How in the hell do they do this every day?
How?
I look at my brother’s twins asleep on the couch—at Tessa, who less than an hour ago had spaghetti smeared all over her face, and then to Mia, who I’m sure still has noodles somewhere in her hair. Then I turn my attention to Grant and Emerson’s daughter, Gwen, who’s in her swing, and I repeat the thought, how in the world do they do this on a daily basis?
And why in the hell did I think I could handle watching all three of them at the same time?
The inadequacies of my mothering skills are clear.
But the chaos that was a cacophony of squealing and refusals to go to bed was worth it now that they’re asleep.
Now they’re so peaceful and sweet that I want to stare at them for hours on end so they don’t grow bigger during the night.
I continue to sing little lullabies that my mom used to sing to Damon and me. Songs I’ve written for others. The song I wrote for myself that’s still on the Billboard Top 100.
I think about how all of this started with needing to write a set of songs and how much has changed since then. I’m now signed as an artist to the same label that let Jett go. My mom is going on ten months sober—the longest stint she’s gone yet. And I now live in Sunnyville where I get to live with my best friend, who just so happens to be the man I love.
I wouldn’t change any of the heartache because it all led me here. To Grady.
Just as I begin a new song, I shift, catching sight of Grady standing there with his arms crossed and shoulder leaned against the doorjamb.
“Hi.” His smile is wide and eyes full of amusement.
“Hi.” I walk toward him and hold a finger to my lips for him to be quiet.
“How’d it go?”
I laugh. “Crazy. Chaotic. Exhausting. Incredible.” I smile and lean in to press a kiss to his lips. But once my lips are there, I don’t want to leave his just yet, so I draw out the kiss a bit more.
He leans back and smiles. “You have spaghetti in your hair,” he says as he reaches out and pulls a noodle from the top of my head.
“I’m sure that isn’t the only place I have it,” I say and then catch the humor in his eyes the same time I think back to him using the same phrase the first time we met. My smile widens and I shake my head a beat before I step away to begin picking up the tornado of toys.
But Grady puts his hands on my arms and keeps me put. His eyes hold mine with an unspoken intensity I don’t understand.
“What is it?”
His smile is soft. The shake of his head subtle. “It’s you.”
My hands are patting down my hair immediately, looking for more noodles but he just laughs. “What?”
“I like seeing you like this.”
“Like what? Frazzled? A mess? Feeling like I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing? What?”
“All of the above.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Add to that gorgeous.”
“Have you been out drinking with your brothers?” I tease.
“No. Not at all.”
“Are you feeling okay? Feverish?” I narrow my eyes and study him. In the past year I’ve learned how to decipher his expressions, but this is one I’ve never seen before.
“Perfectly fine, why?”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I like seeing you like this,” he reiterates. “You. Singing to babies with a messy kitchen and pasta in your hair and that smile on your face. I know I love you. I know I told you that us living together was all I could give you . . . but damn it, Dylan, I can’t do this anymore.”
Panic strikes and whiplash hits as I try to figure out the contradiction in his words. “Grady?”
Then it’s as if he realizes what he’s said. He frames my face with his hands and leans in to kiss me. A physical reassurance to stop the sudden panic he’s caused. His kiss is slow and methodical and packed with so much sensuality that I’m kind of wishing the kids weren’t here so we could continue this where we stand.
“I lied to you, Dylan.” He brushes his lips to mine. “It wasn’t intentional, but I did. I told you I couldn’t give you more, but you know what? I don’t think there’s any way I can give you less.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to walk into our house and see you like this with our kids. I’d give anything to come home from work and have them run out and meet me on the driveway like we used to do with my dad. I want to have nights where the house is a mess and we’re stressed to the gills from them crying and fussing. I want the good, the bad, the ugly in life . . . and I want it with you.”
My eyes sting with tears—the good kind—as I look at him. I think I know what he’s saying.
“You compromised with me, Dylan. You have given me time to work through my fears and doubts. You moved here and gave up your Hollywood life to prove to me this could work when I gave you no promises in return.”
“You didn’t have to give me anything to stay other than your heart. That’s all I wanted, Grady, and you’ve given me that and then some.”
“But you deserve more, Dylan. You deserve the white picket fence and sticky-faced kids and nights where a glass of wine once they’re in bed is the only type of satisfaction you need.”
It’s my turn to laugh and press a kiss to his lips. “Wine is good, but you are much better at satisfying me.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I want to give you all of those things. I told you once I didn’t want to be your whole world, but rather the part you were in. I lied. It isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough with you. I want to be your whole world, Dyl. I want to make the rest with you. I want to fill it with love and laughter and kids and pets and late nights and early mornings. I just want you.”
I reach out and run my fingers down his cheeks, my own words escaping me in the moment.
“I can’t promise you I won’t make you worry. That my job won’t have you worry. But I can promise that you are who I’ll happily come home to each night. That you are who I want to come home to every night. No matter the cost. Marry me, Dylan. Be my wife. Make my life. Make me complete.”
I’m nodding. My mouth is open, but no words are coming out. My tears are falling and still no words are coming out.
And he’s slipping a ring on my finger that I can’t see through the tears and the shock and the love.
Because he’s right. I was willing to settle. To give him what he needed because I didn’t need a piece of paper or his last name to know he loved me. I just needed him. I needed us. And that was more than enough for me.
And now I’ll get the cherry on top. The unexpected dessert.
I get to be a Malone.
“Yes, Grady. Yes,” I finally say.
He lets out a whoop and lifts me into his arms so he can kiss me senseless.
We sink into the kiss and right as our bodies react with want and need, Gwen starts to cry.
Grady rests his forehead against mine and starts to laugh.
“You did say you wanted the crying and fussing,” I murmur against his lips.
“That I did.” He sighs.
But we take a moment longer to breathe each other in.
In a messy kitchen.
With a crying toddler.
And with our hearts as one.
We let our scars fall in love.
We let our hearts heal each other’s.
And now we have the rest of our lives to live.
No matter the cost.
THE END