He’s curled up on the couch before I even finish loading the dishwasher, his little body slumped against Grant’s chest.
One of his race cars is clutched tight in his small hand.
Grant’s big hand rubs lazy circles on Eli’s back, his expression soft in a way I’ve rarely seen before.
It’s unguarded and tender.
My chest squeezes at the sight.
“I’ll take him up,” Grant says quietly when Eli’s breathing evens out.
“Let me show you his room,” I reply before I can think twice.
The two of us move together through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the old stairs familiar beneath my feet.
Eli stirs once but doesn’t fully wake, his hand still gripping the toy as he nuzzles his cheek against Grant’s chest.
In his room, the glow of the nightlight washes everything in a soft hue of yellow. I pull the blankets down and gesture for Grant to lay him in the center.
He does so carefully, his every movement gentle.
I show him how to tuck the covers just right, tight enough to make Eli feel safe but loose enough that he can still kick them off later when he gets hot like he always does.
Grant follows my instructions wordlessly, a soft smile on his face. When he finally steps back, I swear I catch the faintest sheen in his eyes.
My heart feels full watching him act like a father, even if only for tonight.
Soon, the sound of quiet footsteps announces the others.
Callum appears in the doorway first, his expression soft, followed by Dean who holds a mug of tea he must’ve made while we were upstairs.
They both linger there for a moment, watching silently.
Then Dean crosses the threshold, setting the mug down on the nightstand next to the bed and leans forward. He presses a kiss to Eli’s forehead, murmuring, “Goodnight, champ,” before brushing back a curl that’s fallen across his face.
Callum follows, his hand resting lightly on Eli’s blanket for a brief moment.
He rests his hand over Eli’s chest, soaking in the soft pulls of breath.
His gaze flicks to me then, an emotion crossing his face that turns his usually unreadable expression tender.
My eyes burn and I blink hard because I can’t help wonderingwould this have been our life?
If I’d told them about Eli six years ago, if I hadn’t shut them out, if I hadn’t let fear make every decision for me…would nights like this have been our normal?
Would this…this warmth, this peace, have been ours forever?
The ache in my chest deepens.
Dean straightens, his blue eyes finding mine in the dim light. He studies me for a moment.
Then, without a word, he moves closer.
His arm slips around my waist, pulling me gently until my back is against his chest.
The familiarity of it nearly undoes me. I should pull away—Ineedto pull away—but my body doesn’t listen.
He presses his lips near my ear and whispers, “Come on.”
