You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“Harper, no,” I say and make a mad dash forward, lunging for my niece before she plummets off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. She’s only sixteen months old, but the kid has the athleticism of an Olympian. She’s fast and can climb to the top of anything in seconds. And I mean fucking anything.

She immediately starts to scream and cry as soon as I pick her up, setting her back down on a rug in the living room.

“Mickey Mouse is on,” I say, pointing to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. “Mommy says you love Mickey.”

She turns at the word and lights up when she sees the cartoon mouse on the screen. Distracted by the show, she forgets about climbing on the couch just long enough for me to sneak away back to the stove. The macaroni is boiling over, spewing sticky bubbles onto the stainless steel stovetop.

Son of a bitch.

I take a deep breath. I got this. I fucking have to. Something crashes behind me and I whirl around, heart stopping as I prepare for the worst. Harper is still happily watching TV, but the dog chases a calico cat through the living room, knocking over fucking everything in their path. The cat’s fur is raised and she leaps onto the counter, sliding to a stop right next to the oven and knocking over a package of Goldfish crackers. The bag falls into the burner. It goes up in flames, stinking up the kitchen and making the smoke alarm go off.

Harper screams.

Paige and Grace come running down the stairs—also screaming.

I flick off the burner, throw the burning paper bag into the sink, turn on the vent above the oven, and rush into the living room to scoop up Harper. Tears stream down from her bright blue eyes—the exact same shade as her father’s—and she clings to me with all her might.

Despite the chaos around me, having Harper cling to me, looking at me for safety and comfort, makes this night worth it.

“What’s going on?” Grace shouts over the blaring beeps. “Do I need to call Dad?”

“No,” I say, knowing she’s referencing Luke, my brother. Technically he is Grace and Paige’s stepfather. They call their biological father “Daddy” and call Luke “Dad.” It seems like it would be confusing to me, but it’s not to them. “It’s just the oven. It’ll stop in a minute.”

“Get a towel,” Paige tells me. “And wave it by the alarm. That’s what Mommy does.”

I grab a damp towel from the counter and do my best to fan the alarm while cradling Harper to my chest. Grace opens the window above the sink and turns the fan on in the living room. The living room, breakfast nook, and kitchen are all connected in an open concept layout, and not even a minute later, the smoke alarm stops.

“It’s okay,” I sooth, rubbing Harper’s back.

“I can take her,” Grace insists. She “babysits” while her mom works in the home office. “And make her stop crying.”

“It’s all right,” I say. “You two can go back to playing.”

“Is dinner ready?” Paige asks, looking up at me. “I’m hungry.”

“Uh,” I start, eyeballing the mess on the stove. “Almost. I can get it dished up for you guys if you sit with Harper in the living room.” I feel like the worst uncle ever right now. Grace is nine years old and Paige turns six next week. They’re easy to watch and are overall good kids. They listen well and get along way better than I expected. Harper is a little monster, and I say that endearingly. She’s cute as hell and will snuggle the crap out of you, but you’re fucked if you turn your back for a minute. She takes after her father, that’s for fucking sure.

The girls all look alike, despite Harper being a half-sister. Grace and Paige are technically my step-nieces, but I love them all equally. All three girls resemble their mother. Grace and Paige have Lexi’s green eyes, but Harper has blue eyes, getting it from Luke.

“Hey little sweetie pie,” Grace coos and picks up Harper the second I set her down. “Do you need a diaper change?”

Paige pinches Harper’s butt and nods. “Yep. She’s pretty squishy. Can we change her diaper, Uncle Cole?”

“Sure,” I agree a little too eagerly. I’ve changed a handful of diapers since Harper has been born, but I’ll happily allow someone—anyone—else to change one. I grab the diapers and wipes from the closet for Grace and go back to the kitchen, draining the noodles and adding butter, milk, and the powdered sauce mix. I stir it together and dish it out on plates, allowing it to cool as I reheat the chicken Luke made for the girls earlier in the day. My brother is a damn fine cook, and I hate him for it. Well, with the exception of the nights when I come over for dinner. Then I’m happy.

I put plates on the table and call the kids over, taking Harper from Grace so I can slip her in the highchair.

“You forgot napkins,” Paige tells me as I click the straps together around Harper’s waist. She’ll climb out of her highchair if she’s not strapped in tight.

“I’ll get them,” I say and walk around the island counter. I open the pantry, grab napkins, and turn just in time to see Harper pick up her plate and throw it to the ground. I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath.

“Pluto!” Paige calls. “Come here, clean-up-crew!”

“Is he allowed to do this?” I ask. I give each girl a napkin and pick up Harper’s plate. She’s happily babbling to herself, playing with the bit of macaroni that’s on her highchair tray.

“Mom lets him,” Grace tells me. “She says he’s too old and fat to eat too much though. But we don’t have to vacuum after every meal if he eats Harper’s mess.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, that’s good, I guess.” I scoop what I can back onto the plate, letting the medium-sized dog snarf up what he can and lick the tiled floor. I get Harper a small bowl of food, and sit at the table next to her, feeding her little by little.

She follows me around crying as I try to clean up the kitchen. I can’t ignore her, so I pick her up and do the best I can cleaning one-handed. Grace and Paige go into the living room to watch TV and start bickering over what to watch.

I set Harper down for a second so I can scoop the leftover mac and cheese into a bowl, and she immediately starts crying.

“Girls,” I say, raising my voice so it can be heard above the baby’s cries. “Just hang on. I’ll pick something for you.”

They ignore me, and Grace reaches forward, trying to snatch the remote out of Paige’s hands. Paige yanks her hands back and her fingers slip. The remote goes flying back in Grace’s grasp, whacking her in the mouth. Her eyes go wide and she brings her hand to her face, dropping the remote. A full second passes before she screams.

“She’s bleeding!” Paige yells. Grace gets up and I see blood dripping from her fingers. Tears stream down her face as she cries, mixing with the blood.

“I’m sorry!” Paige wails, on the verge of tears herself.

“Hang on,” I say and grab a towel. I whirl around, bump into Harper and knock her over on accident. Her cries get even louder, drowning out Grace.

Internally, I’m screaming just as loud.

I pick up Harper and fly over to Grace, giving her the towel. It’s damp from drying dishes, but that’s okay, right?

Fuck. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not a kid person. I love my nieces with all my heart, but I’m so fucking glad I’m just an uncle. I get to leave in a few hours, though right now it seems like an eternity.

It takes another ten minutes to get everyone calmed down. The kitchen is a fucking disaster, and I have no idea how it got so messy. All I did was make mac and cheese and reheat the chicken. Grace sits on the couch and Paige cuddles up next to her, smoothing her hair and holding her hand. It’s fucking adorable but does little to ease my stress.

I don’t like messes.

I don’t like chaos.

Harper takes in a deep breath and rests her head on my shoulder, little arms going around me. Suddenly, the dishes in the sink aren’t important. The dog and cat growling at each other from inside the dining room aren’t bothering me anymore.

I sit next to Grace, slipping one arm around her and Paige and cuddling Harper with my other arm. Paige snuggles closer and Harper closes her eyes. I look at the three little girls and smile. Babysitting isn’t that bad after all.

* * *

“How were they?” my brother asks several hours later. All three girls are sleeping and I finally got shit cleaned up.

“Not too bad,” I say, standing from the couch and walking into the kitchen. “Grace might have a fat lip in the morning. She and Paige were fighting over the remote and she whacked herself in the mouth.”

“Again?” Lexi, my sister-in-law, sighs. “That’s the second time in like three weeks they’ve done that. I’m about ready to take TV away from them.” She wobbles on tall heels, shaking her head. She bends over to undo the straps and almost falls. Luke catches her, and Lexi looks up into his eyes. A smile plays on her face and she slips her arms around his waist.

“Did they go to bed okay?” Luke asks, directing Lexi to a barstool at the island counter. She heavily plops down and works on taking her shoes off again.

“Not too bad. I think I read a million books. The girls kept asking for one more, which turned into a lot. Harper fell asleep right away. She’s so active, I think she wore herself out.”

“You got lucky,” Lexi says, dropping a red heel to the ground. She leans forward and her words slur just a bit. “Last night bedtime took three hours. Harper wouldn’t go to sleep, Paige was constantly hungry no matter how many bedtime snacks she ate, and Grace threw a fit her sisters were keeping her up. And Luke was at work. After I finally got them to sleep, I sat on the kitchen floor eating leftover jellybeans I found in the back of the pantry, not from this past Easter, but the one before that.”

I laugh. “I don’t know how you do this every day. They’re exhausting.”

“Exhausting but worth it.”

“Very worth it,” Luke assures, going over to Lexi. She puts her hands on his shoulders and stands. “Worth it enough to have another.”

Lexi’s green eyes go wide. “No.”

Luke laughs and looks at me. “She’s drunk. She might let me.”

“I might let you do something else I don’t normally do, but no babies. Not right now.”

“I can play with your boobs again?” Luke asks, raising his eyebrows. “I’m so glad you’re done breastfeeding.” Lexi shuffles closer and I take that as my cue to leave. Before Luke and Lexi got married and he moved to Brooklyn with her, Luke lived with me in Manhattan for a while. I know what’s next on their agenda, especially if Lexi’s been drinking. I’ve heard it—and walked in on it—enough that if I never witness them again, it would be too soon.

They’ve been together for a little over three years now, and the “honeymoon stage” never wore off. I can roll my eyes at them all day, but the truth is, I’d kill for something like that. I thought I had it once, and when it was taken away, I almost destroyed the fragile relationship I had with Luke to get revenge.

I was so desperate to make him hurt the way I was hurting I even got Lexi involved. It’s a fucking miracle they talk to me, let alone trust me to watch their children. Sometimes I don’t think I deserve it. And I know I don’t deserve a sister-in-law as good as Lexi.

“Thanks for watching the girls,” Luke tells me, stepping away from Lexi. “We appreciate it, and it’s nice getting a night out.”

“It’s no problem,” I say. “They’re good girls.”

“They are.” Luke turns to Lexi, grinning. “That’s why we should have another. Maybe we’ll get a boy this time.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a boy. And we have a lot of pink.” Lexi hops off the stool. “I’m gonna go check on the girls. Thanks again, Cole.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lexi gives me a hug and then weaves her way around the dog, picking up the cat off the back of the couch, and disappears upstairs, leaving me alone with Luke. It’s not awkward if I don’t think about it too hard. Standing here with him reminds me of how shitty of a brother I was. Not just since he met Lexi, but since we were teenagers.

“You’re always welcome to come over and play with the girls. They’d like it,” Luke tells me, and I wonder if Lexi fed him that line. She’s worried I’m lonely.

“Thanks. And I will. Have a good night.”

Luke raises his eyebrows. “Oh, I will.”

I just shake my head. “Right.”

“Unless I go upstairs and she fell asleep. Which is entirely possible, dammit.”

I chuckled and put on my shoes. “Better get up there, then.”

Luke nods and runs his hand through his hair. Yep. This is awkward for him too. “Drive careful.”

“Carefully,” I correct, and then wince. It’s a habit to correct everyone’s grammar. “I will.” I close the door behind me and jog down the stone steps to my car. Leather crunches as I sink into the driver’s seat, and the engine roars when I start the car. I back out of the driveway, dreading the drive from Brooklyn into the city, though it’s not really the length that bothers me.

It’s because for the time it takes to get from Brooklyn to my house in Manhattan, I’m alone with my thoughts. Thoughts I don’t want to have, and those thoughts lead to feelings I want even less.

Because no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise, I can’t deny it. Seeing my brother and his wife so happy and in love makes a deep feeling of unease grow inside of me, and I hate myself for it. They’re either defying the odds or it’s a matter of time before everything falls apart.

Because I don’t think true love exists.

* * *

I am the villain in my own life story.

Being the first one here Monday morning reminds me of how much I’ve fucked up in the past, of how much of a fucking miracle it is that I have the few friends I do. I push my shoulders back and drink my coffee, looking down at the busy Manhattan street below, wondering if I’ll ever be the hero.

Heroes are inherently good.

Don’t cave to the darkness.

Don’t relish in the satisfaction of revenge.

Have hearts of gold. Do the right thing no matter how much it screws themselves in the end.

Heroes make the world a better place.

I’m damned to be the bad guy. And everyone knows bad guys never get a happy ending. They live out a short reign of fake happiness before the hero rushes in and pulls it all out from under their feet and the world cheers. No one wants to see the bad guy ride off into the sunset, arm-in-arm with someone who makes him a better person. No, the bad guys have to be taken off their feet, given their just desserts for all the shit they did.

And then they’re forgotten about.

With a sigh, I turn away from the window and sit at my desk, ready to get to work and get my day started. Though it really never feels like it ends. Work is important to me. Work keeps me busy. Keeps me grounded. And work is pretty much all I fucking have. I enjoy my job, really, I do. Reading has offered an escape for me since I was old enough to pick up my first book, and having a job that pays me to read is a dream come true. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like correcting people’s grammar.

I start my day by checking my emails, handling things outside the publishing house before working on in-house projects. I’ve replied to three emails when my office phone rings. My brows push together and I stare at the phone, seeing that the call is coming from inside the building. No one is here to be calling me yet. No one in the editing department at least.

I sigh, sure whoever is on the other line is going to tell me about some sort of problem, and answer.

“Hello, Cole,” a cool, level voice comes from the other line. “It’s Caitlin Black.”

Fuck. I was not expecting a call from one of the owners of the publishing house this early. Or today. Or ever. Caitlin inherited her position as publisher and owner from her grandfather, who founded the company. It’s obvious she lacks passion for it, and spreads her misery by insulting any and everyone in the building anyway she can.

“I’ve got some good and bad news, and you know how I don’t like to sugarcoat anything, so I’ll just get right to it.”

“All right.” I reach for a pen in case I need to take notes. My heart speeds up and I press the phone against my ear.

“I’m retiring at the end of the year and the board has decided you’re a candidate to take my position. You can decide what’s the good and what’s the bad in that. Before we move forward, I need to know if you accept or decline.”

I blink. Inhale. Exhale. What just happened? “Of course I accept. It’s an honor to be considered a candidate.”

“Great,” she drones dryly. “We’ll review your performance at the end of the year and come to a decision.”

She hangs up without a formal goodbye, and I’m left motionless from the bomb she just dropped. Though, it’s a good bomb. Well, other than knowing I’ll be more under the fucking microscope than ever for the rest of the year.

Becoming a publisher was part of my plan the day I took the assistant editing job here at Black Ink years ago. I’m not one to settle, and I set the bar high. Though wanting to be a publisher in a company that historically only employs family as publishers was an unrealistic bar.

And now it might happen. Fuck, is that excitement I’m feeling? I close my eyes and push it away. I try not to feel anymore. That didn’t work out so well in the past, and I really don’t want to fuck up the family life I’ve miraculously scraped off the pavement. Luke and Lexi forgave me once.

I know I won’t get lucky again.

Besides, it’s not a done deal yet. I’m just being considered, though I see no reason not to promote me. I’ve devoted my whole fucking life to this job.

I give myself just a minute to think about it, then snap back to reality. And reality is that I have a shit ton of work to do. An hour later, the rest of the office begins to fill. I get up to get more coffee from the break room.

“Hey, Cole,” Lexi says as she fills her cup. She’s standing at the counter next to Jillian, her best friend and fellow Black Ink editor. “Have you recovered from your wild Friday night?”

“Hardly.” I set my coffee mug down and grab the pot.

“Thanks again. It was really nice getting out of the house and having a few kid-free hours.”

Jillian shakes her head. “I can’t believe you want another.”

My eyebrows go up, but I don’t say anything. Lexi was so sick at the beginning when she was pregnant with Harper that she ended up hospitalized and then on bedrest for nearly three months. Why anyone would want to go through that again is beyond me.

“A bunch of us are going out for lunch today,” Lexi says. “Wanna join?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I have phone calls to make.”

Lexi pulls her lips in around her teeth and nods. “Okay.” She takes a small step closer to me. “You don’t have to keep punishing yourself.”

I keep my eyes on the coffee sloshing around in the glass pot in front of me. I’m still not used to how perceptive my sister-in-law can be at times.

“I’m not.”

“Keep telling yourself that. It’s time you enjoy life.”

Another editor from the press walks in and Lexi changes the subject to Emma Stark—one of Black Ink’s most popular authors—and how she’s the first one to know how Emma’s series ends since she does the edits for her. I make the minimal amount of small talk I can with the other editors and then head back to my desk. I get a few more emails answered when one comes through from Caitlin Black, with a blank subject line. I mouse over it, little arrow hovering for a few seconds before I click. We spoke maybe an hour ago. She better not be saying she fucking changed her mind and isn’t retiring. I take another drink of coffee and click.

Cole-

I see one of your part-time editors just acquired a new project. She already has more projects per hour than everyone in the building. Including you. Fix this.

Well, fuck. I set my coffee down and roll my neck. The book she’s referring to is one Lexi just took on and is super fucking excited about. Lexi is smart. She might overextend herself and take on more than I’d recommend, but she’s not going to do a bad job.

Rubbing my forehead, I pull up a file listing out everyone’s projects. Lexi does have a lot going on right now, and two books have release dates less than a month apart. Plus she edits indie books at home. And raises her children. And puts up with Luke. I don’t know how she fucking does it.

Everyone else is just as swamped. Everyone except for me. I don’t take on as many books since I manage the others. I have nothing releasing in that timeframe. I could edit this book, but I don’t want to take a project away from Lexi.

And I don’t do romance.

I sigh and pick up my office phone. I dial Lexi’s extension. At least she despises Caitlin as much as I do.

“Hey Cole, what’s up?”

“I’ve got some bad news,” I start, shaking my head at what I’m about to say. “I recently talked with Caitlin Black.”

“That’s the bad news, right?”

“Hah. Talking to her is bad news.” I inhale and hesitate for a second, considering telling Lexi about the possible promotion. “She said you have too many books.”

“People have been telling me that for years. I say it’s not a problem with having too many books. It’s a problem with having not enough shelves.”

“She didn’t mean it that way.”

“Fuck,” Lexi sighs. She has a bit of a potty mouth, which surprised me. When our relationship was strictly professional, I never heard her drop an f-bomb. Fuck is one of my favorite words, so I’m not complaining. “I know what you mean. Is she going to make me drop one?”

“Yeah. The newest one by, uh…” I open the file again, looking at the data. “By Scarlett Levine.”

“But that book is so good. The first book hardly requires any plot changes at all. It’s solid and we’ve already talked on the phone about stuff. And she sent me the first three chapters of book two. It makes no sense to drop this.”

“I know,” I agree. “But you know Caitlin doesn’t understand. Or care.” I run a hand through my hair. “Do you have time to come in here? We can go over everything and try to make your schedule work.”

“Yeah. I can come now.”

I hang up, knowing Lexi is more upset about this than me. She doesn’t take on a book she doesn’t believe in, and having something taken away from you after you’ve invested time and emotion into it fucking sucks.

But that’s Caitlin fucking Black for you. It makes sense, actually, that she throws around as much authority as she can her last year. She inherited her position, and despite her know-it-all attitude, I think she’s all too aware that she’s under-qualified. Hence why she’s such an asshole. People will be so happy when she’s finally gone.

Lexi and I spend over an hour plotting and planning, outsourcing what we can, and come up with a solid schedule. A solid, practical schedule. And Caitlin strikes again, threatening to pull marketing dollars away from a book that “can’t be well edited and put together” since Lexi’s schedule is full.

Another hour and a migraine later, I get off the phone with Caitlin and call Lexi back in my office to deliver even more bad news.

“So,” Lexi sighs, looking defeated. “Are you telling Scarlett Levine or am I?”