Page 54 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 6:42 a.m.
I groan, flopping back against the pillows. “No. It is too early. Go back to sleep. Or at least pretend. Come back in…, five hours,” (obviously, knowing that’s not happening).
Mia pokes my cheek. “But we’re awake already.”
Nico nods solemnly. “Yes, we can’t go back to sleep.”
I let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “So, you’re telling me you broke into my room because you guys are up?”
Mia grins. “Yes.”
“What about your dad?”
Nico climbs onto the bed, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell Daddy we came in here.”
I raise a brow. “Oh? So, you do know what you’re doing is wrong?”
They both giggle like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
I exhale dramatically, sitting up. “All right, fine. But next time, maybe knock instead of ambushing me in my sleep?”
Mia gasps. “We should have knocked, Nico!”
Nico shrugs. “Maybe next time.”
I snort. I’m so outnumbered.
With an exaggerated sigh, I throw off the covers and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The twins immediately grab my hands, dragging me toward the door with surprising strength for two little humans.
“All right, all right, I’m coming!” I laugh, letting them pull me along.
As soon as we step into the hallway, the smell of coffee hits me. The house is quiet except for the soft hum of the morning - birds outside, the faint sound of the coffee machine, and the patter of four-year-old feet on the hardwood floor.
I notice the pictures lining the walls.
Large, framed photographs - most of them of the twins.
In one, Mia and Nico sit on a picnic blanket, chubby hands clutching dripping ice cream cones, their faces smeared with chocolate and strawberry swirls. In another, they’re bundled up in winter coats, standing in front of a half-built snowman, Mia’s mittens covered in snow while Nico grins with a missing front tooth.
There are older ones too. A baby picture of them in matching onesies, Nico drooling on Mia’s shoulder. Another of Blake holding both of them at once, looking utterly exhausted but smiling.
And then - one I don’t expect. One that makes me pause.
It is a picture of Blake and a woman.
Her.
She is beautiful, with dark hair and kind eyes, holding both babies in her arms. Blake stands beside her, one hand on her back, the other on Nico’s tiny leg, his expression unreadable.
Their mother.
I swallow, suddenly feeling like I’m intruding. But before I can dwell on it, Mia tugs my hand again, her little voice breaking through my thoughts.
“Come on!” She urges. “Let’s go!”
I shake off the heaviness and let her drag me forward, leaving the memories hanging on the walls behind us.
But the second I step into the living room, all thoughts evaporate.
