“And then you swooped in to save the day, didn’t you? Steal my woman and my kids.”
“Daughters you don’t even fucking want. Drop the act already, man.”
Again, Mark dismisses him, looking past him to me. “You’ll let me know when you go into labor, Kensley.”
As he’s walking away, Liam lays our last card down. “Our lawyer has the tape from the radio. I’d think twice about being an ass.”
Mark’s answer?
A real grown-up middle finger over his shoulder.
“Fucking asshole,” Liam murmurs as he turns back to me, his face still turned to watch Mark get in his car and drive off.
When we walk into the house, it’s no surprise that both Guinness and Doc meet us at the door. Guinness is visibly stressed, whereas Doc just looks happy to be out and about.
“You still going to nap?” Liam asks. He hasn’t let go of my hand, even as he disarms the system.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to,” I say honestly. “But I think I should try.”
“Okay.” He walks me to our room and after I get into bed, he kisses my lips, my stomach, and then my lips again. “I’m going to arm the house. Don’t let the dogs out; just stay inside.”
I nod. I don’t imagine Mark will come back, but…
The thought is there.
“Can I talk to Sharon about this?” he asks. I can see he’s struggling with the question. “I know Mark’s her son, but if Sharon’s going to be keeping the girls, and if she’s still our go-to for when you go into labor, I’d just feel better if she knew what was going on, from all angles.”
My God, I love this man.
“Yes. Please do. She won’t do anything that let’s Mark take the girls, but I think it’d be best that she knew.”
“Alright.” He lays a soft kiss to my lips.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, I’m laughing against his lips and pushing him back. “Go! Or else you’ll never get there.”
He pushes back with a wink, then leaves the room. And while I’m positive Liam didn’t give the command, Guinness moves to sleep in the doorway of our bedroom.
It’s that that allows me to fall asleep.
* * *
It’s the middle of the night when the pains start.
I glance at the clock and see that Liam’s alarm is going to go off in thirty-ish minutes, so I try to be quiet, letting him sleep.
A particularly strong contraction hits and, frown on my face, I breath out through tight lips, pressing on my tight stomach. I’m eighty-percent sure these are real, though, and not Braxton-Hicks.
If it’s false labor, I don’t want to wake up Liam.
But I’m counting, all the same.
Twenty minutes later, I come to terms with the fact that I’m going to have this baby today.
“Liam,” I whisper. His alarm will go off soon but…
I reach behind me to tap his hip. “Liam.”
“Hmmyeah?”
“Wake up, Liam.”
He groans and eventually pushes himself up—to look at the clock—before dropping down behind me again. “God. The night goes by too fast.”
It did, yeah, when you had to wake up at two, and only went to bed at eight. But the man refused to go to bed before the girls. Silly man.
“I think I’m in labor,” I whisper, right before another contraction hits. I squeeze my eyes shut and push against my stomach, not that that does anything.
I mean, neither does the swearing, but it makes me feel a little better. Mentally, anyway.
“You serious?” Liam’s voice is suddenly wide awake.
I nod through the pain.
“Shoot. Shit. Okay.” I feel him move from the bed. “Your bag. Where’d we put your bag.”
“Closet…right…”
“Okay. Yeah. Got it. Good. Let me call Sharon.”
Our plan all along was for Sharon to come be with the girls. We talked about it at length last night, but decided we weren’t going to change anything.
Fifteen minutes later, Sharon and Paul were at the house, and Liam and I were heading out of it.
I’d progressed quickly with Sawyer but…
“Oh, God,” I breathe out with yet another contraction.
Liam’s driving calmly, but when he grabs my hand, I feel the slight tremble in his.
God, I hope he’s ready…
Forty minutes later, thirty minutes after the doctor came in to break my water, my screaming baby boy was brought into the world.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Liam
Sharon and Paul bring the girls to the hospital at eight, allowing Kensley to get rest after her fast delivery. When asked what she was naming the little boy—little, because he was only nine-ten, thanks to being two weeks early—she looked at me as she answered.
Ryan William Cole.
Unlike the girls, she wasn’t giving the baby Mark’s last name. “He can fight for him,” Kensley told me, stubbornly, after. “And it will piss him off that the baby’s named for you.”
I was absolutely humbled by that.
By the fact that Ryan’s name was my middle, and that his middle was, basically, my first—not that my parents named me William, but Liam was often derived from it.
At around nine that morning, after a three-way video chat with both mine and Kensley’s parents, Sawyer and I head down to the cafeteria. We’re on our way back with a bag full of a hodgepodge of items when we run into Mark.
When I see him turn the corner, I’m not sure how Sawyer will react.
Would she reach for him?
Talk to him?
Or, because—at least, as far as Kensley and I know—it’s been four months since Sawyer saw him last, would she not even know who he is?
What I do know is I can’t very well run away from the man so, with Sawyer on my hip and the bag in hand, I stay in the hallway, waiting for him to reach us.
The asshole doesn’t even look at Sawyer.
Doesn’t acknowledge her.
I see fucking red.
But then Mark holds out a manila envelope. “Termination of alleged father. For all three. Congratulations, asshole.”
I’m too stunned to do anything about his word choice in front of Sawyer. Mark turns, leaving as quickly as he came, not allowing for any elaboration.
I shift Sawyer and the bag to look inside the envelope, needing to see it.
Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe the papers aren’t his termination of paternity, but are actually him contesting it.
Sure enough, though, inside the envelope are three signed copies of his termination papers.
Grinning, I look at Sawyer, who thankfully doesn’t look like any of it affected her. “It’s a good day, half-pint. A really good day.”
She has zero clue what’s going on, but the smile on her face is enough for me. In that way she does, Sawyer pats my cheeks then struggles to get down. Carefully, I set her on her feet and take her hand, heading back through the corridors and to the elevators.
“That one,” I tell her once we’re inside one, pointing to the appropriate floor. She has to stand on tiptoes to do it, but when her small finger presses it, I press the button harder. “Good job, Sawyer.” She smiles and bounces on her feet.
Kensley’s been giving me hell for carrying Sawyer all the time. Says she’s not going to learn to be independent.
I let her be independent.
Sometimes.
I chuckle at the thought. Sawyer’s my pal, though. I don’t love one girl over the other, or the girls more than the baby, but there’s an unmistakable bond between me and Kensley’s littlest girl, and there has been since day one.
“Alright, lady,” I say, watching the numbers of the floors illuminate. I crouch down so Sawyer can wrap her arms around my neck, and soon again, I’m holding her and heading toward the room our family is all in.
We’ll be back to the house before Kensley’s and my parents make it
to town, but the room is plenty crowded with Sharon and Paul. Additionally, there’s Mae and Josh, who’s sitting on the couch, coloring alongside London.
I’m surprised to see Johnson and his wife in the room too.
“Hey, man,” I say, lowering Sawyer to the ground. She goes running into Sharon’s arms, and I allow Johnson to pull me in for a man-hug.
“Congrats.”
“Thank you.” I grin at him. “Didn’t realize you’d want to come by.”
“Of course, I did, dippy.” I was thankful he chose the abbreviated version of ‘dip shit’; he may have left the road life, but the road life didn’t leave the man. “Cute kid.” He nods to the baby sleeping in Kensley’s arms.
A baby I want to hold.
“Yeah, he is.” I grin at him, then wink at Kensley. “She makes cute babies.”
I’m dying to talk about the papers I have, but don’t figure Kensley’s wants to talk about them in front of an audience. I set them on the counter and start to distribute waters and snacks.
It’s only when Johnson and his wife, and Mae and Josh, leave, that Sharon holds up her phone.
“I got a message earlier; while you were downstairs, Liam,” she says, walking over. The girls are surprisingly asleep—not hard to do when napping alongside their grandfather, though. Paul has one girl on either side of him and all three are out. Even Ryan is zonked out in his bassinet.
I’ve got an ass-cheek on the bed, sitting beside Kensley. “Did you?” I shift so I can sit beside Kens better, toeing off my shoes before kicking my feet up. She curls into my side, no doubt exhausted. I lift my arm to give her better access, then bring her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple quickly.
“Mmm. I did. Did you have a run-in downstairs?”
I frown. How did she…?
“What run-in?” Kensley asks, looking up at me for clarification.
Well, I can’t lie to her. And it’s not exactly something I want to keep from her. Hell, I would have jumped into the room, going all Tom Cruise on her, if the room had been free of family and friends.
“Sawyer and I ran into Mark downstairs.” Kensley pushes back a little, to frown up at my face. “Turns out, he wanted to relinquish his rights. He gave me papers. They’re over there.” I nod toward the counter that the now empty bag sits on.
Kensley’s face goes through a myriad of emotions—shock, pleasure, happiness, and lastly, confusion.
“But what about yesterday?” she asks me, but it’s not me who has an answer.
It’s Sharon.
“When Liam picked up the girls yesterday, he explained that Mark had paid you two a visit. He also said that Mark may have been scoping out the house. For that, Kensley, I apologize. I had your new address on the fridge, and I wasn’t thinking when I put it there. He must have copied it at some point. But I was so mad when I heard he came by yesterday.”
I love watching Sharon talk. She reminds me of everyone’s favorite grandmother; it’s no wonder that the girls love her so much, and that Kensley doesn’t want to lose her in our lives.
“So, I met him at the house, and I told him how disappointed I was in him. I also informed him that his father and I would be writing him out of our wills if he did so much as harm a hair on those girls’ heads. He doesn’t want the kids; he just wants to watch you suffer, and I refuse to sit by and watch him do that to you. Love and goodness is so much more important than a last name. I gave him options; I’m happy to see he chose the correct one.”
“You can’t write him out—” Kensley starts, but Sharon pulls her scolding face on her.
“I can do whatever I darn well please, Kensley Ann. And I will use that to my advantage, to see you and your babies cared for. Loved.” Sharon steps to the bed and takes my hand in hers, squeezing it once before pressing a kiss to Kensley’s forehead. “Liam can give those babies more love than my son ever could. That makes me sad, but as long as you promise me that those babies will know who I am, I stand by my word. They do not need Mark in their lives, but they do need Liam. You need Liam.”
Kensley’s crying now, and I can’t even hug her—Sharon’s doing that.
Then Sharon looks to me, schooling me. “You will love those babies like they are your own. Do you hear me, Liam?”
“I already do.”
And I did.
Whatever last name they had, I loved them completely and forever.
I was more than happy being the step-father. I was honored that Kensley chose me to be that person for her kids.
But putting Hardt on all three of those kids?
It made my heart freaking soar.
Life couldn’t get much better than this.
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Liam
“Alright, guys, when we get back from the break, we’ll be getting ready for our commercial free noon hour, but first, we have an anonymous call. Ooh,” I joke into the microphone. “Gotta love those anonymous ones. See you in three.”
I switch into commercial and drop my headphones to my shoulders. Across the table, still my sidekick, is Johnson.
“You got your secret caller?” I joke, reaching for my other constant sidekick—a 32-ounce double-walled cooler cup with pictures of the kids all around it—and taking a healthy chug from it.
I’m definitely that proud father.
Every year at Christmas, the kids get me a new mug. I like to use the old ones and cycle them out every week, but this week’s was the one I got last Christmas. I love all the pictures on this one—Kensley and our older two pick the best pictures—but my favorites were London with a giant smile, showing four missing teeth—her front four, at that; Sawyer on her first training-wheels-free bike, her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks at the sidewalk with concentration; and Ryan wearing diaper cream…on his face, in his hair, and all over his shirt.
Ryan had taken terrible-twos to a whole new level.
And fuck, but I enjoyed every minute.
Well, most of those minutes.
Not all of them.
The screaming for fun. The screaming because he was pissed. The screaming just because he could…
I could have done without those minutes.
Still love the kid to death though.
“Yeah, I got your secret caller.” The man is still dry as hell, but we work well together. Regardless, I’d been surprised when he put in his request for the late morning slot too.
Right before London went into kindergarten, I decided I couldn’t keep doing the early mornings. I wanted more time with my family. So, I put in the request to change to the late morning show and with it, my hours changed to a much nicer ten-to-two. Even on days that I have meetings, I can be home in time for school pick up.
Gotta be honest, it’s nice to not do the Caught segment these days, too. The morning slot is now home to a crew of three, and they put my morning show to shame.
Right before London started kindergarten, we moved into a bigger house—one where we could walk to and from the school. We even lucked out and found one with a finished basement, giving us even more room.
Not only did the kids have their own rooms, but we have two guest rooms and a large enough garage that Kensley can still rock out her chalk-paint business—which she really does rock.
These days, I have a second grader and a kindergartener; time goes by so damn fast. It won’t be long before even Ryan’s in school too, and I don’t know what I’m going to do then.
All three kids are Hardts; with Mark signing the papers, I was able to adopt all three easily.
A few months ago, though, when we finally trusted Ryan to stay in a bed and transitioned him out of his crib, Kensley asked me if I’d want to have another baby.
But then she added: one that was mine.
I took her by the shoulders and walked her into our dining room, where we had an accent wall covered with pictures.
Pictures of the kids.
Pictures of us.
Pi
ctures of us with the kids.
Pictures at the farm in Wisconsin, and at the lake up north.
“This is mine. All of it. It’s all mine. And yours. This is all I’ll ever need.”
If she wants another baby, I’m all about it. Hell, we don’t exactly do anything to stop it from happening.
But I also don’t want her thinking that I feel I’m missing out on something.
I still braid London’s hair nearly every day—apparently, I do it better than mama. I’ve even got fancy fishtails and waterfall braids down.
Sawyer is still my little buddy. I hope the day never comes that she can’t hang out with her daddy.
And Ryan…I’m literally the only father he knows.
I’m happy.
Hell, I’m more than happy.
“Alright, man, we gotta get this going,” Johnson says, snapping me back to now.
I nod and put my headphones back on. The commercial is a car one, and it reminds me that Kensley’s upgraded Explorer is due for an oil change. With half an ear on the commercial, I quickly make note on my pad of paper, just in time for the transition jingle to pull through.
“Hey, hey, guys. This is Liam Hardt. Right before break, I mentioned we had an anonymous call. Now, I’m as much in the dark as all of you, but my man Johnson, he assures me it’s safe.” I laugh into the microphone before opening up the call. “Hello, anonymous.” I over-accentuate the word, partly being funny, partly…
Okay, just because it’s funny.
“What can we help you with today?”
“Hey,” the voice comes through, and I frown at the instant tinge of recognition, glancing up at Johnson. His head is down though. “So, a few years ago…” It’s then that the recognition fully clicks.
It’s Kensley.
I didn’t recognize her voice because I wasn’t expecting her to call in, let alone as an anonymous caller.
“A few years ago, I called your station. Back when you did mornings.”
“Yeah,” I say, and I’m grinning wide. I lean forward, curious what Kensley has to say, and why she chose to do it this way.
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