Or not exactly. Sutton is dating a Bolt, and I’d never date a hockey player. They’re gross.
I digress. My point is that my dream always included the NHL, but I never would have imagined that at twenty-six, I’d be moving back into my childhood home to help my older sister raise her twin boys. And I never would have believed I’d be living with JJ Hanson.
Okay, that’s also a lie. A long, long time ago, I might have wished that I’d share a home with this man, but those fantasies died a long, slow, murderous, torturous death.
And maybe I’m being a tiny bit dramatic this morning. Then again, who can blame me? I’m moving back into my childhood home with six kids under the age of four and the man who broke my heart.
My dad returns to the kitchen and greets the kids. Then he pauses in front of me and breaks into a smile. “Big day, Little One.” He angles in and presses a kiss to my forehead, a box balanced against his hip. “You ready?”
At five ten, I’m almost as tall as he is, so the nickname doesn’t make much sense to most people. But Beckett and I didn’t meet until I was two, when he moved into a house a lot like this one with my mother and her friends and their many, many kids. He struggled keeping our names straight, so he gave us all nicknames.
At least that’s what he let people believe. It’s really because he’s a total softy and that’s just what he does. He gives everyone a nickname. He shows up for us too. I’m incredibly lucky.
Maybe I should do that. Not the showing up part—I do my fair share, even if I’m not soft like he is. The nickname thing might come in handy, though, once my brother’s best friend Hope and her three kids move in as well.
I force a smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Stepping back, he nods. “If anyone gives you trouble?—”
“Beckett,” my mother warns.
Head tipped back, I groan. Dad is so overprotective that I swear his picture is printed next to the word in the dictionary. He would do anything for his family—for me—but I’ve spent my life playing hockey with guys. I know how to take care of myself.
“I’m just saying, I still have pull.” He winks at me.
With a roll of her eyes, Mom snatches the straw out of Dec’s hand. “Your cousin should be here any minute.”
The statement is directed at Winnie, because starting today, our cousin Vivi is the kids’ nanny. All six of them.
She’s also moving in with us. I feel for her. At least I’ll leave the house for work every day. Then again, she brought it on herself when she dropped out of college. My uncle was having none of that, so he kicked her out and told her to get a job.
Uncle Gavin, who’s the head coach of the Boston Bolts—my new team—is also normally a total softy like Dad, so this is probably killing him. But I can’t deny that it’s what twenty-one-year-old Vivi needs.
Winnie needs it too. While I’m moving in to support her, my schedule is packed. I’ll be lucky if I can make dinner for the crew one night a week.
It’s the only reason I agreed to this arrangement, honestly. The team travels to games for almost ten months out of the year, and it doesn’t really matter where my stuff stays when I’m gone. Being here means that when I am in town, I can at least offer real conversation to my sister, who seriously needs another adult in her life.
“Thank god,” Winnie says as she spins around and straightens her hair. “Do I have food on my shirt?”
Mom and I look her up and down, checking for evidence of the twins’ breakfast on her clothing. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a tight bun, making her look so much like Mom used to, and she’s in a navy-blue suit. She’s self-conscious about her curves since having the twins, but they’re incredible in my opinion.
I don’t know how she is so put together at eight a.m. when she’s spent half the morning wrangling two little monsters. I suppose she doesn’t have much of a choice. Winnie is the CEO of the local baseballteam. The team my brother plays for. The team the Langfield family owns—the Boston Revs.
Beckett and his brothers have their hands in just about everything in Boston. It’s always been a family affair.
“You look gorgeous,” my mother says to her. “So for real,” she adds, turning to me, “are you ready for today?”
I snort. “Mom, you just got after Dad for asking the same question.”
She shrugs. “But I’m your mother. And he’s unreasonable. I won’t storm into the locker room and tell everyone to be nice to my little girl, but I will check in to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. I truly do have the two best parents. My biological dad may have decided fatherhood wasn’t for him, but Beckett more than makes up for his absence.
I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t a Langfield. The first time I really knew my name, that’s the one I gave. I’m not sure when Dad officially adopted me and they changed it legally, but for as long as I remember, I’ve been Langfield.
I was the youngest when my parents got married, but when I was four, my twin sisters were born. Clearly twins run in the family. June and Maggie are just starting their senior year of college. So although I keep complaining about all the kids in this house, there were always five of us growing up. And then when JJ moved in, there were six.
“I think that’s the last of it,” my father says from the other room.
