Not even close.
58
Wren
Lenny hoists Alex up, the kid’s legs dangling like a ragdoll’s. “Alright, Lexi Bear, time to face the day.”
I snort, grabbing my keys. “Yeah, ‘cause a toddler’s day is so damn grueling.”
“Door time, buddy,” Lenny announces, setting Alex down. The kid toddles forward, determination etched on his tiny face.
“That’s it, Lexi Bear,” Lenny cheers. “Use that bear strength!”
Alex’s pudgy hand wraps around the knob. He grunts, face scrunching up like he’s trying to solve world hunger.
“Opwen!” he demands, yanking with all his might.
The door doesn’t budge. Shocking.
“Almost got it, champ,” I say, biting back a laugh. “Just a little harder.”
Alex glares at the door like it personally offended him. I watch his little hands grabbing onto the knob, pressing down his lips,he lets out a frustrated whine, but his little jaw sets. Kid’s got more stubbornness than sense. Wonder where he gets that from.
Lenny reaches for the knob. “Here, let me help—”
“No,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. “He can do it.”
Lenny’s head whips around, eyebrows shooting up. “Really, Wren? He’s two.”
“Yeah, and he needs to learn things ain’t easy.” I meet his gaze, not backing down. “He’salmostthree,” I correct him.
“Jesus,” Lenny mutters, shaking his head. “You know, it’s okay to let him be a kid sometimes.”
I ignore the jab, focusing on Alex. “Come on, Lexi Bear. Show that door who’s boss.”
Alex’s face is a mask of concentration as he tries again. This time, the door creaks open an inch.
“I dwid it!” he squeals, beaming up at us.
“Hell yeah, you did.” I ruffle his hair, chest swelling with pride.
Lenny rolls his eyes, but I catch the smile he’s trying to hide. Yeah, yeah. I’m a hardass. Sue me.
The moment Lenny sets Alex down, the kid’s off like a shot. He wriggles out of Lenny’s grasp with all the determination of a greased pig at a county fair.
“Whoa there, tiger!” Lenny calls out, but Alex is already making a beeline for the front porch.
I watch as my pint-sized soldier charges forward, arms pumping like he’s storming the beaches of Normandy. His little legs are moving so fast they’re practically a blur.
Then, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Alex trips over his own feet. He face-plants with a soft thud, and for a split second, my heart stops.
But before either of us can react, he’s already scrambling back up. No tears, no fuss. Just a quick shake of his head, like he’s clearing cobwebs, and he’s off again.
“Jesus,” I mutter, impressed despite myself. “Kid’s tougher than a two-dollar steak.”
Lenny chuckles, relief evident in his voice. “Takes after his Momma, I guess.”
Or Papa…The thought slices through me, sharp and unwelcome. I clench my jaw, forcing it down.
