, and nothing makes sense anymore?
It’s happened to me twice.
First, the day my dad died.
I was eleven, and he was on his way from a meeting to watch me play Little League when he had a massive heart attack. I’d hit three home runs before I noticed my nanny waiting in the stands next to our coach, her eyes glistening.
Growing up in a household with four older sisters, my father had been my best friend. My buddy. We’d sneak away from the squabbling girls and head somewhere quieter, just the two of us boys. We spent our time together watching baseball, or he’d take me out to the backyard and play catch - it didn’t matter as long as baseball was involved.
It wasourthing.
He instilled in me a passion for the game, and most importantly, a love for his favorite team – the mighty New York Yankees. During the season, we’d go to watch them every chance we’d get. Sometimes if I’d finished my homework in time, we’d go to the stadium during the week, and he’d sit me on his knee and romance about the magic we were going to witness; whichplayers to watch, the teams we needed to fight hardest against. And then he’d tell me how one day he was going to buy it.
That one day we would own The Yankees.
Even now, for the first minute I enter Yankee Stadium – inhale that musky scent of the ballpark clashing with the freshly cut grass, or hear that first crack of the ball – I’m transported back to our seats, to my dad’s knee, and my chest tightens until my breath catches… and I miss my dad so fucking much it’s tangible.
Which leads me to my second implosion. Prepare to be outraged.
Let me set the scene…
When my dad died, I took his place as the next male heir to my grandfather’s conglomerate. My dad was his only son from his four kids, and out of his eleven grandchildren, I am the only grandson.
Yep, surrounded by women.
