That is, until voices filter through. Laughter, unmistakably male.
Then two higher, excited ones:
“Mom! I drove! On top of the ship!” The energy on the deck immediately shifts. “And I didn’t even crash!”
My eyes blink open to see my boys bouncing in front of me, their faces glowing with triumph and a faint layer of sweat.
“Finally made it to those go-karts,” Beckett explains, hands on hips.
He’s standing at the end of my chaise, and even through his aviators, I can feel his attention land—warm, lingering, far too intimate for how things are supposed to be between us now.
“We went around the track ten hundred times,” Max announces proudly. “Dad says we set a record.”
“A thousand,” Beckett confirms. “At least.”
Normally, I’d ask about his head. His… self-inflicted wound. I’d ask if he needed a Tylenol or something. But our conversation from earlier sits heavy between us. And so does that cryptic text I wasn’t supposed to see. The one I’m trying not to think about.
“Sounds fun,” I say—and in spite of myself, I mean it.
Because the boys look really happy, having spent some time with him. They are glowing because of it.
Which makes everything about this ache in a way that I can’t even name.
But Beckett and the boys aren’t the only ones drifting toward us.
“Best view’s right here!” Noah announces as he and Simon wander over, drinks already in hand, both of them fully in vacation mode.
Simon—Noah’s best man—flashes an easy grin. He’s one of those men whose calm settles a space without effort. Luna once mentioned he operates on fetal hearts, which feels incompatible with how relaxed he looks right now.
Rocky—accomplice to Beckett’s shenanigans—trails a step behind them.
Tay and Courtney, who I hadn’t even realized had joined us, have claimed spots on the opposite side of Luna.
Courtney leans forward and offers me a soft, knowing smile. Weird, but I smile back.
It takes me a few seconds to realize what hers means…
Oh hell. We’re really doing this pregnancy thing now.
I refocus on my boys, who are still buzzing from go-karts, while the rest of the group settles into the easy hum of vacation chatter—Noah bragging about something golf-related, Simon razzing him for it, Luna drifting into wedding mode, thinking ahead to our practice hair run scheduled for later this afternoon.
Then Mom appears with Babs, making it a party, both of them in flowing caftans and loudly declaring it naptime.
The boys groan on cue, but after a brief negotiation involving ice cream—which my sons, of course, win—those groans turn into whoops. And by the time they head for the elevators, they’re already absorbed in whatever adventure comes next.
I almost call after them. Almost remind them to be good for Grandma. Something grounding. Something motherly.
Instead, I let the impulse drift away.
They’re on vacation. They’re happy. And even though I could really use a hug right now, I don’t need to slow them down just to steady myself.
I sink deeper into my chair, watching until they disappear from view, warming inside knowing they’re happy. Determined that no matter what happens, keeping them like this will always be my priority.
When I close my eyes, that darn text message pops back into my mind. By deal, it must mean… a sale? Maybe, but… who at Midtown would try to bypass restrictions? That doesn’t sound good…
“So, Carrington.” I open my eyes to see Simon’s attention on Beckett, a funny grin spreading across his face. “How you holding up over there, man?”
“Fine,” Beckett answers, taking a seat at the foot of my chaise. “Just fine.”
