Page 47 of Cold Shoulder, Hot Take (Seattle Puckaneers #2)

The casual way she says it—acknowledging the constraint they lived under during those visits—breaks my heart. How much of their childhood was spent managing their father’s moods, moderating their natural enthusiasm to avoid conflict?

“Maybe we can talk about a dog later,” I concede. “After we get used to our new routine.”

“What about other stuff?” Tyson asks, looking between me and Dex. “Are you guys... are you going to get married? Live together? Do family stuff together?”

Trust my son to ask the questions that cut straight to the complicated heart of adult relationships.

“We haven’t figured all that out yet,” I tell him honestly. “What would you think about that? If Dex was around more often?”

“I think it would be good,” Tyson decides after a moment of consideration. “He makes you laugh. And he doesn’t yell or make us be different than we are.”

Such a simple observation, but it captures something essential. The relief of being accepted as we are, without constant criticism or demands for modification.

“I vote yes too,” Blythe adds with typical enthusiasm. “But I still want the dog. And maybe we could paint my room purple. And get one of those kitchen islands like on the home shows.”

“Kitchen islands?” Dex asks, bemused.

“She’s been watching too much HGTV with Mrs. Patterson,” I explain. “She has elaborate plans for home renovation.”

“Well,” Dex says solemnly, “kitchen islands are definitely worth considering. Along with purple bedrooms and maybe a dog. Eventually.”

The conversation drifts toward more mundane topics—dinner plans, weekend activities, whether Tyson’s hockey team has a chance at the regional championship. Normal family discussions that feel revolutionary after years of careful navigation around landmines.

Later, after the kids are in bed and we’re alone in the kitchen, the magnitude of what happened today finally hits me fully.

“I can’t believe it’s actually over,” I say, loading dishes into the dishwasher with hands that are finally steady. “All of the control and documentation and fear, and it’s just... done.”

“How does it feel?” Dex asks, drying a mug with careful attention.

“Terrifying,” I admit. “Like I’m standing at the edge of something huge and I don’t know how to move forward.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” he says gently. “Or this week, or even this month. You have time now. Time to breathe, time to heal, time to just be.”

“Time to just be,” I repeat, testing the words. “I don’t think I remember how to do that.”

“We’ll figure it out together. If you want to.”

The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility and promise. I turn to face him fully, studying his expression in the soft kitchen light.

“Dex, I know we haven’t talked about this, and I don’t want to pressure you or assume anything. But what you’ve done for us—showing up in court, supporting the kids, helping me fight this battle—it’s more than I ever expected from anyone.”

“You didn’t have to ask me to do any of that,” he says. “I wanted to be there. I want to be here.”

“Even with all the complications? The custody issues and the press attention and two kids who come with a lot of emotional baggage?”

“Especially with all that.” He steps closer, reaches for my hands. “Goldie, I meant what I said in court. I love you. I love Tyson and Blythe. I want to build a life with all of you.”

“What does that look like?” I ask, because I need to know what I’m signing up for. What we’re all signing up for.

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “We figure it out as we go. Maybe I spend more nights here. Maybe eventually we talk about me moving in officially, if that’s what feels right. Maybe we get married someday, if that’s something you want.”

Marriage. The word should terrify me after everything I went through with Evan. Instead, it sends a warm flutter through my chest.

“And if it doesn’t work out?” I ask, because I have to voice the fear. “If we try this and it’s too complicated or too hard?”

“Then we’ll handle it like adults,” he says simply. “We’ll figure out how to stay in each other’s lives because the kids matter too much to just walk away. But Goldie?” He cups my face in his hands. “I’m not planning on it not working out.”

“That’s a lot of faith to put in something so new.”

“It doesn’t feel new to me,” he says. “It feels like something I’ve been waiting for my whole life without knowing it.”

The words hit me square in the chest, echoing something I’ve been feeling but haven’t been brave enough to acknowledge. This thing between us—it does feel inevitable, like recognition rather than discovery.

“Okay,” I say finally.

“Okay?”

“I want to try. To build something real with you. To see what we can be together.” I take a shaky breath. “But maybe we take it slow? Let the kids adjust to the new custody arrangement first, give ourselves time to figure out the logistics?”

“As slow as you need,” he promises, pulling me into his arms. “We’ve got all the time in the world now.”

I lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, letting myself believe that maybe we really do have all the time in the world. That maybe this is what safety feels like. What home feels like.

Outside, a car drives past, and I don’t flinch. Don’t check the locks or listen for footsteps on the porch. Don’t calculate escape routes or worry about tomorrow’s potential dangers.

Because I’m home. We’re home. And for the first time in my adult life, nobody can take that away from us.

The freedom of that realization is so overwhelming I start crying again—not from fear or anxiety, but from relief so profound it feels like rebirth.

“Hey,” Dex says softly, his thumbs wiping away my tears. “What’s this about?”

“I just realized,” I say through the tears, “that I can make plans without permission. I can decide what’s for dinner without worrying if it’s going to start a fight. I can let the kids be loud and messy and themselves without calculating the consequences.”

“Yeah,” he says, understanding lighting his eyes. “You can.”

“We can have pancakes for dinner if we want to.”

“Absolutely.”

“And watch movies past bedtime on weekends.”

“Highly recommended.”

“And...” I trail off, the words I was about to say dying on my lips.

And have more children, eventually, if we want to.

The thought hits me completely unexpectedly. For three years, I’ve been so focused on protecting the children I have that I never allowed myself to think about... more. About what I might want in a different life, with a different man.

With this man.

“Goldie?” Dex’s voice is gentle, concerned. “What is it?”

I step back slightly, suddenly needing space to breathe. “There’s something we need to talk about. Something I should have brought up before now, but...”

“Okay.” He’s immediately alert, reading the shift in my mood. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.” I lean against the counter, trying to find the words. “Dex, do you want children? Biological children, I mean. Your own kids?”

The question hangs between us like a landmine we’ve both been carefully stepping around without realizing it.

He pauses, and I can see him thinking, weighing his response. “Yes,” he says finally. “I do. I’ve always assumed I would, someday.”

My stomach drops. “And is that... would not having them be a dealbreaker for you?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “A year ago, I would have said yes. Kids were always part of the plan, you know? The whole suburban house, white picket fence, couple of kids running around the yard.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m in love with a woman who has two amazing kids who already feel like mine. So maybe the plan changes.” He studies my face carefully. “What about you? Do you want more children?”

The question I’ve been dreading. “I thought I was done,” I say slowly. “For years, I was absolutely certain I was done. The idea of being pregnant again, of being that vulnerable, of having another person depending on me when I could barely keep myself and Tyson and Blythe safe...”

“That makes sense.”

“But now...” I take a shaky breath. “Now, for the first time in years, I’m safe. Really safe. And I keep thinking about what our life could look like, and sometimes I imagine... more.”

Hope flickers in his eyes, quickly tampered down. “More like how?”

“A baby,” I whisper, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. “Your baby. Our baby. A child who would never know fear or walking on eggshells or having to be quiet to avoid setting off their father.”

Dex goes very still. “Are you saying you want to have another child?”

“I’m saying I’m not sure anymore. I’m saying the door I thought was permanently closed might be.

.. cracked open.” I meet his eyes. “But I need to know what happens if it stays closed. If I decide I really am done with babies and diapers and sleepless nights. If Tyson and Blythe are enough family for me.”

“Would that be a dealbreaker for you?” he asks quietly. “If I said I needed more than that?”

The question terrifies me, because I don’t know the answer. A month ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. But now, with this man who’s shown me what partnership looks like, what unconditional love feels like...

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I hope not. But I can’t ask you to give up something you’ve always wanted without knowing if I can give you what you need.”

We stand there in my kitchen with coffee mugs and homework scattered around, and I can feel how big this conversation is. This could change everything.

“Can I ask you something?” Dex says.

“Yeah.”

“When you think about having a baby with me, how does it feel? Does it feel right, or does it feel like something you think you should want?”

I close my eyes. Dex holding a baby. Teaching three kids to skate instead of two.

“It feels like possibility,” I say finally. “Scary, but not wrong.”

“Then maybe we don’t decide tonight,” he says. “Maybe we see how we feel in six months, a year.”

“That’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to wait around hoping I’ll change my mind.”

“Goldie.” He takes my hands. “A year ago, if someone told me I’d fall in love with a single mom and that her kids would become everything to me, I would have laughed.”

“And now?”

“Now I know family isn’t about biology. It’s about choice.” His thumbs brush my knuckles. “I choose you and Tyson and Blythe. Every day. And if that’s all we ever are, it’s enough.”

“But if I wanted more...”

“We’d figure it out.”

I study his face, looking for doubt. But all I see is patience and the same certainty that’s gotten us through everything else.

“What if I can’t?” I whisper. “What if I decide I really am done? What if wanting biological kids is something you can’t give up?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I hope it wouldn’t be. But I don’t know.”

The honesty hits harder than reassurance would have. Because this is real. This matters. And we might not be compatible on the thing that matters most.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

“We take it one day at a time. And hope like hell we figure it out.”