Page 155 of Unravel Me

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“I have five cars. You can use one of mine.”

I open my mouth to politely decline, but Carter holds up a hand.

“Wait, it’s six. I have six cars. ’Cause Ollie won’t let me get rid of Red Rhonda.”

Olivia’s face lights. “You can borrow Red Rhonda! She’s such a great little starter car. I got her used when I was seventeen. She—”

Carter covers her mouth with his hand, pulling her back against his chest. “Once she starts on Rhonda, she doesn’t stop. And trust me, Ro, ol’ Rhonda isn’t gonna get you anywhere, except stuck in a ditch.”

Olivia frowns, ripping his hand away. “That was one time. She just needs new snow tires and she’ll be good as new.”

Carter’s gaze locks with mine, and he shakes his head, discreetly cutting a hand across his throat.

“I’ll probably keep up with the bus while I save. Maybe that’ll be my first big purchase after I graduate in the spring, when Connor and I get our own place.”

“You mean when you move in with Adam?” Carter asks, then grips his shoulder when Olivia gives him a little whack there. “Ow! Don’t make me tie those hands up, Ollie girl.”

She rolls her eyes. “The move-in discussion is one for them to have, not them plus you.”

“But—”

Olivia silences him with nothing but the fierce look in her eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But it’s not like Adam’s gonna let her go somewhere else. He’sprettyobsessed with her.”

My gaze flicks to Adam beside me, only to find him already watching me. He winks, and the simple action, paired with him pushing that giant wagon with both Connor and Ireland inside,andBear and Dublin, Carter and Olivia’s golden retriever, sends a heady rush of blood to my head. He’s so innately at home in this role as a family man, like he was made to fill these shoes, and damnit, he does it so well.

It’s been two months since we’ve seen Brandon, and I haven’t heard from him once. I knew that was it, the moment we walked out his door. I knew there would be no going back, that he would take the easy way out, the one he’d probably been searching for since the beginning. But if I’d had a shred of doubt, it would have dissolved in flames the night Archie came home from work, said he saw a pile of Connor’s things set next to the trash on the curb out front of Brandon’s condo.

The picture in my head was gutting, and once Connor was in bed for the night, I curled up on the couch and cried in Archie’s arms. The knowledge that it was so easy for Brandon to let go of Connor, to liken it to taking out the trash, it hurt like hell.

And yet, Connor hasn’t asked for him once. His days are filled with more love now than they ever were, people who put themselves in his life because they want to be a part of it, and my boy is thriving, absolutely glowing. I have so many incredible people to thank for that, but the one who’s made the biggest difference recently is the man standing next to me. The one who picks him up early from daycare while I’m still in clinic, keeps him home for the day because he missed him so much while he was traveling. Sings and dances with him in the living room. Walks him to the local school at dismissal time just so he can see all the buses coming and going. Lets him make a mess at the kitchen counter while they make breakfast together. Wears bubble beards and bubble hats with him. Reads to him while they’re lying in bed at night. Loves him, unconditionally, the way a child is meant to be loved.

Nostalgia stokes a warm fire in my chest on this chilly November evening, reminding me of the childhood I had, all the ways my parents loved me and showed me every day. All I want to do is give Connor a childhood like the one I had, and I hope somewhere, my parents are looking down at me, proud of the life we’re living.

Proud of me.

“Sorry, fellas. We’d love to give you two special permission, but you have to leave the wagon here. The bridge isn’t fully accessible, unfortunately.”

“The bridge?” I swing my head around, realizing for the first time that we’ve veered off Capilano Road, that we’re now in the entryway to some sort of park, talking to a smiling attendant. I watch Adam and Carter take the kids out of the wagon, securing them to their chests in carriers. The sight is so fucking attractive, but I can’t fully appreciate it in this moment. “What bridge, Adam?”

“Right on time too,” the attendant continues. “The lights go on in five minutes.”

“Lights? What lights? Adam, what lights?”

He just smiles, taking my hand, pulling me forward. My heart threatens to pound right out of my chest, because the only bridge and lights I can think of are the ones my parents were supposed to take me to see exactly thirteen years ago, on my twelfth birthday.

“I thought we were just going for a walk,” I rush out, stumbling down the path, my hand suddenly clammy in his.

“You didn’t think I’d let your birthday pass without giving you something you’ve always wanted, did you?”

“You already did,” I argue. “You taught me to drive. I’m a licensed driver today because of you. You fed me breakfast in bed, and no one, not ever, has done that for me.” And because I’m nervous, and freaking outjust a little, I lean closer and whisper, “And you did that thing with your tongue, remember?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Yes, I did. And with my fingers too. And then you did that thing you do, what was it, three times over?”

“Four,” I murmur, the memory of his name on my lips while I came this morning still such a vibrant, beautiful, incredible memory.

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