31. Kyle

I knocked, though from the sound of the muffled voices, I wasn’t sure they could hear me.

Before I could try the knob, the door swung open, and Sam beamed up at me. “Hi.”

“Didn’t Mommy tell you that you shouldn’t be opening the door?” I crouched so we were eye to eye and gave him a warning frown.

He sighed. “Yes. But it was you, so it was fine,” he chirped and smiled, feigning innocence.

Head tilted, I hummed. “But what if it wasn’t me?”

“Then Mommy would be mad at me.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of raised voices.

“I understand that you don’t like the way broccoli smells when it’s cooking, but slamming your door and then hanging on the doorknob so I couldn’t turn it caused it to break.”

“I don’t care. I didn’t want you to cook broccoli.”

“I care that the doorknob is broken, and you should care that I’m upset.”

Sam winced. “It’s not going good here.”

Poor kid. My heart hurt for him. I remembered those nights. When I stayed out of the way because my mother was overwhelmed with Ryan.

“Give me a second, and then you and I can go on a mission.” I pushed to my feet and headed down the short hall, pulling out my phone and shooting off a text as I went.

Me: Come back.

Harper turned at the sound of my footsteps, and with a sigh, she held up the broken doorknob.

I peeked past her, eyeing Piper, who was sitting on her bed, arms crossed, frowning. She looked my way but glanced away again without making eye contact.

“Did you break Mommy’s door?”

Her shoulders sank slightly, and she curled in on herself. Piper didn’t like to be called out for her wrongdoings. It embarrassed her. So I had to be very careful with my reaction, otherwise the situation would only escalate.

“I thought Ashley gave you a Metros stuffed baseball to hit when you were mad.” One of the tenets of ABA therapy was replacement. Piper’s extreme anxiety in situations where she was melting down caused her actual fear, and often her fight response kicked in. So instead of fighting people and breaking things, a therapist would redirect her fight to something safer. And I had to give Ashley credit. A pillow emblazoned with the logo of one of our team’s biggest rivals was perfect for that.

Piper growled, but she didn’t lash out. Her eyes landed on the white pillow with the Metros’ logo. I could step in and mediate, but Harper had this, and it was important to show her that I supported her in that. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t help in other ways.

I turned back to Harper and tipped her chin up. “You’re a good mom. You’ve got this.” I gave her a quick kiss. “Give me the door handle. Sam and I will go pick up a new one.”

For a moment, she just looked at me. I braced for a you don’t have to , but she surprised me by dropping the brass knob into my palm, then turning back to Piper.

It might be dumb, but that felt like progress. Like trust. And I couldn’t help but smile as I put the knob in my coat pocket and headed back to get Sam.

“Shoes and coat, bud. We’re going out.”

My phone buzzed.

Cam: You fucked up already? I’m not even out of the neighborhood.

Me: No I did not. Sam and I are running an errand.

Cam: It better not be to a jewelry store again. We’ve been to sixty this week.

That had sucked. But it had paid off eventually, and we’d found the place where Harper had pawned her grandmother’s ring. Just an hour ago, I’d swung by and bought it. We located it a couple of days ago, but I had to wait for the seven-day waiting period to end.

Me: Don’t be dramatic. We just need a hardware store.

Cam: Any hardware store or a specific one?

Clearly, I’d traumatized Cam with my last errand.

Me: Whichever is closest.

Cam: I’m sure I can find a Lowes.

Cam: Side note, our life has gotten so weird.

I rolled my eyes.

“Ready?” I asked Sam as I zipped up his coat.

“Yup. What’s our mission?” he asked as we headed down the hall to the elevator.

I pulled the metal ball out of my pocket and held it out. “To replace this and install it so Mom isn’t stressed.”

“Do you know how to fix that thing?” As he stared at it, he frowned in a way that made his brow furrow just like his mother’s.

“Nope. Not a clue. But I’ll figure it out. Plus, we’ll have Cam’s help.”

“Mommy says I can’t call him Cam.” He pushed the down button and stepped back while we waited for the elevator.

“How about Uncle Cam, then?”

“Is he my family?” Sam fixed his golden eyes on my face.

There was a chance I’d screw this up, but I went with my gut.

“Family can be a lot of things. Sometimes it’s blood relatives, and sometimes it’s a group of people who love you and who can be counted on when you need them. And Cam falls into that category.” That was the thing about having great friends like I had. My friends loved me as much as I loved them, and they cared about what I cared about. And the Wallace family currently topped my list.

“Then I think it’s okay to call him uncle.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Cam was at the curb when we stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, Uncle Cam.” Sam climbed in and plopped into the booster seat I kept in my car constantly now.

Cam turned, and though his brows were arched in surprised, the smile on his face said he didn’t mind the title. “Hey, man. I heard we need to make a Lowes run.”

“Yeah, I guess. We need to make Mommy happy.” Sam clicked his seat belt.

“I figured that was the case.” Cam reached out a hand toward me, and I flinched away.

“Give me a hard time, but don’t touch the hair, dude,” I warned, leaning toward the window. He thought it was funny as hell that I hated for my hair to look shitty. But my hair was a thing for the entire world. And if someone got a shitty picture of me, it would end up everywhere for days on end. And I didn’t need that hassle.

He laughed but turned his attention back to the road as he pulled off the curb. I dropped the doorknob onto the console beside him. “This.”

A deep chuckle started in his chest, then rumbled up his throat. “Good luck.”

With a grin, I shrugged. I’d figure it out.

And I did. It only took twenty minutes and the help of a guy in blue to find the right knob and get a rundown of how to install it. As luck would have it, Piper had broken something that was easy to fix, so we were headed to the register in record time. But just as we approached, Sam yanked on my arm.

“Look.” He pointed to a display of boxes. “Gingerbread houses!”

Well, fuck me. I clearly understood the longing in the three-year-old’s tone. But those boxes were loaded full of sugar and all the red dye numbers that were forbidden. Harper would kill me if I brought them home. But I was a sucker, and I couldn’t say no to Sam.

“Mom always says no.” He looked up at me, those golden eyes round and sad.

Shit.

“Kyle,” Cam warned behind me.

“Wouldn’t it be fun?” Sam asked.

Hell yeah, it would be. If we could make it work. If I could find alternatives to all the junk Piper couldn’t have. My brain started to puzzle out ideas.

“Let’s do it,” I announced.

“Yes!” Sam cheered, jumping a foot in the air, one fist pumping.

Cam groaned.

“We’re going to have to stop at Trader Joes and Whole Foods on our way home.”

Building gingerbread houses at Christmastime was a tradition every kid should take part in. And I could make that happen. Both for Sam, who could have some of the sugar, and for Piper, who shouldn’t.

It took another forty-five minutes, so I had to text Harper while we were in the middle of Whole Foods to let her know we were going to be late.

She hadn’t even started the chicken yet, so that gave me hope that she wasn’t too mad. Although the look in her eye when we walked in with four grocery bags didn’t give me warm fuzzies.

“I can explain,” I promised.

“We got gingerbread houses.” Sam announced.

“And I modified them,” I promised before Harper could say no. “Look.” I pulled out the gluten-free graham crackers, gluten-free sugar-free granola balls, green grapes, golden berries, dye-free gluten-free sugar-free fruit O’s, no-sugar-added blueberry ropes, tiny broccoli florets, dairy-free cream cheese and yogurt, gluten-free pretzel rounds, and tiny tree crackers.

“Piper can do this. We can do this.” I beamed.

“Wow.” Harper gaped at all the shit I put on the counter. “You deserve a medal or something.”

“I can think of a prize.” I leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, barely getting a peck in before she pushed me off with a chuckle.

After we were done building the houses, after an hour of smiles and laughter and fun while the kids decorated their gingerbread houses—and after I fixed the doorknob so Harper didn’t have to stress—I didn’t feel like I needed a prize. It felt like I’d already gotten one.