I nod, like I understand. I don’t. “She lived with us too. What’s different about it?”
“Cassie was my babysitter, dad,” he drawls, rolling his eyes like he thinks I’m clueless. “Ash is way more than that.”
My stomach tightens as I take in what he’s saying.
“I see.” I nod again, trying to choose my words. “In what way is he more than that in your eyes?”
“Ash is family,” he states, so matter-of-factly. “And you look at him the same way the daddies in the movies look at the mommies. So, I thought maybe he would be my mommy.”
Emotion clogs my throat, blood rushing in my ears. I’m taken aback by how much Tucker’s noticed without me realizing it. I clearly didn’t give him enough credit for how perceptive he is. Or I gave myselftoo muchcredit for how slick I am at hiding things. I clear my throat, trying to find my voice.
“Well, how would you feel about that, bug?”
Zero hesitation. “I know mommies are usually girls, but I already have you as a daddy, which is why he can be the mommy.”
An unexpected chuckle bubbles past my lips at his sweet innocence.
“Lots of people have two daddies,” I explain, unable to believe we’re still standing in the bakery. “Just like lots of people have two mommies, or a mom and a dad. Families come in all shapes and sizes, bug, and there’s no right way to be a family.”
His brows knit as he, I’m sure, is trying to grasp everything I’ve told him. “Could a boy be a mommy if he wanted?”
“Well, I don’t see why not.” I can’t help but wish I was more prepared to have this conversation with my son. For all I know, I’m saying everything wrong, and he’ll be sitting in therapy in fifteen years because of me and my god-awful attempt at explaining family.
Peering up at me with wide, curious eyes, Tucker says, “Think Ash would be okay if I called him mommy?”
I knew it was coming before he uttered a word, but it makes my throat thick with emotion regardless. “I don’t know, bug. You’d have to ask him.”
Tucker shrugs, a smile brightening his face. “Cool!”
And that’s that. We finish shopping and get in line to check out. When it’s almost our turn, Tucker turns and peers up at me. “I love Ash.”
His words have my heart racing and a smile working up my face. “Me too, bug,” I reply as casually as I can manage, meaning it with every bone in my body.
Chapter 35
Ash
Peeling my eyes open and squinting against the sun pouring into the room, I quickly realize I’m alone. I can hear Tucker somewhere in the house as I strain my ears. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s in the kitchen with his dad, probably helping him make breakfast. I sit up, stretching my arms above my head as a yawn pulls out of me. The clock on the nightstand beside Finn’s side of the bed tells me it’s almost nine o’clock, meaning I’ve slept way later than I usually do.
Finn’s side of the bed…A smile tugs on my lips as I work my fingers through my sleep tousled hair while I think back, wondering when this bed went fromFinn’sbed to a bed withhisside andmyside. Coming in here and curling up beside him each night seems so natural now, while the idea of sleeping alone in my room feels wrong.
It’s been eight days since everything went down with my sister, and Finn has been everything I didn’t know I needed. Since that night when he brought me home, washed me in the shower, and rubbed my back while I fell asleep, things betweenus have shifted. Sure, before the day of the barbecue, we told each other how we felt, and he made it very clear that I washis, but it’s more than that now. He takes care of me, holds me at night while we relax in the living room, rubs my back. He and Tucker got home from the grocery store yesterday afternoon, and they thought to pick up my favorite tea and cookies. Although, Finn made sure I knew that it was Tucker’s idea, which nearly made me cry.
We haven’t had sex since that night. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’ve just been in a weird place. Violet still won’t talk to me, and I’m trying my best to figure out what to do next. I’m also trying my hardest to not feel guilty. There’s a little voice in my head that says I should’ve ended things immediately with Finn, should’ve walked away and fixed things with my sister. But the thing is… I don’t want to end things. Even knowing she’s upset or mad, I can’t bring myself to walk away from him because he makes me feel things I’ve only ever dreamed about.
Wanted. Secure.Chosen.
And I shouldn’t have to pick. It shouldn’t be him or her. Yes, the timing was shitty, and I should’ve been more upfront with Violet from the beginning, so she didn’t have to find out the way that she did, but the fact of the matter is, they were never going to be end game. And I think if Violet would stop and be honest with herself for a minute, she’d realize it’s probably her ego that’s bruised more than her feelings hurt over their breakup. She’s not used to being dumped.
Do I wish that Finn wasn’t my sister’s ex-boyfriend? Of course. This situation is tricky and messy, but that doesn’t change how I feel about him. It doesn’t change how he feels about me. Or how good we are together. After sitting with all of this for eight days, frankly, I’m angrier than I was that night. Angry that she’s blowing me off, angry with myself that I’ve kept these feelings and this resentment inside me over the years. AndI’m done stewing in my anger, done letting her ignore me. We’re supposed to be family. I’ve given her enough space, but today, the silence stops. Today, we’re hashing this out, whether she likes it or not.
With that decided, I climb out of bed and join Finn and Tucker in the kitchen. Just as I thought, they’re fixing breakfast. The three of us eat together on the back deck, and once we’re finished, I help Finn clean up before getting dressed and heading out. My palms sweat so badly, I’m surprised I’m able to properly grip the steering wheel. During the drive, I rehearse what I’m going to say once I get to Violet’s, even though I know it’s futile. Chances are, I’ll walk inside and forget everything. I park outside her place, my stomach in knots as I step up to her door.
There’s a part of me that worries she won’t answer, but thankfully, that’s not the case. Although, based on the scowl she’s wearing when she sees me, I’m not so sure ifthankfullyis the right word choice. Violet presses her hip to the doorjamb, folding her arms over her chest.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone isn’t rude, but the question hurts all the same.
Releasing a steadying breath, I say, “We need to talk, Vi.”
