Page 65 of Too Far

“Not at all,” I whisper. “I just hadn’t thought about any of that before. About you and me, the guys…babies. All that our future could entail.” I bow my head and kiss his shoulder. “I want kids with you, too. In like, ten or twenty years.”

He snorts. “The timeline’s negotiable. I want us all to get what we want out of this life. I can be patient.”

He brings his free arm over so he can pull me closer. His hold is a comfort and a promise of everything we’re going to be. Now isn’t easy, but our future is so damn bright.

We lie together, lost in thought, cuddling and connecting without speaking. We readjust every few minutes so Nicky can stay comfortable, but I’m happy to do it. Even if we’re here because of not so great circumstances, I savor the time alone with him.

“What do you think about the football thing?” he eventually asks.

I shake my head. “That has to be your call, Emo Boy. I don’t want to persuade you one way or the other, but I’ll support you through whatever you choose.”

His serene smile fills me with so much joy—a calm peacefulness that feels like hope.

“I love you,” he says.

Three simple words that wrap me up in a warm embrace. Words that serve as a promise that now is not forever, that better days are ahead.

Chapter 27

Josephine

Misty’sheelsclickobnoxiouslyas she dutifully marches the guys down the too-bright hallway to the next location, carrying on about—god, I don’t even know anymore.

It’s been a feat holding back the eye rolls today. At her comments, at the looks she keeps shooting my way, at her insistence that she accompany us to begin with.

As if we couldn’t possibly navigate a children’s hospital without her guidance.

On my right, Kendrick keeps brushing his hand against mine, catching my pinkie with his and giving me secret little smiles.

On my left, Decker is a stoic, emotionless wall. He’s sent a few wary glances my way, his gaze always filled with worry. I don’t know how many ways I have to say “I’m fine” before he’ll actually believe me, but here we are.

“Knock, knock!” Misty singsongs, pushing open a door marked Family Lounge.

Behind her, we file inside, smiles plastered on our faces as we prepare to greet the next round of patients.

We’ve done this twice already today. First in the burn unit, then on the oncology and hematology floor. Now we’re in a wing marked Palliative Care.

The expectations are simple: the boys greet the kids, take pictures, and sign all sorts of things. I have a dozen permanent markers stashed in my bag for this very reason. The visit was heavily promoted in advance, so siblings and other relatives of the patients have gathered to meet the guys, too.

The best part? Because they’re meeting with minors, the camera crew is nowhere to be found.

According to Decker, Misty tried to move this engagement once she was aware of the scheduling conflict. Both he and Kendrick refused, full stop.

As I follow the guys farther into the room, I take in the scene. It’s far less crowded here than what we’ve experienced so far.

In fact, there are just four kids in the room, along with a nurse who doesn’t look to be much older than us.

The nurse looks up and greets us with a smile. “Hey. You’re the football guys?”

“We are.” Decker’s jaw twitches as he fights back a smile. It’s not often people don’t recognize him. Or, in this case, seem completely unfazed by his presence. The flash of amusement in his eyes makes my heart lift. He’s enjoying the obscurity.

“Well, you can leave,” one girl declares from her seat at a craft table. “There aren’t any boys here.” She doesn’t even bother looking up from the fuse bead she’s placing on the template as she dismisses us.

“Pretty sure her name’s Emilia,” Kendrick says under his breath so only I can hear.

“Girls can like football, too.” I step out from behind the guys.

That garners a little interest. All the girls peek up at me.