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My throat closes. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Daphne laughs. “Just text me. If you need anything.”
“Are you always this nice?”
She narrows her eyes. “No. Sometimes I’m a terrifying Morelli demon.”
I laugh so hard it takes me a minute to catch my breath. “This—this feels like a dream. I mean an actual dream, where I’m going to wake up and be back in my shitty apartment with the leak in the ceiling and the janky lock and all alone, without Will.”
That last part just slips out, and then it’s too late. I’ve said it.
Daphne doesn’t seem to think it’s weird. She looks across at Emerson, who sits between Sinclair and Will, rolling his eyes while they bicker. “The Leblanc men are a little bit…” A thoughtful pause. “Out there. But underneath, they’re good guys. You can count on Will.”
“God, I hope so.”
“You can.” Daphne looks me in the eye, beautiful and serious, and I want to believe her. “I know it.”
24
WILL
Saturday morning,and I’m cooking breakfast in a sunlit kitchen with about nine square miles of counter space.
How fucking domestic and family-esque is that?
How fucking strange is it that it feels good?
Aside from that disaster of a retirement party, yesterday felt absolutely incredible. My asshole heart doesn’t bother to cringe at the thought. It felt good. It hurt, for it to feel that good. There’s a weird pain that goes along with it that I can’t explain. I don’t know if it’s regret that it wasn’t always like this or the knowledge that it could end at any time or if it’s just that I want more of it.
I don’t know, and I’m not going to figure it out today. I’m going to ignore the pain. It’s less, anyway.
Sin and Emerson and Daphne stayed late. We had a fire in the fancy-ass pit by the pool and roasted marshmallows. Mia fell asleep wrapped in one of my giant hoodies, and Bristol had to take her up to bed, still half-dreaming. Ben went shortly after. And I got to sit and listen to Bristol and Daphne chat and Emerson and Sinclair talk, and it was so fucking good.
Nobody got punched, and I didn’t want to hit anyone, and for once in my whole goddamn life, it didn’t feel like trying to build a house out of drywall that somebody had put their fist through. They headed out when Bristol started nodding off on my shoulder, and now another day by the beach stretches out ahead of us.
We can deal with the Hughes Financial Services shit later. They’ll have to sort some things out among themselves before I approach them about my contract.
But this—
This cooking breakfast and having Bristol here and even the twins?
I could do this. I could have this. I could have a family without fucking it up. I could figure out how to keep them without having it all come crashing down.
Couldn’t I?
I built a billion-dollar company, didn’t I? I learned how to keep myself alive in the ring. I can do this, too.
I can.
It feels like a heart attack. It feels so good, even to flirt with the decision in my mind. Even to know that I’m not really flirting. I’ve decided.
I flip the bacon in the frying pan and let it fry for a minute before I put it on a baking sheet. The sheet goes into the oven. The stove has a section with a flat top. Pancake batter has been ready to go. I pour on the appropriate amount for four pancakes. What else? Eggs.
I get those from the fridge, along with a box of Eggo waffles from the freezer. Ben likes pancakes, which I learned the first weekend they stayed at my place, but Mia likes Eggo waffles. She’ll only eat the pancakes if they’reright,whatever that means.
Bristol comes into the kitchen, looking heart-stoppingly sexy in my sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. She looks at my gray sweatpants and long-sleeved T-shirt like they’re a three-piece suit. I stand up a little taller. “Like my outfit?”
Her cheeks flush. “Yes. And I like what’s underneath your outfit.”
