by Ash, Nikki
“I can’t believe the day has arrived,” Harper says with tears in her eyes as she sips her coffee. “It feels like only yesterday I was holding him in my arms, praying I would know what to do.” Her tears fall down her cheeks, and I reach over and wipe them. “I was just a baby, having a baby,” she says, absently rubbing her belly. “And now he’s a high school graduate and is about to be drafted into the Majors. I don’t know what I’m going to do when he moves out.”
Her tears turn into sobs, and I bite my lip to stifle my laugh. This isn’t the first, second, or fifteenth time she’s cried about Hunter graduating and leaving the nest. I made the mistake of laughing at her the first time she did it, though, and will never make that mistake again. There was yelling and screaming and a door slamming, and I was on the couch for half the night—yes, half the night, because around two in the morning, she came out wanting to get laid and let me come back to bed. See? Horny. Fucking. Woman.
“Mom, are you crying again?” Hunter asks, rubbing his eyes and scratching his head.
“I can’t help it,” Harper cries. “You’re going to move out and leave me and I’m never going to see you again.”
Hunter almost laughs, but like me, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to stop it from happening. He’s seen what happens and isn’t dumb enough to do it.
Walking over to his mom, he wraps his arms around her and kisses her temple. “I’m not going anywhere, Mom.”
“Yes, you are.” She nods, still sobbing. “You already know you’re getting drafted.”
Hunter’s agent has already told him he’s almost positive he’ll be drafted in the first round.
“I’ll be back for the holidays and during off-season.”
“I know,” she says. “I’m just going to miss you.”
“Mom, why are you crying?” Ella asks, joining us in the kitchen. She grabs a cup of coffee and sits at the table.
“Because your brother is leaving,” I tell her, filling her in.
Ella laughs, and Harper glares at her, effectively shutting her up.
“What time are we leaving?” Ella asks, glancing at her cell phone.
“Around four,” I say. “They want us to get situated so the camera crew can get set up.”
“Can I go to Greg’s for a little while and meet you guys there?” Ella is technically asking both of us, since she knows her mom and I always make decisions together, but she’s avoiding eye contact with me, afraid of what I’m going to say.
When I found out my fifteen-year-old daughter was dating Greg, the seventeen-year-old quarterback with a Camaro, I damn near lost my shit. Hunter and Ella might not be biologically mine, but from the beginning, we’ve been close. Hunter and I obviously bonded over baseball, but with Ella, our relationship is special.
Harper tells me all the time I spoil Ella too much, but I can’t help it. For one, she’s the only girl in a house full of crazy, rambunctious boys, and two, she has mastered the puppy dog eyes. All it takes is for her to give me that damn pout and call me Dad and I’m a goner. That’s right, she calls me Dad.
Five years ago, when her piece of shit father decided to take a position over three hours away, choosing his career over his children, Ella was heartbroken. While Hunter is a verbal, say what’s on his mind, kind of kid, Ella is the shy and quiet type. When she hurts, she hurts quietly. And her father leaving hurt her. She didn’t understand what she did wrong. Why he was only going to see them every other holiday and a few weeks during the summer.
I hate that he left them, but his loss was my gain. Through his absence, my relationship with Hunter and Ella only grew, and the next thing I knew both of them were calling me Dad on their own. I’ve never been so fucking honored in my life. I take that title seriously, which leads me back to my point: Ella wanting to take off in a Camaro with her boyfriend, Greg.
“No,” I say, before Harper can speak up. Ella glares, Hunter laughs, and Harper cries harder.
“My baby boy is moving out and my baby girl has a serious boyfriend.” Harper sobs.
“Serious?” I growl. “What do you mean ‘serious’?” Like hell it’s serious.
“Dad, please,” Ella begs, hitting me with that fucking pout and puppy dog eyes.
“No, don’t give me that shit.” I cover my eyes, and Hunter laughs harder. “Today is a family day. Your brother is getting drafted.”
“And you said Greg could come to the celebration,” Ella states.
Fuck! We did say that.
“Fine, you can go hang out with him… but only if your brother goes.”
“Oh, hell no.” Hunter scoffs. “My chaperoning days are over.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m about to be a Major League baseball player.”
“I don’t give a shit. You’re still her brother.”
“Landon…” Harper begins. “We’ve talked about this.”
I stand, annoyed as fuck. We didn’t talk about shit. Harper told me Ella is growing up and we have to let her spread her wings. Fuck. That. Shit.
“Whatever,” I grumble. “I’m going to see if Brady and Noah are awake yet.”
“Don’t you dare wake them up,” Harper hisses.
I stomp up the stairs of our house. When Harper found out she was pregnant with Brady, we made the decision to buy a bigger place, so the older kids wouldn’t have to share with the younger ones. After house searching for several months, we found the perfect place in the same neighborhood as Simon and Bridget, who are currently pregnant with baby number five as well.
“Dad, wait,” Ella says, running up the stairs after me. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”
My heart constricts in my chest at her question. “No, El, I’m not mad at you,” I say, giving her a smile. “I just don’t like the idea of my little girl growing up. One day you’re nine years old, asking me to build you a balance beam and the next you’re fifteen asking to take off with a boy. I guess your mom isn’t the only sentimental one around here.”
Ella grins. “I’ll always be your little girl,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist. “I really want you to give Greg a chance.” She looks up at me. “It would mean a lot to me if you liked him. What girl doesn’t want her dad’s approval?”
Fuck, see what I mean? I don’t stand a chance. There’s a reason God only gave us one girl. There’s no way I could handle having more than one daughter.
“I’ll try,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” she says. “So, can I hang out with him today?”
“I’ll talk to your mom and let you know.”
“Okay, thanks,” she says, then takes off to her room.
Just before I step into the boys’ room, Hunter calls my name, stopping me in my tracks.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks, looking kind of nervous.
“Of course. What’s up?” We walk down the hall and into the sitting room that doubles as the kids’ playroom.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, “before everything gets crazy later with the draft.” He chews on his bottom lip and his eyes fill with unshed tears. “Richard told me he won’t be able to make it today. His new wife is due next month and doesn’t want to travel.”
“I’m so sorry, Hunter.” If I thought for a second, Harper or I could say something to Richie to make him change his mind, I would try, for Hunter’s sake. But I’ve learned over the years, Richie only cares about himself. As long as he keeps depositing the child support into the bank, he thinks he’s being a good father. The day Harper and I got married, she put a stop to his alimony. There was no reason for her ex-husband to continue to provide for her when she has me. It drove him nuts to know he no longer had a hold over her.
“It’s all right,” Hunter says. “I didn’t really expect him to show up.” He shrugs, putting on a front I can see right through. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. For being here, these last several years. For taking care of my mom and El and me, and for being a good dad to Brady and Noah.�
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“You never have to thank me, Son,” I say, looking him in the eye. “That’s my job.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “It’s your choice. Nobody has to be there for anybody, but you choose to be. And I just want you to know it means a lot to me.”
He’s quiet for a moment and then he says, “I also… umm… wanted to”—he clears his throat—“ask you something.”
“What is it?” I ask, curious as to what Hunter could want to ask that’s making him nervous. Over the years, his habit of stuttering when he’s afraid he’ll be let down has decreased, but every now and then, he’ll still do it when he’s nervous.
“When I turn eighteen next month, I was wondering…” He takes a deep breath. “I want to be a Maxwell, like you.”
“You want to change your last name?” I choke out, my emotions getting the best of me. Fuck, I’m about to turn into Harper, and I can’t even blame it on being pregnant.
“Yeah, if it’s okay with you. Any man can make a baby, but I’d like to have the same last name as the man who chose to be my father. When I’m out on the field playing ball, I want your last name on the back of my jersey.”
I stand and walk over to Hunter and pull him up into a tight hug. “I would love nothing more than for you to take my name. I love you, Hunter, and whether we share the same last name or not, you’ll always be my son.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
We separate and Hunter excuses himself to go call Brendan. Hunter isn’t the only one being drafted today. Brendan is as well. They’ve been placing bets as to who will get drafted first. My bet is on Hunter.
I walk back over to the boys’ room to peek in on them. They technically have their own rooms, but being only two years apart, they’re close and prefer to share one. They’re both asleep, still in their beds, and looking like little angels—it’s just an illusion, though. Once their eyes open, they turn into little hellions. It’s a good thing they’re fucking cute.
“In a couple weeks we’re going to be adding another little animal to the zoo,” Harper says, snaking her arms around me from the side, her bump hitting my hip. “You ready for that?”
“Hell yeah.” I bring my hand down to her stomach and rub it, hoping to feel the little guy kicking. After Harper gave birth to Noah, we debated whether she would stay home. She loved her job as an art teacher, but she didn’t want to put him in daycare. She also didn’t want to hire a stranger to raise him. So, I offered to officially retire and become a stay-at-home dad. She laughed, thinking I was joking.
Four years later and I’m still home with the kids while Harper works at the private school teaching art. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I waited too long to finally have a family with Harper, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of it, until the last one moves out and I beg her to quit her job and travel the world with me.
The End
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I need to thank my children. For being my biggest fans. For supporting my love and need to write. For talking plot with me and helping to approve every cover. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you two. A huge thank you to everyone involved in making this book the amazing story that it is—thank you for taking this journey with me! Ashley, Stacy, Brittany, Andrea, Lisa, Krysten, and Tabitha, thank you! Juliana, thank you for making another gorgeous cover and for making the inside just as gorgeous! Emily, thank you for making this book perfect. Ena and Amanda with Enticing Journey. Thank you for keeping my life together. Kristi, thank you for listening to me every single day. For showing me what true friendship means. A huge thank you to the bloggers, who continue to take a chance on me. There are thousands of authors, and it means the world to me that you choose to read and review and share my work. A big thank you to Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward, without you two, this story—this world—wouldn’t even exist. Thank you to my Fight Club peeps! You are my safe place. Thank you for riding along on this journey with me. And last but not least, a huge thank you to my readers, you are the reason I get to continue to write books. Thank you!
About the Author
Nikki Ash resides in South Florida where she is an English teacher by day and a writer by night. When she’s not writing, you can find her with a book in her hand. From the Boxcar Children, to Wuthering Heights, to the latest single parent romance, she has lived and breathed every type of book. While reading and writing are her passions, her two children are her entire world. You can probably find them at a Disney park before you would find them at home on the weekends!
Reading is like breathing in, writing is like breathing out.– Pam Allyn
Contact Nikki Ash
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