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“Why do you have to work?”

There’s a marked pause. I think Tucker is probably panicking about how to answer, but when he speaks, I realize he might’ve actually used the time to really think about his answer.

“I love my job.” It’s so simple, my breath catches. “I don’t want to spend all day doing nothing, you know? If I played the same games forever, it would get boring maybe. Just like if you guys didn’t go to daycare, you wouldn’t learn cool new things. Or if you didn’t go swimming, skating, or to soccer practice. It’s cool to have things to do, things that are fun for you. And everyone has a different idea of what’s fun for them.

“You two know I really like hockey, so working every day trying to help the team win games makes me happy. Just like hanging out with you at breakfast and dinner and during the weekends also makes me very happy.

“I’m very lucky that I get to have Sunny, Angelo, and Felicia come over to the house to help out so much. We gotta work for that. If I didn’t work, then I’d have to cook everything and we’d eat burned eggs every day!” he shouts and must tickle them because giggles follow.

“Not burned eggs!” one of them screeches.

And everything is right in the world.

Except all the organs inside my body of course.

They all melted.

Since I came in right after that heartwarming conversation ended, Tucker has to know I heard everything. I was worried for a second, that he’d think I was overstepping, but then I saw Angelo was in the kitchen with them the whole time too.

I shouldn’t have worried about Tucker telling me to mind my business or some shit like that. I know him better than that.

Still, after the way he affected me, after I calmed the fuck down this morning and decided to get over myself and just let myself have some fucking fun . . . well, that adorable and heartwarming conversation isn’t what I want to talk about with Tucker when he gets home in a few hours.

I’m well aware I’m a full-on pendulum with the way my mind keeps swinging, but I want to ask him to fuck me.

Yup, I’m living in extremes now, and doing my damndest not to think about Tucker in any way other than as the guardian of the boys, but it’s hard.

Mason and Maddox, for their part, don’t talk about it at all, or seem preoccupied. They had a worry, they voiced it, and now it’s gone.

God, to be so free.

Swimming lessons go—hah—swimmingly, and they fall asleep on the car ride back home, so Johnny and I carry them up to their room and I set the monitor, then go looking for a sheet of paper.

I have a notebook for the boys, everything from their activities to any weird deviations in their eating or bathroom habits. I also keep a calendar for them, and any note their caretakers, coaches, or trainers tell me, I write it down there to make sure I don’t forget.

But I can’t write what I need to get out of my head and onto a page to visualize correctly in that notebook.

Felicia is the one to ask, because I don’t want to just waltz into Tucker’s seemingly only for show office without anyone else telling me it’s okay.

The doorbell rings, so I deviate from my plan and head to the front door, check the camera in the security system console even while I hear Johnny’s footsteps coming down, and see a very normal woman looking at her phone.

She’s wearing a suit and has a huge shoulder bag, and a clipboard under her arm.

Is she going to ask me if I believe in Jesus or something?

I don’t want to risk her waking the boys by ringing the doorbell again, so I open the door halfway and smile.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Norma Parks with Child Services.”

“Oh.” I’m surprised but I think I recover fast enough. “Can I see your credentials?”

Her thin eyebrows shoot up, but her hands goes to her bag immediately.

I see her ID is saying the same as her, and honestly I have no way of knowing if this is fake or not, but she looks overworked enough, so I open the door further and let her in.

Also, Johnny’s right behind me, standing stock-still like a vigilant gargoyle, so I’m not alone.