Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Hear that?” Sawyer asked, after I got the ring on, and a solid kiss from my woman, making everyone quiet down and listen. “That is the sound of every rich divorcee crying now that he is officially off the market.”
To that, Miranda let out a little laugh.
“They might have gotten a piece of you,” she said, handing me a duck. “But I get all of you.”
And so she did.
Miranda - 10 years
We didn’t rush anything.
There were no timelines for us, no pressing reason to get to any particular part of life.
So we went ahead and enjoyed six solid years together. Just us, our ducks, our eventual dogs, our friends that were like family, and our love.
We ate great food.
We saw beautiful countries.
We went to benefits.
We built an amazing nonprofit that was helping people through their mental health struggles every single day.
Then, eventually, it was time.
To, as Brock put it, ‘do the parent thing.’
But we’d both agreed that small kids weren’t our style.
First, we were both older. And pretty fond of sleeping through the night.
Second, we had a lot to offer some teens in the system who might otherwise age out with no families of their own.
We’d talked extensively with Riya, who had been adopted, and who had adopted as a parent as well.
We’d discussed it with Alice, who had, after she stabled herself out, gone after that therapy degree she used to joke about, and she’d worked with us to understand the innate trauma that came with adoption, helping us to understand what we would be dealing with when we were ready.
Then, we were.
Ready.
And after a home study, some classes, and meeting with a caseworker to go over files, we were paired up with a set of siblings—fourteen and twelve—who we’d welcomed into our home(s), into our life.
They’d been with us just under a year, and we already couldn’t imagine a life without them.
“Hey,” Brock said, coming into the kitchen where I was putting together a snack board.
“What’s that look for?” I asked, knowing mischief when I saw it.
“Fenway just called. He’s at some concert or something that the kids like. And he’s going to do a video call with the band. You know what that means?”
“That we really shouldn’t let our children associate with a man who keeps a team of crisis managers on the payroll?”
“He’s gotten in less trouble since he’s settled down,” Brock insisted. “But no.”
“What does it mean then?” I asked.
“It means we have a solid twenty-five to thirty minutes of alone time,” he told me, already grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the stairs. “I bet, if we use your little buzzy friend, we can get you to come three or four times,” he added, smirking at me, his eyes bright with the upcoming challenge.
It was four.
And we stumbled back down the stairs, disheveled, flushed, to find the kids just wrapping up their call with Fenway.
None the wiser to what had just happened.
“Hey, tell your mom that she missed a button,” Fenway called.
“Fucking Fenway,” Brock hissed, closing his eyes as he sighed.
It was our daughter, the eldest, who looked over, her face screwing up.
“Gross,” she decided, then turned her attention back to choosing a movie on the TV.
“Hey, did you hear that? We grossed out the kids,” Brock says. “I’ve never felt more like a parent.”
“Not even when you tell your awful dad jokes that makes them roll their eyes?” I shot back, fixing my buttons.
“Hey, those are loving eye rolls,” Brock insisted, grabbing the snack board for me.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to feel better,” he said, putting down the tray, then pulling me down beside him.
Reaching down, he grabbed my wrist, pulling my arm up, and planting a kiss on the inside of my forearm.
Where I’d gotten something completely ridiculous tattooed on my skin.
Reptar.
To match the one Brock had tattooed on him years before.
It covered the scar that had brought us together, turning it into something that represented our connection, the life we’d built together.
It wasn’t the first time in my life that I found a way to be thankful for all those horrible things all those years ago.
Because if it hadn’t been for all of that, I would never have built all of this.
“Hey,” Brock called as the movie started, making me turn my head up on his shoulder to look at him.
“Yeah?”
“What ever happened to that statue?”
“What statue?”
“The one you almost bashed me over the head with,” he clarified. “I haven’t seen it in years.”
“I think I boxed it up to donate to a museum.”
“You can’t donate it. It has sentimental value. That shit’s priceless.”
“You want us to hold onto something I almost used as a weapon against you?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
And I did.
And I always would.