Page 143 of Forever Flames: Padraig & Stevie
“Over the past couple of years of getting to know all of you, I realized the most important thing in my life was already here.” I kiss Stevie’s temple. “With your mom. Rafferty. All of you.”
Jude leans his forehead against mine.
Lila sniffles. “Is he gonna stay mad at you?”
“Probably for a little while.” I shrug. “He always comes back. We’re twins.”
Isla picks at her nail. “He really doesn’t like us.”
My breath catches.
Stevie takes over. “Isla, he doesn’t know you. Not really. He’s figuring out what it means to have a family.”
Isla doesn’t reply. She gets up and gives me a huge hug. I pull her into my side, arms wide enough to gather her and Jude and Lila at once. Stevie leans into the tangle of limbs, her hand pressed against Raff’s back, the whole bed full of kids and tired hearts and everything I never thought I’d get to have.
I don’t know what Liam’s future holds.
Mine is in this room.
forty-two
Stevie
Eighteen Months Later
Ourhouseisfullin every way that matters.
Steady love with Padraig. Our kids are blended and thriving. I have more business than I can keep up with.
Baby Kellan.
The only thing left is the ring.
Tomorrow I try on wedding gowns with my two daughters by my side. We were supposed to get hitched last year, but my pregnancy surprised us. In a good way. Kellan is soft, sleepy, perfect.
A baby I never thought I’d have. Not with Padraig. Especially at close to forty. The little guy has bound our family together in a way nothing else ever could.
Suddenly, we weren’t two halves of a combined family anymore. Kellen bridges the gap.
The whole gang is here for dinner tonight. Padraig is out grabbing takeout. Kellan’s on my hip, gumming a teething ring while I try to straighten up.
For some reason, Rafferty’s crouched under the dining table whispering into the bottom of a walkie-talkie without batteries.
“Raff,” I lean over, “what are you doing under there?”
He looks up, serious. “Secret practice.”
“For what?”
He whispers in my ear. “Missions.”
Of course.
Kellan and I head back to the kitchen where Lila’s planted at the island with her phone balanced against a jar of peanut butter, watching a red carpet breakdown on TikTok while thumbing through one of my bridal magazines. She’s already got opinions locked and loaded.
“You can’t wear anything with cap sleeves,” she advises without looking up. “They’ll age you.”
“I’m not sure I asked.”
