Paige

PAIGE

The absolute tenderness that takes over Henry when Paxton hugs him is something I am more than familiar with. It's called motherhood. Or, I guess, fatherhood for him.

You know the joy and excitement, the peace and awe, the terror of being a parent. It transforms Henry right in front of me.

He closes his eyes, squeezing him tighter.

And I recognize the feeling. It's belonging.

The way Henry's hand braces the back of Paxton's head fills in the missing pieces in my chest. And the small tumble I've been fighting turns into a free fall. Part of me has always loved Henry, but now, it's so much more.

When he looks at me, I expect to see anger or resentment in his eyes, but it's not there. Instead, he gathers Paxton up and stands with him snuggled against a shoulder, reaching for me.

I step forward, giving him my hand. Henry reels me in, pulls us together. I wrap an arm around his back and smooth Paxton's hair from his eyes with a soft smile.

This is what I've wanted for so long. All three of us. Together. A family.

Why was I so scared to tell him the truth?

After a minute, Paxton wiggles free but holds his hand out to Henry. "Come here. Come here."

Henry offers his hand and Paxton grabs his finger, leading him to the couch to share his favorite toys. My boy has always been inclusive, wanting everyone to get a turn to play. And when Paxton smiles again, all tiny little square teeth, Henry melts like the big old softy I know him to be.

"I was just starting dinner. Did you want to stay?" I offer, walking behind the counter to prep for the fixings. "It's taco night. Bub's favorite."

"Sure. Thank you." Henry shoots me a grateful look, and I just don't understand how he's not upset and raging right now.

Paxton grabs his face and turns him back to their game. Yeah, he can be like that. I watch them go from the cars to the dinosaurs to the wooden block puzzles to play putty to his dancing bear that sings and drums the banjo.

Henry follows the transitions, safely tucking each discarded toy on the couch behind him. He's sunk to the floor, one leg out and the other tucked up behind the coffee table as our son waxes on with his gibberish. Then, he holds out a tiny phone figurine.

"It's Pop Pop."

"Pop Pop, huh?"

"My dad."

Henry meets my gaze and nods, having a safe, pretend conversation over the toy before he hands it back. He really is good at this.

I try not to fantasize about what it might have been like to have him here for the whole thing. During my pregnancy. During labor. Those terrible first few months when I swear I didn't sleep at all. Potty training.

How much trouble and money I could have saved my dad…

I can't undo it, but I can acknowledge that part of it was pride for me. And the other…well, Henry disappeared and that was a clear enough sign to me at the time.

Knowing Henry the way I do now, I have to wonder at his reasons. Trying to protect me from himself, I'm sure.

I shake my head and focus on the final touches, homemade salsa marinates together in one bowl. Cheese shredded in the next. A small bowl of lettuce, because let's get real, my little monster isn't a fan of greens. I'm lucky he'll eat the salsa with his tacos. And I make a sour cream sauce with hot sauce, garlic, and lime.

With the meat cooked and resting on the back burner, I fry up my own shells. It's one of those touches that Paxton goes wild about. He'll eat at least one shell on its own—after eating a real taco. That's our deal.

"Okay, Bubba. Time to clean up for dinner. Tacos are almost ready."

"Okay." He's on his feet, holding a hand out to Henry, who laughs and pretends to let our son help him up.

God, that's such a nice change. Our son instead of just mine. I didn't think I'd like it so much.

Henry groans a little as he stands. "Think I'm a little too old to be on the floor like that."

I laugh, and he narrows his ice-blue eyes at me. The look doesn't last long as Paxton pulls his father to the bathroom and shows him how to wash his hands for dinner.

When they're done, Henry helps set the table and gets Paxton settled in his booster seat before he rounds the counter to assist me. He lingers behind me for a second, nose in my hair, breathing me in before I offer him Paxton's plate.

That little boy lights up at Henry and I watch it hit him all over again. It's going to take some time for him to get used to this.

He comes back for his own plate, and we put our tacos together in companionable silence until I catch Paxton reaching for the empty shell instead of his taco.

"Bub, what does Mommy say about the taco shell?"

He pouts but reaches for the taco and takes a bite.

Henry bumps me lightly with his shoulder. "So, how did the nickname Bub or Bubba come about?"

I smile fondly—I can't help it. "When he was a baby, he'd make this burbling noise, and Dad would make the noise back: bub bub bub bub . It just kinda stuck."

Glancing at Henry, I see the wistfulness in his faint smile. The longing. And he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch electrifies me, pausing us in this small moment before I snap out of it.

I look at Paxton again, eyeing him as he chews. He gives me his innocent eyes.

Leading Henry to the table, we sit and entertain our son, and Paxton reminds us both—and himself—that Henry is his dad by reaching out to touch his arm or point at him, look at me, and say, " Dada ."

I nod each time and repeat, "Dada."

Then Paxton smiles at Henry. It gobsmacks him every time. I'm not surprised by the easy acceptance from our son. He took to Henry immediately. More so than Eli and Jake.

Trying not to dwell on the what-ifs, I'm curious what the future will bring. I don't want him to feel obligated to want me because of Paxton, but I don't think that's the case. He's told me how much he wants a family. How much he likes that I'm a mother.

But does he want everything that comes with being a dad full-time? Certainly, that will get in his way.

I shake my head and finish my food, cleaning up as they seem more focused on each other. After, I hustle Paxton to the couch, and Henry follows, the three of us cuddling as we watch one of his favorite movies, which I've seen hundreds of times, but Henry watches it like it's his first go.

Paxton is sleepy when we set him down together, so we slip out easily, closing my bedroom door behind us. I slowly walk him to the door and turn to his frown. It leans me against the exit, preparing myself for the other shoe to drop.

But he boxes me in with his arms, palms braced against the door on either side of me. The woodsy scent fills my lungs and I want to pull him against me and forget all about the drama.

Instead, I wait.

Henry closes the distance inch by inch, mouth hovering so close to mine. "Don't kick me out."

My mouth parts to tell him that he has to go, but his thumb across my lip silences me.

"Let me stay."

I suck in a breath, wishing with everything inside me that he could, but it's not the right time. He needs to process this. Decide without pressure from me and Paxton what kind of dad he wants to be. I can't make up his mind for him. And as much as he says he wants the responsibility now, I can't hold him to it.

About to shake my head and deny him, I barely take a breath before he's kissing me—soft, tender, full of everything I've always dreamed of and more.

If he doesn't want this, it will break me, although not completely. Nothing can ruin me except for the loss of my son. Losing Henry would be a close second—now that I've had so much of him.

With a shaky hand, I run my fingers through his hair, cradle him to me. This kiss isn't about sex like so many of the others have been.

This is something new. Something more.

Still, when he asks again, I remain firm. "Not tonight. You need to process this. Let it fully sink in."

However long it takes, I don't want to be there when the surprise wears off and turns into regret.