Page 99 of Until You

I chuckle. “I won’t.”

“Prove it.”

He hangs up, his laugh the last thing I hear. I lie back and stare at the ceiling as I try to process Justin’s words. His offer.

“Take your medical retirement, Crew. Let’s do it. Give me something to look forward to. A piece of the old mixed with some of the new.

You and me, Crew. But not because you pity me. And fuck you, if you do. Do it because you need something more. Just like I want to do it because I refuse to be stuck to this chair and give up everything I used to be. I need more.”

“I need more too.”

What is it that I need more of?

Am I ready for a step like this?

Can I—can we—really do this?

How the fuck does this figure in with my new metric of happiness?

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Tennyson

I gave myself one day.

One day of reprieve where I told myself I could fully enjoy the moment and be present.

One day to help the girls celebrate their twelfth birthday without letting Kaleo—and the paralyzing worry and anxiety he brings with him—ruin the day.

One day to just be Crew and Tenny, the dad and his girlfriend celebrating the girls’ birthday instead of damaged Crew and paranoid Tenny, fearful of the danger her past may bring to them.

It hasn’t been easy. I’ve been trying so hard to distance myself, bit by bit, interaction by interaction, to save them from any and all hurt being associated with me may cause.

But I admit it. I got swept up in the girls’ enthusiasm for their birthday and the sheer joy of helping do something special for two girls who truly deserve it . . . that I made a deal with myself: allow myself one day of reprieve so that I don’t let the girls down, and selfishly so that I can just be.

Because they make it so easy to just be when it comes to them. Crew and Addy and Paige all make me feel like I belong here, like I fit in seamlessly with them—that fighting their pull is just that—a fight. A constant battle to remind myself why I’m pulling away. Because they mean more to me than I ever could have imagined they would when the girls showed up on my doorstep with Hani that first night.

One day.

That’s all I’m giving myself. Easy to think and harder to do when Crew is walking toward me with that grin on his lips and mischief firing in his eyes.

“What?” I ask as he collapses into the chair beside me with a loud, dramatic sigh.

“They’re going to be the death of me.”

“Ah, it can’t be that bad.” I chuckle and pat his arm. “If you think the girls are exhausting now, just wait a couple of years.”

“How would you know?”

I lean over and grin at his male theatrics. “Because I used to be one.”

“Oh yeah. I guess you would know.” He returns the grin.

I look out over the backyard. Colorful balloons and their long strings are tied in clusters all around the backyard. The pizza boxes are empty and stacked on one table. The cupcake station still stands untouched—waiting for candles, wishes, and a birthday song, but the candy tower beside it has been demolished. And when I say demolished, I mean canisters empty and all kinds of sticky, gooey pieces have been stomped into the ground from the mini food fight the girls initiated. The food fight that Crew deemed the Sugar War when he jumped in to join them without batting an eye at the mess being made. The presents are stacked in the shade on the porch.

And the pool is a splash-fest of activity as ten girls, high on sugar, are actually playing with each other—Marco Polo, tag, water volleyball—instead of being curled up staring at their phones.

It’s official. With that thought, I’ve just cemented my status as an old person. Time to break out the AARP card about twenty years too soon.