Page 168 of The Wild Card

I look around the table—at Linda’s shameless enthusiasm, Robert’s quiet amusement, Gavin returning with an armful of beer bottles and a traumatized expression. He begins distributing the beer and hands me two bottles.

This is chaos. This is loud and messy and completely without boundaries.

I love it.

“I appreciate the support, Mrs. Marshall,” I say.

“Linda. You call me Linda. Or Mom, if you’re feeling brave.”

“Mom,” Emmie warns.

“What? He’s going to be family officially someday. Might as well start now.” She winks at me. “No pressure.”

“No pressure at all,” I agree, and for some reason, I mean it. I haven’t called anyone Mom since I was seven and my mother died. It might take me a while to warm up to the idea. But I do like it. The idea of having someone mothering me again, especially if that someone is Linda Marshall, with her big heart and her complete lack of a filter.

After dinner, I help Robert with the dishes while the others migrate to the living room. It’s quiet in the kitchen—just the clink of plates and the running water.

“Sorry about Linda,” he says after a while. “She gets excited.”

“I noticed.”

“She’s been talking about grandbabies since Emmie turned twenty-five. You get used to it.” He hands me a pot to dry. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you two worked it out. Whatever happened before—that’s your business. What matters is where you go from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Crew?” He turns to look at me, and there’s something serious in his expression. “I meant what I said before. You hurt my daughter, I’ll hurt you. But I also meant the other part.”

“What other part?”

“That you’re welcome here. That you’re part of this family now, for as long as you want to be.” He claps me on the shoulder. “So don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“Good.” He turns back to the dishes. “And stop calling me sir. It’s Robert. Or Dad, if you ever get there.”

My chest does something complicated.

“Robert,” I manage.

“That’s better.”

We finish the dishes in comfortable silence, and when I rejoin Emmie in the living room, she looks up at me with a question in her eyes.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I settle onto the couch beside her, and Linda immediately starts showing us photos of the neighbor’s new baby, hinting heavily that she’d like one of her own to photograph. “Everything’s good.”

Emmie leans into my side. “Told you it would be fine.”

“Your mother asked about our birth control method,” I lean in, whispering near her ear with a bemused smirk.

Emmie fights a smile. “That’s her love language.”

I lift one eyebrow. “Invasive questions about our reproductive choices?”

“Aggressive investment in our future happiness.” She grins up at me. “Same thing.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling.