Her heart burst at the seams watching the two men she loved the most get lost in a tight embrace.

Arthur’s face buried in the crook of Tristan’s neck as he sobbed, “I thought I’d never meet you, Dad.”

Tristan’s big hand stroking Arthur’s black curls as he fought his tears. “I’ve got you, son. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

She had already shared her bout of crying inside her son’s arms, but she would need a heart of stone to remain untouched by the scene in front of her. She shoved her hands inside of her front pockets to contain the urge to fold her arms around the two. The hospital bed was too small, and Tristan sitting on its edge took most of the space, anyway. She didn’t want to risk hurting Arthur’s arm, where the nurses had hooked the IV.

She stepped back, and contemplated father and son as they got through the awkwardness of their first encounter. She had made her piece with her past bad choices, like robbing her son of a father for fourteen years; or hiding his son from Tristan. That didn’t make the ache in her chest any easier to bear, now that she had finally brought them together. She promised herself she would make up for that mistake for the rest of her life.

All she had to do was convince Tristan to accept her back in his life.

For good.

* * *

After Mark’s arrest and Arthur’s return, Izzie and her small family focused on the impending transplant surgery. More tests, more probing and poking of Tristan and Arthur. And Izzie was left with the task of managing two whiny males.

Until she reached her limit.

One evening, they returned home from the clinic, and father and son had been complaining non-stop through dinner. She occupied the chair at head of the table for six that dominated the intimate dining area. Tristan had the chair to her right, while Arthur was sitting on her left. In the beginning, she listened to them and offered arguments, which they ignored. She was glad they had bonded so closely, the health ordeal they were facing together helped that connection. She would appreciate it, if they listened to her more. She wasn’t a fucking doormat, never had been, and never would be.

Weary, she dropped her fork and knife, they clanked as they bounced off the plate onto the polished mahogany table.

“Seriously, dudes? You’re whimpering because they had to redo the CT scans?” She jabbed her index at both men’s chests for emphasis. “You have no idea how lucky you are you don’t bleed every fucking month for days on end. The tomography room was too cold? Boo-hoo. Try carrying another person in your belly for nine months, then having it get out of you through a tiny little hole.”

She wrapped up her ranting and scowled at them. They exchanged glances before looking at her. They were wise not to make fun of her, but she spotted a hint of a smile on Tristan’s pursed lips. Arthur’s eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to amusement.

Tristan covered her hand. “I hear you, sweetheart. We sound like a couple of brats.”

She leaned back on her chair. “You do.”

“I’m sorry, mom. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“That is okay, hon. I know you didn’t.”

Standing, Tristan tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get mommy some dessert.” He slung an arm around Arthur’s shoulder and she watched them amble away. A couple of feet shy of the kitchen door, Tristan delivered his punch line. “I’ve heard chocolate works miracles with women during their menstrual period.”

Their guffaw deflated her annoyance.

When they returned carrying a mouthwatering Fudge Cake, she shook her head and smiled. “What am I going to do with you two?” Father and son exchanged another quick glance and she frowned. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing, mom. May I cut you a slice?”

“That’s very nice of you. I appreciate it, hon.”

Arthur held the serving knife and motioned to cut the cake, but Tristan intervened. “The other side, sonny.”

“My bad,” he carefully cut a thick slice of the cake and transferred it to a plate, placing it in front of her.

When he stared at her instead of cutting more slices for himself or his father, she nudged him on. “Go on, finish serving the cake. I’ll wait for you.”

“Right, right.” Arthur made haste of cutting two other slices and placing them in front of Tristan and himself.

Both played with their dessert, while watching her. “You’re freaking me out. What’s going on here?”

“Mom, will you please eat your cake? Like now?”

She was indeed in her menstrual period and those guys were playing with fire. She rolled her eyes and muttered through gritted teeth, “Fine!” Her fork stopped its descending movement midway through her slice. She glanced at Tristan and Arthur and found out their stares were glued to face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What have you two done?”

Tristan’s lips curved in amusement. “Son, your mother sucks at romance.” He poked her slice of cake with his fork, dismantling the thing, until a red box emerged from the brown ruins. He winked. “There. Happy?”

Speechless, she bounced her gaze between the two men she loved the most.

Tristan opened the box to reveal the most exquisite Claddagh ring she had ever seen. A large red diamond in the shape of a heart, held in place by two golden hands, and crowned by an emerald flanked by two white diamonds.

Izzie’s hand flew to her mouth as she fought tears and gasped for air. She cut her stare to Tristan, on one knee beside her chair. “Will you make me the luckiest bastard in the world? Will you be my wife?”

“Fuck yeah.” She pounced on him, knocking him off balance, and they tumbled to the floor, laughing. Mouths locked in a passionate kiss, fingers pulling hair, and legs intertwined.

“Ew, guys. Kid in the room here.” Arthur’s voice broke through her daze, and Izzie chuckled inside Tristan’s mouth.

“Better get used to it, son. You’ll get a lot of PDA in this house. I’ve no intention of taking my hands off your mom’s ass when I’m around her.”

“You’re scarring me for life, you know.” He winked and sat down on the chair Izzie had occupied until a moment ago, crossing his outstretched legs at his ankles, and watching his parents roll on the floor. “Go on.”

Izzie gazed into Tristan’s loving stare. “He’s got your sense of humor.”

“You’re so screwed.”

“Don’t I know it?”