“There’s my girl. I thought you were coloring with your cousins?”
“I drew a doggy!”
“You did?” I act surprised. “Does this one have golden fur?” I raise a brow, really selling my shock. When Paisley draws a dog, it’s always of our golden retriever, German Shepherd mix, Cookie. We always act like it’s the best drawing on this side of the globe, because let’s face it, it is, but also because she gets so excited that we love her squiggly lines and bold color strokes. Besides me and her mom, Cookie might just be Paisley’s favorite person, so her drawing is at least a once-a-day occurrence.
She nods her head in quick little movements and smiles so wide that I’m almost afraid it hurts her adorable little face.
“Yeah! Will you come see?”
“Why?” Henry, our oldest son, asks from the other side of the kitchen island. That kid is me made over. His hair might also be dark like his mother’s, and he may have her eyes, but that boy is my carbon copy—my pride and joy. Well, one out of six of them, but still. He’s as tall as I am, even at seventeen, and he’s so fucking smart and strong that it blows my mind. He’s quieter and observant like his grandfather, and he’s just as deadly as the rest of us. He hasn’t killed anyone yet,thank fuck, but he hasn’t been subtle about his interest in ‘the family business.’ His attendance record at the Attic might outweigh mine, and if it weren’t for Ashia convincing him to play flag football after school, I’m sure he’d be there even more. “We can’t even tell what it is half of the time.”
“Henry Charles Hartley…” Ashia turns around and scolds him, narrowing her eyes at his comment. One thing we’ve never done with our kids is hinder their confidence or squash their creativity, no matter what it is. Henry’s not normally this cold towards his siblings,especiallyhis sisters, but something has been bothering him today. I’m still trying to find out what. Out of all of our kids, he’s the most reserved. He’s like his mother in that regard.
When he meets his mother’s eyes, the same color as both him and Paisley’s, he softens instantly. He’s always been a mama’s boy, and I couldn’t be prouder. I mean it when I say that boy is my clone, because his protectiveness over his mother and sisters matches mine. He was suspended from school last month for a week because one of his teammates smacked Emma’s ass… That kid found a lunch tray crushing his nose and my son’s fist in his eye about three seconds later.
Then there was that time the month before when another boy in his class talked about how hot his mom is…and Henry broke a lunch table when he took that kid to the floor.
I’m so fucking proud.
Henry turns his gaze back to Paisley with a defeated frown, and it sinks even more when he sees the newfound pout on her lip.
“I’m sorry, Pais. I’m sure your doggy is cute.” She just crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, giving him a sort of death glare as I cling to her. His shoulders sag at the look. “How about we all play hide and seek? That always makes you feel better.”
“We’re on it!” Rowan and Tobias, our twelve-year-old twin boys, run into the main living area from the hallway with the same excited energy theyalwayshave. After we had Henry, Ashia needed a break from being pregnant. Two under two was a lot, and it took some getting used to, but we loved every moment of it. I gave Ashia all of the time she needed, of course, because I know how hard pregnancy is on her. Henry was born at almost thirty-seven-weeks, and thankfully, she didn’t have as many health scares as she did the first time around, but it still took its toll. She unlocked something primal in me when Emma turned five, though. Ashia said, and I quote, ‘there’s still so much room in our house,’ and talked about missing having a newborn.
I put the twins inside her that night.
We call them our ‘devil duo’ because they’re always sprinting through the house, up tosomething. They’re undeniably fast, though, and very quick thinkers. They both do amazing on their football team as running backs. Henry only doesn’t play contact because…well, the school won’t let him.
“Boys?” I call after them. “Where’s your brother?”
“I’m right here, Dad!” Grayson, our eight-year-old son, runs in next, carrying at least four pillows under his arms.
They’re definitely going to beat the hell out of each other with those.
“No running in the house, you could hurt yourselves,” Ashia warns them, pointing one of her small fingers at them before setting the last plate on the counter.
“Sorry, Mom!” the boys reply and barely slow down as they make their way over to the couches. Paisley wiggles in my arms, wanting to be let down, so I place her back on her feet gently and kiss the top of her head.
“Bye, Daddy!” she yells back as she chases after her brothers, and a warmth settles in my chest. I pick up the last plate and turn my gaze to Ashia, practically melting when she smiles back at me.
Emma comes down the stairs, trying to work her way through the crowd and over to us. It’s hard to believe that she’s eighteen…it went by way too fast… Where did my baby go? Now she’s wearing makeup and asking to hang out with her friends, driving herself to school and asking about part-time jobs. I’m not ready for her to grow up, and I’ve made that abundantly clear.
“Hey, Daddy. Can I ask you about something?” She leans against the counter next to Henry, who’s now glaring at her from the corner of his eye. I’m taken aback by it, because they’re normally so close. I’m not sure they’ve everreallybeen mad at each other. This tells me otherwise.
“Sure, princess. What’s up?” I ask lightheartedly, but I notice Ashia’s cautious glance in my direction. She steps up beside me and lightly bumps my hip with hers like she’s preparing me for something. Was this what she was talking about earlier when she told me to ‘keep an open mind’?
“So… I was wondering…” Emma starts carefully, picking at her fingernails—another thing she picked up from Ashia. “If I could go to prom again this year?”
I raise an eyebrow. That’s what the big deal is? She got to go last year. Her and all of her friends dressed up, took pictures, and went to the dance. She looked so beautiful… I think that’s when I really realized she was growing up, and I didn’t take it well. Apparently, I was a great dance chaperone, though.
“Yeah, of cour—”
“With a boy,” she finishes rather quickly and my muscles react before my brain does. I squeeze the plate in my hands so harshly that it shatters in my grasp and falls to the floor. That warmth in my chest quickly turns into a fire, and my hands shake.
“Damien…” Ashia warns me quietly, reminding me to get my shit together. I lock my gaze on my daughter, hoping that if I stare at her long enough, she’ll tell me everything I need to know.
“Aboy?”
