“Agreed.”
The silence stretched between us, interrupted by little yips and growls from the pups. We were both light years away—him processing becoming a father and me grappling with my growing feelings toward Summer. His description was spot on, though, and could be the reason I felt so fucked. I’d been so concernedwith how I should feel that I’d forgotten how important it was to acknowledge what I did feel.
“Damn. Our mother is showing.”
“What?” he asked, passing Port over to me.
I cooed as her sharp little nails dug into my jeans, and I made a mental note to trim them later, once they were back home.
“Oh, you know. I just had an intelligent, grown-up, emotional realization that would make Mom proud and have her spouting nonsense about me being mature.”
“You mean, not having emotional constipation, as she likes to say.”
“Exactly.”
I flexed my fingers and cracked my knuckles before feeling a nibble on the digits for not giving my undivided attention to the puppy on my lap. Smiling, I scratched her lower back and then focused back on Miller. “You’re going to be a great father.”
His breath hitched, and I finally figured out the root of his issue—unbridled fear of being completely responsible for a life.
“It’s normal to freak out and worry that you don’t have what it takes. In fact, doing that shows me you’re already on the right path.”
“You think so?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Absolutely.” I gripped his shoulder and squeezed, keeping my eyes locked on his dark ones so the message would sink in. “But you have to talk to your fiancée. Chances are she’s just as nervous as you.”
“I’ll talk to her, sure. But she’s always been the level-headed one.”
“Level-headed or not, she deserves your honesty.”
“Jesus, now you sound like Dad.”
“Good. His example was the best, after all,” I said, squeezing his shoulder again before releasing my grip and punching him in the arm.
“Absolutely, but so was yours.”
“Huh?” I tilted my head and furrowed my brows.
Port chose that moment to leap from my lap and onto the floor as Tito swiftly followed until they were rolling around the floor growling and nipping. I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose before removing my reading glasses from my head and setting them on the desk. The pups had a long boring day with me at the office and needed to get out the excess energy. Even I had to admit how well they’d been behaving and couldn’t begrudge them the playtime. Watching them wrestle reminded me of when Malibu was little, and I grinned, remembering when her ears were bigger than her head. So much had changed, and in the blink of an eye, we’d all aged ten years without knowing where the time went.
“You, dude. Dad was amazing growing up, but from middle school on, it was you. My first breakup. Dislocating my shoulder. Getting caught with a six-pack in the garage in high school. College. Fuck, remember when we first got the idea for TriVolt, and I tried to convince you and Magnum that I didn’t bring anything to the table.”
“Yeah, I remember. Felt so damn guilty that you didn’t have better self-esteem.”
“See? That’s what I mean, numbnuts. If I’m going to live up to anyone, it would be you.”
I stood and stepped toward my desk, shaking my head. Miller did the same, stretching his back and groaning as it made a satisfying pop.
“Hug it out with me,” he said, motioning me forward.
“The fuck?”
“Aw, come on. Remember when we’d argue and Mom would insist on bro-time until we hugged it out?”
“I remember, but we’re not fighting.”
“Nope. But if Emma and I have a boy, we’ll make sure he grows up loved and hugged. Better get used to the idea, Uncle Mav. Now, bring it in.” He opened his arms and motioned me forward with his hands, but I backed up until my calves made contact with my desk chair. “Don’t start with the emotional constipation now.”
“Fine,” I growled, opening my arms and letting him step into my embrace.
