I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and holding her steady as the emotion swells through her. “Every Christmas you missed, Es. Every unanswered letter from Santa—I wanted you to walk into them. They’re yours now.”
She turns in my arms, tears streaking her cheeks as she shakes her head in disbelief. “No one…no one’s ever done anything like this for me.”
I press my lips to her damp cheeks, to her forehead. “Get used to it. This is only the beginning.”
I take her hand again and guide her down the hall to the master on the first floor, the heavy oak door swinging open into a space Marlow poured herself into—soft golds, creamy whites, a reading nook by the window, shelves already lined with books, and a bed draped in warm, welcoming quilts. It feels lived in. It feels hers.
“I’m not asking you to move in,” I begin, my voice thick, careful. “At least not yet. But I am giving you a room of your own in my home. Marlow decorated it and everything.”
She turns to me, tears streaming uncontrollably. “What?”
I nod. “She wanted you to have a home with us.Wewanted you to have a home with us. Whenever you wanted. Wherever we are.”
I dip my head to kiss her on the lips. Soft. “Because some people, Es…some people are meant to stay,” I remind her. A call back from that magical night in Vegas. A reminder of her mother’s words.
She looks around the room again. “It really feels like me!”
“That’s what I said,” Marlow calls from behind.
When Eslin turns, stunned, her tears spill harder because Declan and Marlow are standing in the doorway, Declan holding an oversized teddy bear almost as big as him. Marlow is holding a puppy.
Eslin looks at me and screams. “You got me a puppy?”
“Yeah,” Marlow says sarcastically. “He’s never given me a puppy when I asked for one.”
Eslin runs over and takes the furry rescue from Marlow’s hand. “And he has puppy breath!”
“I figure we can call him Nutmeg,” I say.
Eslin looks up at me. “Why Nutmeg?”
“A call back to the day we first kissed.”
She grins. “And the day I got hit in the head with a soccer ball from a nutmeg play?”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
We all hug. The four of us. And I press a kiss to the top of Eslin’s head and whisper, “Welcome home.”
And just like that, my world—the one I never thought I’d get back—feels whole.
Chapter sixty-three
Nonnos & Newborns
Eslin
Seven Months Later
It’s the middle of July, and even with the hospital’s air-conditioning running full blast, it feels like we’re all melting. Sweat sticks to the back of my neck, my scrubs cling to me in all the wrong places, and still—still—none of it matters. Because in Marlow’s arms, the world has stopped.
Baby Maddy Mariana Agassi has arrived, a squirming, sticky little bundle of heat and perfection. Born the same month I moved to Atlanta last year, like God wanted to stitch our timelines together. She’s all fire and olive, fierce even in her first cries, and I swear when she furrows her tiny brow, I see a little bit of me in her.
All the fights me and hermama had.
One by one, the players filter in. Big, brooding, larger-than-life men suddenly turned awkward and quiet in the presence of seven pounds of new life. None of them dare ask to hold her. But they all bring something. A miniature jersey, a soccer ball rattle, tiny cleats that won’t fit her for years. A baby blanket embroidered with the Strikers’ crest. Each gift, clumsy and perfect in its own way.
I lean against the wall, arms folded, and take it all in. My family. My crazy, wacky family that came together one insane night in Vegas and somehow, against all odds, turned into this. A team. A tribe. A home.
