Page 37 of War

AVA

I knowwhat you’re thinking. I couldn’t possibly have just offered to marry Tyler Warren. I hate him. I’ve spent the last two years lamenting how he’s a narcissist who cares about no one but himself. Agreeing—no, proposing—to be his wife for the next year, let alone sixteen, is insane.

But hear me out.

I might have been a teeny bit wrong about him. Not completely, because I still think he’s a womanizer who stood me up two years ago in favor of a one-night stand. Something I made clear I wasn’t interested in.

But he’s notonlya womanizer. Is any person reallyonlyanything?

God, I hope not. If so, then I have no idea who I am. For so long, I was nothing more than the girl who provided blood and body parts to keep her sister alive. If that’s all I was, that would be pretty pathetic.

Although I don’t regret a single donation, I’ve got to be more than that. Right?

Maybe this is my shot. My chance to be someone else.

It’s clearly the most out of character thing I’ve ever done. Or it’s the most in character. Dedicating my life to someone else’s happiness. I suppose maybe I am still the same person I always was.

But it’s for three kids who need me. War isn’t at risk of losing Brayden and Scarlett. They’re safe here. But Josie? Without War proving that she has a stable, loving home—that it is in her best interest to stay with him—she’ll be at risk of losing the first family she’s ever had.

I refuse to let that girl lose anything else.

I may be the best chance she has of staying in this house. I’m not saying I’m perfect, and if anyone found out my secret, I’d probably be the last person they’d deem worthy of raising a kid. Still, I truly believe this is the right thing to do. I’ll always put those kids first. They’ll be safe and happy and loved. That should be enough, right?

Assessing myself in War’s bathroom mirror, I make peace with my decision and glance at the clothes I dropped onto the counter.

Putting them on will make it more real. His clothes. His house. His bed.

And I’ll be his wife.

Not in the biblical way, of course. Just in thewe’re going to raise kids together and build a beautiful life for them and…holy shit, I’m going to bemarriedto Tyler Warren.

Spiraling, I pick up my phone and text my sister.

Me: It’s late, I know. I should have texted earlier. It’s after midnight here, though, so Merry Christmas. I have some pretty unexpected news and I’m not even sure how I feel about it, but…

Me: I’m getting married!

Me: Okay, deep breaths. It’s not how you think. We’re doing it for Josie. Remember that guy I told you about a couple of years ago? The one who stood me up and

Having no interest in reliving all the turmoil that’s festered between us, I delete the message.

Let’s try this again.

Me: I’m marrying Tyler Warren. He’s a hockey player. I’ve told you about him before, remember? He’s adopting Josie. It’s not love in the traditional sense, but I love Josie and he does too. And I really think this is my purpose. Why I found myself in Boston. For her. And her sister. I just met Scarlett, and I’m already in love with her. Tyler is also the guardian of a teenager, Brayden. He seems like a good kid. It will take time for them to be comfortable with me, but I’m going all-in. You always said nothing worth doing is worth doing halfway. I wish you were here. I wish we could wake up together tomorrow, and I wish you could meet all of them. Even Tyler.

Me: I’ll text you tomorrow. I love you.

The weight of the night hits now that I’ve texted her. I always work out my feelings through our conversations. My messages are as therapeutic as diary entries.

A gentle knock sounds on the door, startling me. “You okay?”

“Yup.” I set my phone down and scan the room, garnering the last of my energy. “Be right out.”

No more dilly-dallying. Morning will come soon, and with a house filled with kids on Christmas, I can only imagine the energy I’ll need.

I pick up the T-shirt and immediately roll my eyes. Of course he picked a Bolts shirt emblazoned withWarrenand a big7on the back. Despite my better judgment, I slip it on. I can’t sleep in my dress, and I’m too tired to argue with him, which is exactly what would happen if I asked for a different shirt. With a quick glance at my reflection, I stalk out of the bathroom. “Is it a hockey player thing only, or do all guys like seeing their name on a woman’s back?”

Tyler is already beneath the covers—thank god; I couldn’t handle another minute of awkwardly staring at one another before getting into bed—and as I shuffle to the empty side, he blinks at me, looking shell-shocked. Though he opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, no words come out.

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