Page 55 of Never Dance with the Devils (Never Say Never #6)

Deciding that a bit more transparency is worth the gamble, I confess, “I’ve been lonely for a while.

And when I met them, I never thought it would become…

this. But it did. There’s something we each bring to the relationship, and without one of us…

” I risk a look at Mom, hoping she truly hears this.

“It wouldn’t be the same. It’d be incomplete.

But when we’re together, it feels right. I’m happy now, with them.”

“They treat you well?”

“Charles, you can’t seriously be considering this?” Mom argues, looking about as shocked as I feel.

“Of course they do. As if I’d accept less,” I answer, a smile trying to bloom. Dad’s not a yeller, so I didn’t worry he’d get loud, but he does seem particularly calm, all things considered.

He nods silently, thoughtfully. “When do we get to meet them?”

The smile stretches across my face as my eyes sting from tears. “Really?”

“Really?” Mom echoes, her meaning quite different from mine.

“I have known many men in my life who have had a wife at home and a girlfriend on the side,” he says .

“Excuse me?” Mom snaps.

Dad smiles at her, the picture of a man so in love he’d destroy the world rather than do something like that to her.

Dad hasn’t even known other women exist since the day he laid eyes on Mom, and we all know that.

“Other men,” he clarifies. “Not me, obviously. I love you with my whole heart.” Seeing that Mom is soothed by his romantic words, he tries to explain himself again, though even he looks confused by what he’s saying.

“Sometimes, the wife and the girlfriend knew about each other, like they all filled some place in the puzzle. I know that’s not at all the same thing as what you’re saying, but what I’m getting at is… the heart wants what it wants.”

I stare at him, completely gobsmacked. Is my father actually quoting Emily Dickenson? Surely not, but that’s more likely than him quoting Selena Gomez. Unless they’ve recently had a sleepover with Grace, who is a pop music princess.

“As long as you’re happy and they treat you well—which is what I care about most—I trust that you know what you’re doing the same way you always have,” he continues, his voice even but also sincere.

“Is it what I would’ve chosen? No. But it’s not my choice.

Was there a time I would’ve fought you on this?

Absolutely. And that’s only after someone stuck the situation in front of my too-distracted face, forcing my attention to the matter.

But I’d like to think I’ve done some growing as each of my children has presented me with some hard truths. ”

That’s putting it mildly. My brothers have outright called Dad on his shit many times over, despite all of them being carbon copies of the stubborn, stoic male specimen who’d rather pull away than discuss emotions.

His path to having healthier relationships with each of them has changed him in many ways, all for the good.

The man he was for a lot of years—distant and distracted—is not who he is today. Thankfully.

“So you’re okay with this?”

“What I am,” he says, chuckling and leaning back, “is irrelevant. I’m not qualified to judge anyone else. I’m as much of a fuck-up as the next guy.”

“What?” I gasp. My dad is definitely not perfect, but admitting it, especially so crudely, is shattering so many images I have of him that I’m having a hard time keeping up with this upside-down, tilty-turny version of him.

I don’t like the unpredictability of his reaction, but I do appreciate his unexpected acceptance.

“We’re all doing the best we can, moment to moment, to create a life we can enjoy and family we can be proud of.

I’m a lucky bastard who somehow managed to get that.

” He points meaningfully at Mom, giving her the credit.

“So it would be cruel of me to not want that for my children, however they may find it.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I say, getting up to give him a hug. I honestly can’t remember the last time I hugged him, but this definitely warrants it.

I turn to Mom, not sure what to think. I fully expected her support and Dad’s opposition.

There are tears in her eyes too. “Well, of course I want you to be happy,” she sputters, making it sound like that’s completely obvious as she holds her arms open again.

I hug her too, letting her hold on to me an extra-long time. Not because she needs it, but maybe because I do. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Mom? ”

She lets out a teary laugh, shrugging. “I have no idea what’s going on.

But I love you, so it only makes sense that both of these boys would too.

How could they not?” she asks, smiling. But then her brows knit together.

She’s clearly still confused by a lot of this.

“How does that work, though? Like who do you marry? Are they both going to be my son-in-laws? Wait, sons-in-law?”

“Whoa.” I hold my hands out, slowing that runaway train down. “We’re not there yet. Like I said, we’re still figuring it all out.”

“The sex, you mean?” Mom whispers, nodding sagely.

A blush instantly heat my cheeks. “No, we’ve got that down. The relationship part, I mean. None of us are particularly experienced in that department, but we’re pretty good at communicating what we’re thinking and feeling.”

I’m proud of us for that. We’re not rushing headfirst into this wildly… well, at least not anymore, but rather, we are trying to be adults about the whole thing, communicating and being open and honest with each other.

It seems life is the thing that keeps tossing us to the mat, either with Kyle’s sudden appearance or this video’s exposure. But even with that, we’re doing okay.

“Maybe we can have a family dinner this weekend?” I hesitantly suggest.

Mom claps her hands in excitement. “Yes! That’d be perfect. Now, do they have any allergies the chef should know about? And how do we do the seating, because that’ll put one too many chairs on the left side of the table?”

Mom is the quintessential hostess, and I’ve presented a new and interesting social conundrum. She’ll probably be on the Miss Manners website this afternoon, searching up how to properly address this.

“I think it’ll work out because Grace makes Cameron’s crew an odd number too,” I remind her.

“You’re right.” She points a finger at me, proud of my hostess capabilities too.

Dad clears his throat. “What are we doing about this?” He waves at my phone, meaning the video.

I frown, my mood dampening instantly. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.

I don’t know if you recognize them, but Riggs and Maddox are sort of famous, so the video has gone viral because of them.

” I don’t want to explain the whole backstory of Mad-Tricks to my parents, especially when they’re doing so amazingly well with accepting this, but it’s a reality of our life and they’re going to find out eventually.

“They’re professional athletes?” Dad guesses. He’s never been a hockey fan, so he likely doesn’t recognize them, but it’s a fair assumption to make based on Riggs’s and Maddox’s size.

“Hockey players. For the Devils,” I explain.

Dad is genius-level smart and more strategic than the rest of us put together. He’s where and how we learned our skills, so he’s right when he says, “It’s too salacious to stop it then. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take your lumps.”

“I know,” I admit.

Dad hums, tilting his head. “Though Mom used to have a saying that’s relevant.”

Dad’s mother is my Grandmom Beth, and she’s the embodiment of the term ‘spitfire’. She’s one of my first and best role models of female power and how it doesn’t always have to be a loud, dramatic showing but can be quietly masterful.

“What’s that?”

He smirks, though there’s a thread of evil to the lift of his lips. “Sometimes, you have to hug your enemy to find out how big to make the hole in the ground. Maybe you don’t fight the publicity. You embrace it. Fully, loudly, and proudly.”

Shocked again, I stare at him. “That could have consequences for Blue Lake, the foundation, and just the Harringtons in general,” I counter, but I’m playing that idea out in my mind.

“And?” he says, seeming completely unconcerned about any potential ramifications. “I don’t think we’re going to run out of money any time soon, you know.”

I realize that it’s his way of doing exactly what he’s suggesting I do—being loud and proud in his support. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll figure it out, honey,” Mom assures me. “You always do.”