Chapter 28

28

Tripp

All through dinner, Mom drops hints that if Levi's seeing Violet again, he can plan on being disinherited. I'd feel bad for him, except he brought my kids cheap starter musical instrument sets, and since I'm going to have to listen to that for the next forty-three years, he can endure an uncomfortable dinner that comes with a lot of questions.

"Do you really need your mom's inheritance money?" Lila asks him at one point.

I laugh so hard I almost fall out of my chair as Levi goes red and stutters that it's not money .

"I think the whole table needs to know exactly what you're planning on inheriting, Levi," she continues.

"Agreed," Yvette says over her sweet potato casserole.

We don't tell them, because a family needs some secrets.

Plus, it's more fun to make them guess.

And I'm going to whisper it to Lila as soon as I get her alone anyway, because she'll think it's just as hilarious as I do.

I was worried about Thanksgiving. Holidays have been rough since Jessie died. But today's not stressful, and while there's a part of me that will always wish she could be here, I finally feel like we've all arrived at a place where we can let ourselves be happy without her.

And where I can move on with the woman currently charming her parents, just by being herself.

She was gorgeous the day I met her, but I swear she glows now, even when she's sporting subtle bags under her eyes from the hours she's been working. She's like an overinflated balloon of secrets and stories that she's never been able to share, and I'm more than honored that she's letting me into all of her life. Watching her come alive, come into owning who she is, watching her figure out what she wants—it's a special kind of magic.

I know Yvette and Homer aren't blind, and I haven't been keeping my hands to myself. Or my eyes.

I'm across from Lila, who's between Emma and James—at their insistence and her agreement—and we've been playing footsie under the table since we sat down.

I'm closer to forty than I am to thirty, with two little kids, and I'm getting turned on at the Thanksgiving table by footsie .

I am such a goner.

My family is too, and that's not heart-shaped blinders talking. Mom's enthralled with Lila's commitment to reviving the Fireballs Little Sluggers Foundation, which is the league I first played in. My kids can fall in love with anyone who gives them a little attention and doesn't have Cash's nose. Yvette is completely smitten over finding out Lila loves romance novels, and I don't know what happened between Levi, Homer, and Lila while I was making dinner, but the three of them keep arguing over who's on whose poker team during naptime.

I called a Bro Code meeting a week ago, laid out everything Lila's done for the Fireballs, topped it with Fireballs Con ticket sales numbers, the stack of media mentions of the team this fall compared to last fall, how booked her calendar is with meetings from everyone from the mayor to the higher-ups at the other pro teams in town for guidance on how we can work together, and the increased revenue the team's already seeing from early season ticket sales and sales of lucky duck merchandise.

Plus, there's her insistence that the Fireballs be a major sponsor for a walk against cancer and an Alzheimer's foundation.

The guys asked about Wellington.

I told them to drop it. That I'd handled it. Davis backed me up—swear to god, somehow he knows—and that was that.

I know Lila's working too hard, so I'm working just as hard at increasing staff for support.

But today, it's just us.

Family.

The family we make.

This is what I'm thankful for today.

For being together. For laughter. For my kids shrieking too loud and dropping their food on the floor, and for me thinking that maybe it's time we get a dog, since James so clearly needs animals in his life.

For new chances to find love with the people we don't expect, and for my in-laws understanding and making Lila feel welcome, for Levi giving her a chance, and for my mom squeezing my hand halfway through dinner when no one's watching, and whispering, "It's good to see you happy again."

You could say it's the regular sex.

Or getting comfortable with my kids having the perfect nanny—sorry, manny in Waylon. Or in working again, at a job that gives me new challenges every morning, working toward the team that I've wanted to be a part of since I was a kid.

But I think it's far more likely that the happiness is coming from having someone in my life who knows just as well as I do how fragile life is, and how quickly everything can change, but who keeps on going with making every day something special anyway.

She's inspiring me.

It's been two days since I've put my hand sanitizer in my pocket first thing in the morning. Conscious decision.

It's time to quit letting paranoia influence my kids' childhood and my entire life.

We break out the pies as soon as Levi asks where seconds are, because pie .

That's my other favorite part.

"Oh, you worked for Dalton Wellington? He's our neighbor," Yvette says to Lila as she squeezes canned whipped cream onto her pumpkin pie. "We see him at the market all the time."

Lila chokes on her wine.

I would've too, if I'd been drinking. As it is, I know my eyebrows are suddenly permanently imbedded in my hairline.

"Wrong pipe," she gasps as she shoots me a look. "I'm okay."

I didn't tell them , I telegraph. Or try to. It might come across as I thought you said Dalton Wellington didn't exist?

"We don't see him, Yvette," Homer says while Yvette reaches around Emma's booster chair and whacks Lila on the back. "No one sees him."

"Well, I pretend I do every time I drive past the gate to his estate."

"Yvette, that's not his estate."

"Rumor on the village's Facebook group is that he was in a car accident and has been in a vegetative state since he disappeared from public view."

"That's not a real rumor."

"But my rumor has a secret mistress running his empire by day and spoon-feeding him and reading him romance novels by night."

Lila's flat-out wheezing now, and I'm getting more than a little concerned about my mother-in-law. And my girlfriend.

Yes, my girlfriend. I open my mouth to change the subject, but Homer sighs and shakes his head while he turns to Lila. "Ignore her. She likes to tell stories."

"I get paid well to tell stories," Yvette mutters into her own wine glass.

"You write?" Lila asks while I hand her a fresh glass of water, once again trying to desperately telegraph that I didn't tell them anything since we've cleared up that Yvette's having conscious hallucinations.

Jesus .

Lila shoots me another look that I'm pretty sure means I know you didn't, but what the hell is going on? , but I'm honestly flabbergasted. I had no idea Yvette was writing stories.

"I needed an outlet after Jessie died," Yvette confesses. Emma's jabbering to James about the cherry on her finger, but no one's paying any attention.

Homer's too busy wincing over Yvette's announcement. There's a bit of pride puffing his chest, though, and a spark like he, too, has a secret.

Lila nods. Her eyes are wide, like she's not sure if she's supposed to say she's sorry about Jessie being gone, or if she's supposed to ask what Yvette likes to write.

Yvette takes the problem out of her hands. "I self-publish. It's all just for fun. Total nonsense. It's amazing what people will read these days when you put enough Viking alien babies, time rifts in household appliances, and dinosaur…p-o-r-n… in it."

Now Levi's spewing his wine across the table.

"Oh my god," Lila whispers reverently. "You're Buck Tickle."

Yvette sips her wine again and makes a noncommittal noise. Homer jerks his head up, and his pie falls off his fork. Mom's gaping at all of them, and James crawls under the table to climb into Levi's lap. "Uka Wevi, you gotsa cough?"

"Buck Tickle—" Lila stops and downs her wine, then looks back at Yvette. "He's—you're a legend."

Now Yvette digs into her pie, a secret smile playing on her lips. I have zero idea what they're talking about, but they're clearly bonding, so this isn't bad.

Right?

"Wait, wait, you write those bad short stories about…love stuff?" Levi asks. "With the awful covers and the rabid fans?"

"And the…boy bands in the volcano pits?" Mom asks hesitantly.

"I told you I was famous in my own right," Yvette says to Homer.

Lila's still gaping at her like she doesn't know dozens of authors personally herself. "I know so many people who want to meet you."

"Well, I know so many people who want to meet Dalton Wellington."

Homer hunches over his pie and sighs. "Yvette. The man funded a washing machine. He's not god."

"A washing machine that washes, dries, and folds clothes . I want to shake his hand and say thank you."

Lila hesitates.

Shoots me a look.

Then reaches around Emma's high chair with her hand extended.

Yvette eyes it.

Lila lifts her brows and waits.

Levi chokes on his wine. Again.

And I suspect Lila knew he would.

My heart swells and my eyes get hot. Homer looks up and glances between his wife and my girlfriend.

Even my kids go quiet and watch as Yvette's gaze flits from Lila's hand to her face. "What's this?"

"It's your chance to shake Dalton Wellington's hand," Lila replies softly.

"You're going to shake his hand for me?"

"That's a little impossible."

"Holy. Fuc— ow! " Levi glares at me for kicking him under the table while the two women shake hands, both of them smiling secret smiles like the entire table doesn't now know both of their secrets.

Mom's gaping. So's Homer.

"Unka Wevi, fuck!" Emma crows.

"He has very bad language and should definitely be disinherited," I tell my daughter.

"I'm willing to overlook the language so long as he doesn't start dating Violet again," Mom replies.

"For fu—pete's sake, fine . Keep the damn doll," Levi says.

"He slept with it until he was twenty-three," Mom side-whispers to Lila and Yvette.

"Thirteen," he corrects.

Lila tips her head back and laughs.

That's joy.

Pure joy.

And seeing her joy is filling my heart with something I thought it could never be full of again.

She meets my eyes over the table, and I rub my foot against hers under the table.

I'm so fucking proud of you , I telegraph.

She gives me a cheeky grin, but her eyes are shiny and there's a flutter at the base of her neck that tells me she's still mildly terrified of what she just confessed out loud—or rather, with her handshake—but she's going to be okay.

So. Fucking. Proud.

And you're damn right I'll make sure no one in this room breathes a word.

An hour later, she's trying to chase me out of the kitchen. "You cooked. We can clean."

"More hands make clean-up go faster."

"And sometimes you have to take a break and let someone else do something ."

"And miss all the good dishwashing gossip? No way."

She throws her hands up. "You're impossible."

I laugh, and I don't care that my brother, my mom, and my mother-in-law are all standing there while we argue.

Nor do I care that they all see when I grab her around the waist, pull her into me, and kiss her until I can't pull away without showing everyone in the kitchen what she does to me.

"So Tripp and Lila are doing the dishes," Levi announces, reminding us we have an audience.

"I'm not entirely certain that's what they actually want to do in the kitchen, but I'm out," Mom replies. "Yvette. Coffee and naptime?"

"I'll grab the pot."

"Don't bother. Tripp has a pot in his office too."

Mom pulls the pocket door shut as they leave us to the disaster in the kitchen, and we're alone for the first time all day.

Just me and this green-eyed goddess who's smiling at me like I hung the moon.

"Best Thanksgiving ever," she whispers.

"I love you," I reply.

Her eyes go misty, and she wraps her arms tighter around me. "I've never fallen in love with anyone before."

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"Tripp—"

"You didn't have to tell them your secret."

"But that's what family does."

Family.

I don't take it for granted. But being Lila's family—her chosen family—is next-level special. "I like you in my family."

"I love you being mine." She goes up on her toes and captures my lips again. I press her back against the messy counter, kissing her back, my hands slipping under her sweater, my head full of dreams of more time with Lila.

Naked bedroom time.

Family dinner time.

Playing with the kids time.

Arguing at work time.

Fixing the Fireballs time.

Lila time.

All the time.