Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Did I? I’d never even imagined this situation possible until less than five minutes ago. I lived in a small studio apartment in Manhattan. My whole world would change if I had Annalise and Benny.
But Ben and Lauren wanted me to do this. Well, me and Wes. I looked over at Wes. I still wasn’t sure how this was going to work, but most likely, he would let me have the kids. He was a professional hockey player, and he didn’t have time to raise them.
Wes looked up and met my stare as he said, “Yeah. I want them.”
“I do, too,” I said.
Susan’s wail of defeat cut deep.
“We’ll fight you,” she said softly.
She looked exhausted. I imagined that between the loss of her son and caring for Benny, she was spent in every possible way.
“We won’t shut you out of their lives,” I said, the words coming out automatically. “You can come and visit them, and not just for holidays.”
“Yeah, we want you to stay in their lives,” Wes said.
He stood as Patrick passed Benny to him. Wes did a surprisingly good job taking over, holding Benny close the way I knew he liked to be held.
“Shall I finish reading the will now?” Len asked.
No one answered, but he seemed to take that as a yes. Wes and I found out Ben and Lauren’s home was paid off and they’d both had sizeable life insurance policies and savings, all of which was left to us for the kids.
The kids. I had kids now. I’d walked into this room an hour ago without children, and now I had two. I’d never be their mother, but I was now responsible for taking care of them in every way. For raising them.
It was every bit as much of a shock as finding out they were gone. Grief was going to have to wait, because I was going to be busy for the next eighteen years or so.
Chapter Three
Wes
Some things are common sense. Making sure you hold on to a baby so he doesn’t roll off a bed, not arguing when a three-year-old wants to dip her hot dog in apple juice, and putting kids in car seats. That stuff, you can figure out no matter how inexperienced you are. On the other hand, no one warns you about projectile vomiting, how many wipes it actually takes to clean a baby’s ass after a shit explosion, or what temperature you use when defrosting breast milk.
I was now covered in puke, piss, and breast milk, Benny was naked, and Annalise didn’t seem impressed with my first solo effort at parenting.
“You’re stinky,” she told me, wrinkling her little nose.
“Well, me and the big guy are gonna get in the shower,” I told her, scooping Benny up.
“Can I come?”
I froze. Having her in the shower with me wouldn’t be appropriate, but I also realized I couldn’t leave her out here by herself either. She was generally well behaved, but still only three, so she needed supervision.
Well, so much for a shower.
Christ, I was fucking exhausted and today’s shit explosion had been epic. As an honorary family member, I’d changed Benny’s and Annalise’s diapers on occasion, but usually just pee, and certainly nothing of this magnitude. But this had been something else entirely. I’d made the mistake of opening the diaper while he was still shitting and then he pissed and—I was so not prepared for this.
“Uncle Wes, I’m hungry. Is it lunchtime yet?”
Today’s game day morning skate had been optional, so I’d stayed home with the kids hoping to nap when they did, but that hadn’t happened. It was almost one in the afternoon and I’d barely fed them breakfast, much less lunch, and I was starting to get overwhelmed. There was no way I’d be able to nap before I left for the game, either. I was just treading water.
There was a brisk knock on the door and someone called out to me.
“Wes?” I recognized Nash’s voice.
“In here!” I called back.
Thank fuck someone was here. Now Nash could keep an eye on Annalise while I showered with Benny.
“Hey.” I looked up gratefully.
“Uncle Nash!” Annalise gave him a bright smile just before her eyes rounded.
Coming up behind him was our team’s enforcer, a huge Swede named Lars Jansson. Six feet six inches, with long blond hair, he was a shy, quiet guy who tended to keep to himself off the ice. I didn’t think he’d ever been to any of the team’s family parties, and Annalise had probably never seen him in person before.
“It’s Thor,” she whispered, her eyes wide as saucers.
Lars stared right back. “My name is Lars,” he responded in his stiff, accented English. “What is your name?”
“I’m Annalise.” She walked over to him, stared up into his face, and then held out her arms, indicating she wanted him to pick her up.