“I’m willing to try. I told her I’m all in, and I meant it.”
“You know, whatever you need, I’ll be here for you. I don’t know shit about kids, but you know just as well as I do that being present and doing everything you can to protect them and make sure they’re safe, healthy, and happy is what’s most important. I’m sure you’re gonna fuck up and make mistakes, but you just have to own up to them and keep trying to be better.” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Not because they were anything groundbreaking, but because they’re a reminder of how different his life could have been were it not for our parents.
Luke was a toddler when he was adopted, but even at seven years old, I never saw him as anything other than my brother. He was too young to remember his life with his biological family, but from what our parentshave shared, it wasn’t good. Without them, his life would have taken a very different turn.
Having witnessed the beauty of adoption firsthand, I’ve never been wholly set on the idea that my children need to be biologically mine. Many people get caught up in “having a child of their own” as though somehow being genetically tied to a person is the only thing that makes you family. Or maybe they’re afraid that bringing a child into the family, instead of a baby being born, will mean they love the child less. In reality, it has nothing to do with how a child is brought into a family and everything to do with the way that family loves and cares for each other. And then there are children in situations like Jake’s, where they were never given the chance to know one or both of their parents
Like Tessa said, she and her son are a package deal. If I’m serious about her, which I am, then I need to be serious about him too.
My pulse feels like it’s trying to hammer its way through my veins, nerves coiling deep in my stomach. “I just want to be the best that I can for them, you know? I want them to know they can count on me.”
“Then I think you’ll be just fine,” Luke says in reassurance.
I can only hope he’s right.
Chapter nineteen
Logan
I’mprobablyfuckingcrazyfor thinking I can handle spending the day with a five-year-old. Maybe not certifiable, but enough so that when I told Luke what I was doing today, he laughed and wished me luck.
Thanks, brother.
I meant it when I told Tessa I was all in. And fuck if I’m not already crazy about her. It’s a different kind of crazy, though. The good kind that makes my heart jolt in my chest every time she smiles at something I said or when she says my name in that slightly raspy voice of hers. The kind that makes me want to savor and slow down time when we’re together and speed it up when we’re apart. Which, again, I know sounds absolutely fucking insane because, other than the night we hooked up, yesterday was the first day we spent a decent amount of time together.
And now I’m getting ready to spend the entire day with her and her son. Google became my best friend last night when I spent more time than I care to admit looking up ideas for things to do in Hartridge and the surrounding towns. Shocker: not a whole fucking lot. I managed to find a small zoo about an hour away, and if that’s a no-go, then there’s also a bowling alley with an arcade.
Is five too young for bowling? I don’t know if they make bowling balls small enough for kids, but I figure, worst-case scenario, I get to teach the little guy how to do a good ol’ fashioned granny-roll.
My goal today is to have fun with them and make sure Jake is comfortable because I don’t plan on going anywhere.
Sliding into my truck, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot off a text message to Tessa to let her know I’m on my way. Clicking my phone into the dash mount, I get my playlist loaded and make the short drive over to her place. The town may be small according to the population count, but it’s so spread out that it takes a solid fifteen minutes to get anywhere.
My pulse begins to race as I pull up in front of her house, and I take a moment to steady myself. A few deep breaths later, I’m out of the truck and walking up her painted white front porch steps. My fist barely has a chance to knock before the door swings open. Jake brushes his sandy blond hair out of his eyes as he peers up at me. A smile lights up his face as he exclaims, “Hey, you’re the fireman from the store.”
I reach a hand up and rub the back of my neck as I chuckle. “That’s me. I’m Logan.” I extend a hand out to him, but his little brows furrow as he looks at it, and my skin prickles with a hint of embarrassment as I drop my hand to my side. Was it weird to introduce myself to him? Does he even know to shake hands with someone when you introduce yourself? I probably should have waited for Tessa to tell him who I am.
Fuck. I’m already messing this up.
“Is your mom ready?” I ask, trying to shove away the feeling of doubt.
“Jake, I told you not to open the door,” she scolds, walking up behind him. She pulls the door open wider and steps to the side, glancing downat her son. She places one hand on his back, gesturing to me with the other. “Jake, this is my friend, Logan.”
My heart aches at her use of the word “friend,” but I understand her need to keep our relationship between us for now.
Jake leans into his mom’s side and offers me a gentle wave along with a mumbled, “Hi.”
“Come on in, Logan. I just need to throw my shoes on,” Tessa says.
I close the door behind me as she sits on the couch and pulls on a pair of white shoes. She’s wearing a flowy, floral-patterned skirt that falls just below her knees, a plain white shirt with a small knot tied in the front, and her dark brown hair is pulled back with one of those big clips.
She looks fucking gorgeous.
All I want to do is march across the room, pull her into my arms, and kiss her. I’ve been dying for another taste of her since the morning I woke up to find her gone, but now isn’t the time to indulge in that craving. As soon as I get the chance to have her all to myself, and I know she’s ready, I plan on taking my time to properly discover every little thing that pulls those delicious sounds from her lips. For now, the memory of them will have to suffice.
“Why are you not dressed like a fireman?” her son asks, stepping up to my side as he looks up at me.
Smiling, I crouch down so we are eye-level. “Last time I saw you, I was working. I have to wear certain clothes when I’m on duty, but today, I’m hanging out with you and your mom instead.”
