Page 52

Two Years Later

It’s girls’ day at the Crusade Mansion. Joey made official signs and everything.

We’ve been staying with Joey and her guys all week. Just like the good old days. Except now Mrs. Lansbury works for us (thanks to her “special friendship” with Gerald) and the primary bedroom sees a lot less action when we visit, since we have two Pack-’n-Plays set up in the room.

Classes are over for the semester, but we’re sticking around for graduation weekend. Joey, Locke, and Levi will all walk across the stage and receive their master’s degrees on Sunday.

I’m so proud of them, even if I am a teensy bit jealous that I’m not graduating along with them.

My guys and I are heading to Europe for the summer again this year. First, to London for a few weeks, then to Lake Como to stay at Villa Viola with Kitty and Otmar for the rest of the summer. Dr. Ferguson is joining us for a few weeks, and Sione’s mom is flying in to stay for a week, too.

It’s going to be a busy, joyful summer, with plenty of time to see family and enjoy all our favorite restaurants, cafes, and pubs around Europe. But traveling with little kids is not for the faint of heart. I’m already dreading the flights—Jole’s ears bothered him the entire flight home from London last August—and despite all the list-making and packing we’ve been doing for weeks, it still doesn’t feel like we’re anywhere near ready.

The girls’ day Joey insisted on couldn’t have come at a better time. It’s my last chance to spend quality time with her for a while, and I missed her fiercely while we were abroad last summer.

The guys took my bestie’s over-the-top declarations about today in stride. Except Spence. He was less than impressed by the No Boys or Babies Allowed posters plastered around the kitchen this morning, insisting he was not a boy nor a baby. He had a point, but Joey wasn’t interested in arguing over semantics.

Our two cohorts headed out for the day with strict orders not to return until bedtime. Which, considering we have a one-year-old and an almost-three-year-old in our group, means we’ll be lucky if they don’t return until seven p.m.

Mrs. Lansbury was permitted to stay. As expected, she’s done nothing but fuss over us and make way too much food. She even made my favorite lemon chicken pasta for lunch. The carbs are to blame for my sleepy state, I’m certain. The gentle swaying of the pontoon certainly isn’t helping matters.

We’ve been sunbathing on the lake for almost an hour. Although sunbathing is a bit of a stretch. We’re both slathered in SPF 50 from our heads to our toes, with oversized hats and big sunglasses in place, spread out on the sunpad at the back of the boat.

The plan was to drink all day, but my heart’s not in it. I’ve been nursing the same Tom Collins for so long I’ve had to swap out the paper straw three times already.

In my defense, I have plenty of valid reasons for taking it easy. Rowan still nurses to sleep most nights, despite being fiercely independent and wanting little to do with me during the day. For the most part, she looks just like me. Though she has bright blue eyes I’m almost certain she inherited from Levi, she has the audacity of Spence during all her waking hours. At least she did up until a few weeks ago. She’s been extra clingy since her first little molars have begun to break through.

Jole never fussed when he was teething. Jole never really fussed, period. He was an angel baby, and he continues to be the most laid back, easygoing preschooler. Before they left the house today, he said, “Have fun and no worries about sissy. I got her, Mama.” As if the four dads accompanying them couldn’t handle Rowan without him. My sweet boy.

“What are you thinking about?” Joey asks, nudging my thigh with her knee.

Stifling a yawn, I roll to my side and prop my head on my hand. “The kids,” I admit.

She arches one brow, but she doesn’t give me a hard time. She would never. She’s been with me through it all: Both pregnancies. My debilitating anxiety in the early weeks of my pregnancy with Rowan. The newborn haze. All the sleepless nights. Snotty noses and serious illnesses and all the mind-numbingly dull days in between.

Making, growing, and raising babies consumes a lot of my brain power. It’s the season of life I’m slogging through, and it’s also why I’m now several years behind my best friend in school.

Sighing, I offer her an apologetic smile.

“You’re a really, really good mom, Hunter.”

I open my mouth to insist it’s mostly because I have four super-involved partners by my side, but she lifts one finger and silences me.

“I mean it. You’re fucking incredible. Those babies are so damn lucky to have you. But that’s not all you are,” she reminds me as she grasps my hand. “I’m going to keep reminding you of that, from now until you decide you’re done popping out tiny humans.”

I snort. For as stressful and intense as parenthood can be, I don’t see myself wanting to be done popping out tiny humans anytime soon. My PMDD simmers down when I’m pregnant and nursing. Not only that, but I love being pregnant, and I love having babies. Even if I am tired ninety-nine percent of the time.

The other facets of my life are still there—my dream to be a lawyer, my love of romance books and reading, my connection to Joey, my attraction and obsession with my four amazing guys—but they’re set on simmer for now, waiting on the back burner until I can give them my full attention.

“I’m sorry I can’t be as good a friend as I used to be,” I tell her through another yawn.

“Hunter.” She scowls. “You’re paving the way for me. Do you know that?”

Brow furrowed, I study her, confused.

“You’re not just my bestie anymore, babe. You’re my role model. I never dreamed of being a mom. In fact, before I met the guys, I was adamantly opposed to ever having kids. Partly because I was scared, but mostly because I didn’t think I would be any good at it, all things considered.”

“ All things considered” meaning her awful excuse for a mom: a woman who neglected Joey most of her life, then didn’t even try to step up and help her when she was sexually assaulted and bullied mercilessly for it in high school.

“But watching you love on your babies and seeing the way they look at you? It gives me hope. Hope that maybe I could be a good mom someday, too.”

It’s my turn to hold up one finger and glare. “You will be a good mom,” I correct. “If that’s what you want.”

Her smile softens, and she lies flat on her back, so I do the same. She inches closer and takes my hand.

“I do want it. But I don’t think I would have been brave enough to go for it if you weren’t here leading by example.”

She gives my hand a tight, quick squeeze.

Grinning, I fight back a snort. “Can you imagine Decker as a dad?”

Joey cackles and shakes her head so hard the boat rocks beneath us. “Oh god. He’s going to be so overbearing and protective about everything . I take it back. I don’t want kids. I can’t procreate with that man.” She bursts out laughing again.

“Locke will balance him out,” I offer.

“Yes. You’re so right.” She sighs. “Ugh. My heart . Nicky will be such a great dad.”

“He really will be. They all will, babe. And you’re going to be an amazing mom. If and when you decide that’s what you want.”

We’re both quiet then, with nothing but the sound of the water lapping at the side of the pontoon to fill in the silence.

The sun is warm on my face. My best friend is holding my hand by my side.

Life is good. So good.

Joey’s head must be in the same place, because eventually, she whispers, “Do you ever wonder what we did to deserve all this?”

All this, as in the type of happiness people spend their entire lives chasing after.

All this, as in the happily ever after I never dared to dream for myself. Not until four magnificent men changed the very core of who I am: heart, body, mind, and soul.

I prop myself up on my elbows and shield my eyes so I can really look at my bestie. “First, Josephine Crusade, do I have to remind you that you are the prize?”

She smirks, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses, but she doesn’t respond.

“You deserve good things. You deserve the very best this life has to offer, no qualifiers necessary.”

“You’re right,” she says quietly. “Maybe after surviving the shittiest shit, life presented us with opportunities, and we were brave enough to take them.”

I lift my soggy-straw and glass. “Brave enough to take them and smart enough to never let go.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Joey taps her cup to mine. “To the bravest, smartest woman I know.”

Grinning, I bypass the nasty mush straw and sip from the side of my cup. “Right back atcha, babe.”