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Because he doesn’t just have me at his side, but Mel too, and even her parents who—while shocked to find out I was in love with a man—still opened their arms to him—and us—without missing a single beat.
We’re all just doing the best we can, relying on each other when we need to, rather than trying to do it all alone.
We can either keep swimming, or we drown, and if there’s one thing you can be certain of when it comes to Skyler and me, it’s that we don’t stop kickin’ even when our lungs are screaming and our heads are pounding and it feels like all hope is lost.
We don’t quit.
A smile edges up my lips as I watch Abby squeeze the balloon over his head. It pops, and water gushes over his head, plastering his chocolate curls to his face and neck.
His shoulders stiffen, and I narrow my eyes, wondering what he might do—what’s going through his head.
Abby rocks back on her heels like she’s bracing herself.
He jumps to a stand suddenly, and I tense, preparing to hand Everett over and go intervene. He’d never hurt her. He’d just bolt for the house, and I’d be right there with him to help calm him down.
But he just leans over Abby, and shakes his head out like a dog, bringing a loud squeal from her mouth.
“SKYLER!”
Mel whistles low under her breath. “Full-named him.”
I grin, my chest shaking quietly with a laugh. No, Abby doesn’t call him Dad, but only because she’s always loved calling him Sky.
“Some daddies are called Dad, and some are called Sky,”is what she told me once. He and I had just gotten married, six months after we got engaged. Later, I’d asked Skyler if that bothered him, and he told me,“No. I’m still her dad. She said so.”
Simple as fucking that.
She doesn’t call Vance Dad either, for the record. She calls him Van. But ask that girl about her parents, and she’ll tell you she has three dads and a mom.
Everett twists his head to try and see what’s going on. “Ab,” he says.
Cupping his head, I nod, turning to angle my body so we can both look. I point at Skyler. “Look what your daddy’s doing. He’s being silly.” He’s now hugging Abby, shaking his head all over.
“Daddy puppy.”
My lips rise. “That’s right,” I whisper, scratching his head. He nudges into my hand, and my chest clenches. “Daddy’s acting like a puppy.”
It’s not often Everett says more than a single word at a time, particularly when there’s people around. He’s still so young yet, so we’re not too worried—nor are his doctors. He’s just a quiet kid. Timid too, especially around strangers. But even around his family at times too.
And that’s perfectly okay. He’ll come around on his own time.
And if he happens to be autistic too, so what? It’s far from a death sentence. Risking autism is far preferable—in my opinion, at least—to risking passing down addiction. Something I was worried about when we discussed whose sperm we would use.
“I don’t want them to suffer like I did,”Skyler told me.
And I assured him,“They won’t. They’ll have us. We’ll give them everything you should have had.”
In the yard, Skyler releases Abby, and smooths his wet hair back. He still wears it long enough that it can be tucked behind his ears, curling just above where his neck meets his shoulders.
At twenty-six now, my man is as sexy as he’s ever been, if not more so. More angular, but no less soft in his features. There’s almost a sort of gracefulness to him now, that wasn’t there when he was younger. He’s still loud in his quiet, but there’s a command to his chaos that wasn’t present when we first met, or even a few years ago. He’s grown into himself, and fuck, if it isn’t a damn sight to see.
He’s beautiful.
Everett wiggles in my hold, and I glance down at our son to find him making grabby hands toward Skyler, who’s started making his way over.
His brown gaze meets mine, before flitting to the boy in my arms, and his lips rise, his eyes sparkling.
This,I think, remembering what I told Skyler on the dock so many years ago when I proposed.
