by Emilia Finn
“I was just…” Hearing Karla’s voice so defeated, so shy, breaks my heart. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I almost gave her chocolate ice cream once. Sometimes we forget. No harm done.” She backs away, more ground crunching under her feet.
“Fuck, Brooklyn! You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry. Relax,” she pants. She’s riding her adrenaline too. “Hang on. I’m going to sit back down.”
“What did she give her?”
“It’s a…” More wrapper sounds as it crinkles. A grunt as she sits. “It’s an oats bar. Oh, my bad, maybe she could have had this. I’m reading the ingredients… no peanuts, shit, maybe I jumped too soon.”
“Nope. Read the warning at the end.”
“Was manufactured in a facility that also processes various nuts. May contain traces.”
“There it is. You did good, Brooke. Jesus. Fuck.” I lower my head and breathe through my panic. “It probably would have been fine, but… fuck.”
“I’m sorry this is so hard for you,” she whispers. “I’m sorry this is hurting you.”
“It’s…” I shake my head. “I’ve never hurt so much in my life. And in the grand scheme, we have it pretty good. We have her, Brooke. She’s staying with us while this is happening. We have control. And the person fighting me for her… she’s pretty fucking softly spoken and shy. Jesus, we have it easy, but I still can’t breathe. I can’t concentrate on anything but this.”
“You have family here now, Miles.” His voice is gentle. Soothing. “Look around you right now. Do me a favor and look around.”
I do what she says.
“Who do you see?”
I sigh. “Bry, Bobby, Kit, Mac, Evie, Ben. Your Aunt Tink is here, and so is Evie’s dad. And there’s the massage therapist with the dark hair.”
“Andi.”
I nod. “And Ben’s mom. She’s here looking at me. Everyone’s staring at me, Brooklyn.”
She snickers. “That’s called family. Ben’s mom, she’s married to the cop. Andi, she’s married to a Checkmate guy. The Checkmate people are constantly texting me because they’re also watching. My dad is watching you, because he already loves Lyss. And Ben and Evie and Bry and all the rest of them…” She sighs. “We’re all gonna go to war for you, okay? We’re fighters. It’s what we do.”
I lower my head. Lower my voice. “I love you.”
“Love you too. I’m going to hang up for now, because I feel rude. She knows I’m probably talking to you, and I feel like that hurts her. Like we don’t trust her.”
“We don’t trust her, Brooklyn.”
She laughs. “But we’re going to try to. And even when we don’t, we’re not rude or mean. She’s trying, Miles. She’s terrified, but she could have thrown a fit that the new girlfriend came to supervise. This could have gone badly, but she’s playing nice. I’m going to return the favor.”
“Keep texting me.”
“I will. I promise.”
“And don’t become her best friend. That would be weird.”
She snorts. “Maybe I should. You loved her once. There must be something there, something amazing that I would discover I love. I bet I could find it.”
“I bet you could. But no. Be courteous, Brooke. Be respectful. But don’t be best friends.”
“What’s your end goal here, Miles?” Her words become a whisper. “If she gets joint custody, you don’t want her living all the way back in her old town, do you? You want her here, nice and close so we don’t have to watch her drive Lyss away every second week.”
“Fuck.” I drop my head to the ropes and groan. “Fuck, Brooke.”
“I’ll be her friend. She’ll never want to leave us.”
“Why are you so cool about this?” I peek at Bobby. Her dad. So fucking formidable, he was the legend, the hero, the fucking champion. And now I’m in love with his daughter. “Why aren’t you pitching a fit about the ex being back in town?”
“Why should I? You have a daughter, Miles. Kinda implies you have an ex. You’re the man, which means you didn’t carry or give birth to Lyss. That means there’s an ex somewhere. I just…” she sighs. “I don’t understand why I should get mad. I mean, I might have a problem if you’d run into her arms and declared how in love you still are, but since you didn’t do that…”
“Did you worry I would?”
She takes a moment to consider. “Ya know what? I honestly have no clue what I expected. Part of me thought you would. No one forgets their first, and yours has reason to be extra special. But another part of me thought you’d knock her the hell out. And those are two wildly different outcomes, which means I had no clue what was going to happen. Besides, you don’t get mad that you spar with my ex almost daily.”
“Wait, what?” I shoot up tall and take a second look at my audience. “Who the fuck is your ex, Brooklyn?”
She cackles and turns my scowl more severe. “I was kidding. But your reaction was fun. Love you, Miles. Go back to training. I’ve got this under control.”
“Keep texting.”
“Will do. And I’ll let you know when we’re done.”
“Come to the gym?” I murmur. “Come see me?”
“Sure. I’ll come to that stinky place and tolerate the Neanderthals.”
“You mean… your family?”
“I know what I said.” She laughs. “Okay, seriously, I look rude as hell. Talk soon.”
She cuts the call, brings my heart to a complete stop for a beat, then I drop my arm and look to her family. My family, I suppose. I look to Bry and swallow.
“They’re fine?”
I nod. “They’re fine. They’re at the park. Karla’s playing with Lyss, and Brooke is hanging back to give them space.”
He nods and drags his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. “Alright. Phone down, hands up. We’ll do what we do, and Brooke can do her thing.”
“What’s her thing?” I drop my phone in the corner of the ring, screen side up so I can see if it lights up, and turn to the man I consider a good friend now. “Writing?”
He scoffs. “No. She’s like a silent ninja. She acts carefree and silly, but if Karla tries to swipe Lyss and run, you’ll get to see. Despite the fact she swears she hates fighting and wants no part in it, Brooke was a routine winner in the ninja warrior obstacles we ran as kids. You’ll see why she spars and wins, even if she complains about the eventual bruises.” He smiles. “She’s a Kincaid by blood, and shit, you can fight that all you want, but one generation in a long line of fighters just ain’t enough to change our breeding.”
“You make her sound like a dog being bred for the show.”
He scoffs. “She wasn’t put here to look pretty, Iowa. That just happened by accident.”
I lift my hands, but my goofy grin comes anyway. “She’s really pretty.”
His arm swings out faster than my brain can process. His fist slams against my jaw and spins me around so that I drop to one knee, and one hand goes to the floor for balance.
I look up to him, to his smug grin, then I shoot forward and slam him to the floor so fast that his dad takes a step back when sweat showers our audience.
Brooke
Truce
I walk through our living room three weeks after Karla and the invisible Lorna slid back into our lives. I carry cute little leggings for Lyss to wear to school today, and a coat that she’s been looking for – it was in her dad’s car. We’re three weeks into the process of whatever Jules, Scotch, and Sammy are doing with their law degrees, and in the meantime, we’re allowing once-a-week visits for Karla – which is more than the every second week thing that was first mentioned.
Goodwill. That’s what it’s called.
And when I look at Karla, I don’t see a predator or someone looking to destroy us, but instead a girl that had a baby way too young. Where some young mothers take that chance to grow the hell up, for Karla, it seems to have had the opposite effec
t; it seems to have stunted her growth, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to summon any hate for the woman that hurt the family I love.
I can dislike her. And I can think she’s stupid as dirt for giving up something so wonderful. I can even stand between her and them, and hope she doesn’t see what I see. I don’t want her to get any ideas in her head about marrying the man I want.
But all of that aside, I can’t hate her.
“Lyss?” I rush through the living room, and make a fast pit stop in the laundry to snatch up a hat for her ears.
It’s getting colder and colder as Christmas hurtles toward us. We won’t get to our court hearing before Christmas, according to Jules, which means this visitation thing will slide straight through the holidays.
My first holiday with Miles and Lyss… and my first Christmas of a lifetime of shared custody and moving between homes so that Lyss can have the best of both worlds.
Last I heard, Karla was staying at the hotel on the edge of town – a shitty flop that homes the kinds who want a room for an hour or two – but she doesn’t complain, and she never asks to bring Lyss back there. A request I would vehemently decline.
No chance in hell.
Lyss has to leave for school in ten minutes or risk being late, but it seems the more stressed I become, the more chill Miles is.
I rush through the doorway to find father and daughter sitting side by side on their stools in front of the counter. Miles is eating his cereal, and Lyss is eating hers. Separate boxes. Separate milks. No kissing until everything is squared away, and teeth have been brushed.
But neither of them seems to care about the fact that the school bell will ring in nine minutes. Instead, they watch me with twin grins and lifted brows.
“Why are you people still sitting? Lyss, baby, you have no pants on.” I toss the leggings at her face, and try my damnedest not to smile when she giggles.
I round the counter and stop with a huff. “Miles! You have no pants on. What the hell is going on?”
Laughing, he snaps an arm out as I try to pass, only to swing me back and drop me over his lap so my hair flips into Lyss’ lap. “We have ages, Miss Brooke.”
He drops a kiss on my chin. My neck. My heart. And in my distraction, his hand slides along my hip to transform my scowl to a hum.
“Did you eat anything yet? Because you’ve got the low-blood-sugar crankies.”
“You’re a douche. Let me up.”
“You didn’t eat.”
He reaches out and takes a chunk of dripping cereal from his bowl, and with a grin, places it between my lips so the icy cold milk runs down my throat, and my stomach growls its hunger. He chases the cereal with a kiss, a peck that does things to my heart. So when Lyss’ fingers begin stroking my hair, my crankies are gone, and I’m considering calling in sick for the Walker family so we can go to bed and watch movies all day.
“What’s got you wound up?” He presses another kiss to my lips, and tilts his head a little to the side. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
He nods. “Something’s wrong. You’re normally our calm one. Now you’re skipping meals and doing the mom screech because it’s time for school.”
“I don’t want her to be late, and the snow is coming. Roads are gonna be slippery.”
“You’ve lived here for twenty years. And the slippery roads are making you anxious now?” He lifts that brow. Shakes his head. “Try again.”
“I’m trying to finish my book, but the ending won’t stick.”
He grins. “Who’s giving you trouble?” He knows my basic plot now. The main characters. “Tallulah? Noble? Rome?” He chuckles. “That chick with the dreadlocks?”
“Mostly Malachai, I think. He’s… waffling.”
He laughs. “What the hell does that mean? And maybe you should kill him. Authors do that all the time, right? Off him, send your characters to his funeral. End scene. Maybe someone will kiss someone else.” He lifts a hand and waves it in front of us. “The end.”
“That’s why you fight instead of write.” I push off him with a huff and scoot when his hand comes back to grab me. “And it’s fine. I’m going to nail this thing down by the end of the week. You watch.”
“Really?”
Now a little more serious, he pushes his cereal away, and slides off his stool to grab his sweatpants from the back of the couch.
He walks back to the kitchen in boxer shorts and works his legs into the sweatpants. “You’re gonna finish this week?”
“For real?” Lyss’ eyes widen, and a line of coconut milk slides along her chin.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Maybe. I think so.”
“Then we’ll celebrate.” Miles fixes his pants, and snags my hand before I can escape.
I knew he would grab me. I hoped he would.
He swings me back until our chests clash and my breath races out with a squeak. He drops his lips to mine, refuses to stop until I sigh, then he squeezes my ass and makes Lyss giggle. “Let us know when you finish. The very moment you do. Then we’ll celebrate.”
“Just because I finish a first draft doesn’t mean it’s good. And it’s not even close to publishable.”
“And still,” he kisses my jaw, “we’ll celebrate. Is that all that’s got you worked up, or are you willing to tell the truth yet?”
“I told you, I–” I huff. “No. I’m not ready.”
He laughs and lets me go when Lyss pushes her bowl away.
I snag the tights I threw earlier, and begin feeding her dangling feet into the cottony warmth. “You need to go upstairs and brush your teeth, grab your bag, and then get down here. And you have to do it all in…” I look at the clock. “Three minutes. Then we have to get in the car.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I smack a kiss to her brow and set her on her feet to finish pulling the tights up over her butt. “Love you, sweetpea. Run.”
She runs to the door, skids to a stop, and spins back. “Love you too, Miss Brooke. I’ll be back in two.”
I stand by her now vacant chair and study the empty doorway with a special kind of love sliding through my blood.
I didn’t know I could love someone else’s child the way I love Lyss. I didn’t know it would be possible. Like, maybe it would be easier for a man to accept someone else’s child, since he was never going to carry that baby inside his body anyway. Maybe that makes it easier somehow. But I had no clue that I could do it. That I could love a child that will never biologically be mine.
I sigh when Miles’ arms wrap around my stomach from behind. When his chest presses to my back. And when he buries his face against my neck and inhales. “You make us so happy, Brooke.”
“I love her.” I remain planted and study the doorway. “I didn’t know it was possible, but here we are. And if you leave…” I sigh. “I would fight you for her. I would pray your new girlfriend was as kind to me as we are to Karla.”
“Is that why you’re so accommodating?” He slides his tongue along my neck. “Is that why you go out of your way to be at those meets?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I guess. She’s her mother by law and blood. She has more rights than I’ll ever have. And part of me is scared, because what if?”
“What if what?” he murmurs and squeezes extra tight. “What are you scared of?”
“What if we break up? She would be gone from my life, and there’s literally nothing I could do about it.”
“Are you planning to break up with me?” he chuckles. “Because now you’ve got me kinda scared.”
“No.” I twine my fingers with his and lean so he has to hold me up. “What if something horrible happens to you? Custody automatically reverts back to Karla. Then I’d lose you both.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He spins me and cups my face. “You’re worrying about what-ifs that won’t happen. I love you, I’m gonna keep you for as long as you keep me. And nothing will happen to me, because dammit, I worked too fuck
ing hard to make it this far.”
He presses his lips to mine to swallow my next argument. “If I lose the tournament this year and your family boots me from the estate, Lyss and I are sticking anyway. We’ll welcome you into our hovel.”
I snort. “Even if you suck so bad that you cry in the octagon, my family won’t boot you. Pretty sure Bry already bought the pony. He’s kind of obsessed with Lyss, so…”
“So you’re saying I can’t cry?”
“Shut up.” I step in and press my face to his chest. “I might come watch you fight if you promise to win.”
“Really?” I love that his heart races. “You would come?”
“If you could promise that you would win. If you were really, really sure. I would come.”
“Ready!” Lyss bursts through the doorway so loud that I jump in Miles’ arms.
I turn to find her hugging her bear to her chest, and a slight red mark on her forehead that makes me step toward her with a frown.
I kneel down and bring a hand up to rub away the smudge. It’s like someone with lipstick kissed her and left behind the mark.
“What happened here, baby?” I try to rub it with my thumb. “It’s… what? Ah shit.” I pull her in for a hug. “Miles. Can we get a little cream?”
Chuckling, he moves around the counter to the junk drawer, takes out a tube of the steroid cream, and places it in my waiting hand. “You kissed her with milk on your lips.”
“I feel like a jerk.” I unscrew the cream and take a pea-sized drop. Then I begin smoothing it onto her bumpy skin. “I’m sorry, baby. Miss Brooke didn’t mean to do that.”
“Doesn’t hurt.” She remains still, closes her eyes while I work, and lets a cute smile slide over her face. “Not even itchy.”
“Well, it looks itchy, and it was my fault. I’m sorry.”
“Technically it was my fault,” Miles collects the tube and recaps it. “That was my cereal. My milk. Shows that mistakes are easy to make, even for someone who’s been doing this for years.” He cups Lyss’ cheek and waits for her to look at him. “Sorry, baby. You feel okay?”
