Page 97 of Taming Irish

Epilogue II

Shane

Three YearsLater

Ireally amthe luckiest bastard in theworld.

Makena is sitting on the floor beside our son, helping him stack colored blocks on top of each other. But Kieran seems more intrigued by tearing them down than building themup.

I chuckle when he uses the mini-sized Ferrari I got him to knock down the blocks. He’ll be two next week, and even though he’s only been part of our family for a few months, I can’t imagine our life withouthim.

I never thought I’d consider adopting. Hell, I never thought I’d be a father. There are some days, most of them, if I’m honest with myself, that I still don’t know what I’m doing. But Makena is a natural mother. And even though the first year and a half of our little boy’s life was less than ideal, he’s already starting to blossom under her care andlove.

“Crash, Mama,” Kieran says, clapping his hands when he knocks the blocks down again. “More.More.”

Makena laughs and starts to build the tower again. She holds up a block and asks him, “What color isthis?”

“Blue.” Everything is blue tohim.

“Red,” she corrects, placing it on top of another block, then holding up a blue block. “This isblue.”

“Blue. Blue. Blue.” He does a sort of squat-like jump, then wraps his arms around Makena’s neck in a bearhug.

At the same moment, the front door opens and a clamor of people come sweeping into thehouse.

Cadence runs ahead of Emer, who holds the newest addition of the Wild Irish clan, a little boy they welcomed into the world two weeks ago. Aiden follows behind, juggling the diaper bag and some type of contraption that looks like a cross between a bassinet and a swing in one arm, and their one-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Melody, in theother.

I chuckle at the sight. Already, the noise level has increased ten-fold, and we only have half the clanhere.

Cillian comes in with Axel on his shoulders, and a very pregnant Delaney following behindhim.

Both of our moms, who’ve been here since early this morning preparing Christmas dinner, come out of the kitchen. They’ve been living together for a couple years now, and I’ve never seen my momhappier.

I see the secret glance they give each other before going in different directions, and I let out a small sigh, glad that she’s found someone other than her children to finally share her lifewith.

My mom takes Melody from Aiden’s arms, then starts around the room, inspecting the other younger members of our unconventionalfamily.

Owen and Bree are the last to arrive, which isn’t unusual these days, or unexpected. Their two identical three-month-old twin girls announce their arrival with matching high-pitched wails as they walk through thedoor.

“Sorry,” Bree says, looking utterly exhausted, but at the same time never happier. “Do you mind if I use one of the spare rooms to feedthem?”

“Third door on the left,” I say, even though I know she doesn’t need directions. She’s here as much as Delaney andEmer.

Owen follows her down the hall, returning a few minutes later and taking the shot of scotch I offerhim.

“How’s Breedoing?”

“Tired. We both are. But the girls’ slept through the night for the first time last night. A whole sixhours.”

“I’m so jealous,” Emer says, rocking her little boy in herarms.

The conversation continues. Diapers. Formula. Best and worst toys. Helpful baby books. All the things I used to groan about. But this life, while different from the world of screaming fans and paparazzi, has grown onme.

Recently, the guys and I have found a way to still find time to makemusic.

We sold the label a couple years ago. I used my share of the profit to buy The Shamrock. Tommy had been wanting to sell for years, and I gave him a large chunk more than the decrepit building was worth. But I thought it was the least I could do for all the times he used to let us jam there when we werekids.

I closed the restaurant down, but we do open on occasion for local bands to play, or put on a surprise show ourselves. But mostly we use it as a recording studio, and a place to work on newmaterial.

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