Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“I know you do,” I said softly, almost afraid to say more since he was finally opening up. “Would it help if we talked about it?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I just need to work through it.”
“By not talking about it?”
“I look at the door a lot…,” he went on, hanging his head. “I still imagine them walking back through it. I go to bed and I dream about it, only to wake up and be stuck in the nightmare.”
“Our lives aren’t a nightmare, Rip,” I whispered. “You have two amazing little kids who adore you, great friends, a wonderful job…”
“But they’re gone,” he said. “And no matter what I have—I don’t have them, not anymore.”
I swallowed past the thickness in my throat. “You’ll always have me.”
I’d turned to go up the stairs when he reached for my hand and pulled me back against him, pulling me into his embrace for a tight hug.
I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do other than wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.
He smelled like spice and warmth, his arms strong, holding me steady.
He rested his chin on my head and sighed. “I’m not usually a hugger.”
“We can change that,” I said against his chest.
His laugh was low, sexy. “I still think you’re a hot mess.”
“And I still think you have a perpetual stick up your ass.”
“Good to know.”
“Yup.”
Neither of us pulled away.
“Uncle Rip!” Viera yelled down the stairs. “You’re making a baby!”
I’ve never been shoved away from another human being so fast in my entire life.
“What?” This time, the look of horror that passed across his face was comical.
Viera giggled. “Mama says that if you cuddle really hard, your love creates a baby!”
Rip visibly paled.
I gave him a little shove. “You know that’s not actually true, Rip.”
“And yet the panic feels so real.” He shuddered.
“Hey!” I crossed my arms. “That’s hurtful!”
“We have two kids. We do not need two more.”
“What makes you think we’d have two more, not one?”
“Sheer luck, you’d probably have triplets.” Another shudder tore through him.
At least he wasn’t shuddering at the idea of “cuddling” me, just at the idea of raising five children.
I looked around the messy living room.
At the kitchen with the bowls piled high in the sink.
And the toys strewn around the floor next to a Lego minefield. I found myself shuddering too. “Good point.”
“See?” He nodded at my concession. “Viera, get into bed, sweetheart. We’ll be right up.”
“Yay!” She skipped off while we followed her up the stairs and down the hall into the master bedroom.
Monica and Brooks’s clothes still hung in the closet, but we’d managed to put their personal items away in an effort to help the kids move on, as painful as that was. But it didn’t matter that Monica’s hairbrush was gone, or Brooks’s favorite watch—it still felt like they were there, and I knew one day soon I’d have to go into that closet and put the last remaining pieces of their memory away.
Sometimes it felt like their ghosts existed in that room watching over the kids—over us. It wasn’t creepy or even alarming that every time I stepped in that room I felt warm.
I felt their love.
I basked in it as I stood there and watched the kids tumble into the massive bed—Rip tickling Viera, Ben laughing at the scene.
I wondered how many times Monica and Brooks had done this at night. How many mornings had they woken up with those kiddos laughing and jumping on their bed and wished for just a few more minutes of sleep?
One thing I had already learned was that you had to hold on to the moments—even the ones that drove you crazy. Because you never knew how long you had to enjoy them.
“Aunt Colby!” Viera jumped to her feet on the bed. “Come tell us a story!”
“Ooooh, a story?” I echoed, forcing a sense of lightness into my voice with great effort. “Hmmm, what kind of story do you want?”
“A funny one!” she sang, and then she plopped onto her butt. “But you have to lay in the middle with Uncle Rip, it’s rules.”
“Oh, well, if it’s rules.” I shared a smile with him and crawled toward the middle of the bed with Viera on my left, Rip on my right, and Ben with his head on Rip’s shoulder.
Anyone seeing this scene would think we were the perfect family.
Looks can be so deceiving, can’t they?
I racked my brain trying to think of a good story and laughed when, for some reason, I thought of my horrible first—and last—date with Rip.
“So there was once this servant girl who was in love with the prince,” I started, and I laughed when Ben groaned. “Hey, we’ll tell a bloody story next!”
“OK!” he said quickly, and he went quiet again.
“Anyway…” I cleared my throat. “She was really loud where the prince was quiet, she was messy, he was clean, she almost always had some sort of stain on her shirt.” I could feel Rip stiffen beside me, but I didn’t dare look his way. “But one day the handsome prince decided to take her on a picnic. She was so nervous that she spilled pop on herself and on him, and when he leaned in to help her, she thought he was going to give her true love’s kiss!”