He wasn’t wrong. As much as those two adored each other, they remained fanatically competitive when it came to football. Or any sport, really. Not that Nils was much different when pressed.
“Adan needs to be careful. The Red Wings will not be pleased if he injures himself,” I said, watching him execute a particularly aggressive slide tackle.
Nils smiled at me. “He hasn’t announced it officially yet, but he’s retiring after this season. He’s done.”
“Is it his knee?” I knew Adan had missed nearly an entire season after a devastating injury that had required two surgeries to repair properly.
“It’s everything, really. His body’s had enough, and honestly, he’s ready to move on to the next chapter.”
“What does that look like?”
Nils’s smile widened. “We’re moving to Sweden. I’ve done as much as I could while living in Detroit, but it’s time to step up and take on more responsibilities. And I want the kids to know their heritage, you know?”
I did understand. We all struggled with maintaining connections to our cultures whilst building new lives. Floris and Orson’s twin daughters, currently napping inside under Mama’s watchful supervision, were being raised bilingual, as was Farron and Tore’s son.
Katy spoke with a charming mixture of proper British expressions and an increasingly pronounced Southern drawl, and with our permanent move to North Carolina, I had no doubt the South would claim victory in that particular linguistic battle. I was perfectly content with that outcome.
We’d chosen to make our home here deliberately, close to Bash’s parents, who’d become my parents in every way that mattered. Mama and Dad, they were now, and they loved me as if I were their natural-born son. Thankfully, Mama had made a full recovery from lung cancer, ringing the bell to signal the end of her treatment a few months after I’d flown back to the States. We’d celebrated with champagne.
“Daddy, Katy pinched me!”
The annoyance dripped off Arvid’s voice as he came running to complain to Nils, who sighed with the patience of an experienced father. “Buddy, Katy is two. She doesn’t understand she’s hurting you yet.”
He shot me a helpless look, and I rose from my chair. “I’ll talk to her,” I said to Arvid, holding out my hand to him.
The four-year-old sighed as he took it. “It’s okay. She’s little.”
I rubbed his blond curls. “Yeah, she is, but she’ll need to learn she can’t hurt others.”
I found my daughter on the expansive lawn that surrounded our home, now pestering Per, Tore’s six-year-old son. Fortunately, he possessed considerably more patience than Arvid, probably because those two additional years of maturity made an enormous difference at that age.
“Katy, come to Daddy.”
My daughter’s eyes lit up when she saw me and she came running toward me as fast as her little chubby legs could carry her. I plucked her off the ground and lifted her high into the air, delighting in her shriek of laughter.
“Who’s Daddy’s favorite girl?”
“I am!”
“Yes, you are, my darling Katy. You’re Daddy’s absolute favorite girl in the entire world.”
I held her close, breathing in her scent of sunshine and strawberry shampoo and something indefinably sweet. Two years, and I still wasn’t used to the wonder of being a dad, of being her dad. She was our sunshine, the absolute joy of our lives. She was the best of Bash and me, carried by a surrogate.
Much to my shock, Charlotte had donated her eggs, though under the condition we would never tell my father. We hadn’t, though I had a feeling he suspected. It was hard to deny how much Katy looked like me, like my mum. Bash often joked that he had no idea where his DNA had gone, but then Katy had one of her moods where she insisted on doing everything herself, and we both knew. She possessed Bash’s stubborn determination and absolute fearlessness, combined with what Mama diplomatically called “a strong sense of her own mind.”
She was magnificent.
“I’m tired, Daddy,” Katy said, putting her head on my shoulder.
“Then close your eyes, baby. Daddy’s got you.”
I walked slowly, rocking her gently as she settled against me with the complete trust that children reserve for their parents, sucking her thumb. She was perfect, and I couldn’t wait to add to our family. Bash was on board with this too, now that our home was ready.
He’d recently left his position with the private security firm he’d worked for since taking the honorable discharge route from the Secret Service. It had seemed wiser to leave before they could terminate him for the relationship that had compromised his professional judgment. Those years of protecting high-profile clients on short-term contracts had provided enough income for me to accept a lower-paying position with a nonprofit focused on global water access whilst completing my master’s degree and subsequently my doctorate.
Now we were both transitioning to the next phase of our lives. I’d been offered a professorship at the University of North Carolina—Bash’s alma mater—teaching International Relations and Diplomatic Studies. The position offered better compensation with significantly less travel, which had enabled Bash to leave private security and return to his previous position as a deputy sheriff.
It was a far cry from the opulence of royal life, but I wouldn’t exchange it for all the palaces in England.
