Page 163

September

I’m four months pregnant and walking Zayn to his first day of second grade. I’m just starting to show, feeling incredible, and his hand is firmly in mine because he’s nervous. I don’t think it matters how many first days you have, the unknowns will always be there.

We met his teachers at the open house, and they’re all wonderful. One thing that is different this year is that we have people walking with us.

“What are you most excited about today?” Alastair asks, his eyes on our son.

Zayn’s head jerks to look at Alastair, and I think he zoned out so hard that he forgot anyone else was with him. He’s in therapy after the break in, and he seems to be doing really well. However, my son is someone who internalized things. I’ve made it a habit to stand outside of his room to listen to him breathe as he sleeps, but there’s not a hint that he’s having any bad dreams.

New experiences are when his anxiety really comes out, and his dads are here in force to walk him to school. They told me that they plan to walk me as often as possible, and I have to say I’m enjoying this.

“Seeing Micaela,” he says. “She’s really nice. I have art for specials, but I don’t know if that’s today or not.”

“Is Micaela in your class?” I ask. They’ve had some playdates over the summer, and it’s when my son relaxes completely and is simply a kid.

“I don’t know yet,” Zayn admits. “We have a lot of teachers, and it’s hard to keep track at first.”

Each pod has several teachers and they break out for different classes. Zayn is right. It’s definitely confusing, and it took me a while last year until I could keep it all straight. He goes to a charter school.

“Well, I guess we’re going to need to be excited for the first few minutes of class so you can see if she is or not,” I say sagely.

“Ugh, I don’t like when you use reverse…reverse…”

“Reverse psychology,” Draven says slowly.

“That!” Zayn yells, making my lips twitch.

“How does he know about reverse psychology?” Ciaran asks, grinning.

“Too many true crime shows,” I sigh under my breath.

“How do those not give you bad dreams, kiddo?” Alastair asks.

“I don’t know,” Zayn shrugs. “They just don’t. I want to know about the bad things.”

“You know you have a lot of people to protect you from those things, right?” I ask, squeezing his hand.

“I know,” he says, smiling serenely. “What if I want to protect people when I grow up?”

“Like a cop?” Arran asks, watching him. There are a lot of personalities in my family, and Emil has mentioned that he wouldn’t be surprised if Zayn follows the family business.

I’m not the kind of mother who dreams of having an artist or a doctor for my children. I want them to be happy and fulfilled. My hand rubs my stomach because I don’t think my son means “like a cop” at all.

“When have they ever protected us,” Zayn scoffs, telling me I’m right.

“I think that whatever you choose, you’ll have your family to guide you,” I say instead. “You’re a very smart boy, and I trust you to make good decisions.”

We walk Zayn into the school and drop him off, smiling as he finds Micaela.

“Oh thank god,” I whisper under my breath. I wave as his gaze finds me and he blows me a kiss. My sweet boy, never too old to say goodbye.

As we walk home afterward, Arran clears his throat and I smile serenely.

“Yes, husband?” I ask.

“I think our wife is the best mother in the world, and our son is an evil criminal mastermind. Does anyone want to fight me on that?” he asks.

“Nope, though you forgot to say she’s pretty too,” Alastair adds.

I shake my head, leaning into Alastair’s side as we walk. Ciaran, Draven, and he have officially been traded to the San Diego Ranchers. They packed up their house a few weeks ago and moved in with me. Surprisingly, they didn’t have much to bring, though there are three new paintings of mine on the walls now.

Ciaran believes his brother is going to decide to move here as well, and I told him he should. I may be uncomfortable with hackers, but that only pertains to those who aren’t firmly in my corner. If you’re family, you don’t use your gifts against them.

“What are you buttering me up for?” I ask.

“Morning sex,” Draven grins.

“Doesn’t anyone have to work?” I ask.

“The shop is open, but I don’t have any appointments until eleven,” Arran says smugly.

“Then I guess,” I check my watch, “you have exactly two hours to pull my soul out of my body.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be afterward, which means I’ll take the following forty-five minutes after that to put you back together,” Alastair says smugly.

Yeah, married life is definitely agreeing with me.