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# The Long and Winding Road

By TJ Klune

Sequel to The Art of Breathing

Family is not always defined by blood. It's defined by those who make us whole—those who make us who we are.

And here, at the end, Bear and Otter will be tested like they've never been before.

There's a knock at the door from a little girl who has nowhere else to go.

There's a phone ringing, bringing news they do not expect.

There's a brother returning home after learning how to stand on his own.

As these moments converge, all of their lives will change forever.

Beginning in Bear, Otter, and the Kid and continuing in Who We Are and The Art of Breathing, TJ Klune has told a saga of family and brotherhood, of love and sacrifice. In this final chapter, the events of the past pave the long and winding road toward a future no one could have imagined.
Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door

PAST

1. Where Bear Makes the Wrong Assumption

2. Where Bear Finds Out

3. Where Bear Makes a Decision

4. Where Bear Learns the Art of Breathing

5. Where Bear Has Bro-Time with Creed

PRESENT

6. Where Bear Attends the Most Awkward Homecoming Ever

7. Where Bear Tells Tyson Everything

8. Where Bear Makes a Promise

9. Where Bear Goes to Lamaze Class

10. Where Bear Gets Advice About His Sex Life

11. Where Bear and Otter Role-Play at a Hotel Bar

12. Where Bear Faces the Reality of Married Life

13. Where Bear Sees Everything Change

FUTURE

14. The Long and Winding Road

Epilogue: Or, Otter's Perspective, As It Were

(So Long, My Old Friends)

Coda

No. Absolutely not. No way.

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Copyright
For the readers. Thank you.
Everything has to come to an end, sometime.

—L. Frank Baum

# Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door

DO YOU remember how it all began?

I do.

This is the way my world ended.

Bear,

I know this is going to be hard for yu to read, but I hope yull understand.

I have to leave, Bear. Tom got a job out of state and Im going with him. Im doing this becuz I think it will be easier on all of us if it is red rather then sed.

This is a chance for me to make something for myself. Tom sez there are a lot of jobs where we're going which will be better then here in Seafare. Remember my last job? At the Pizza Shack? Remember how well that went? In case yu can't tell from this just being a letter, I was being sarcastic. It didn't go well at all. (At least we know my future is not in pizza!)

I know yu never liked Tom, but he treats me ok. Yu shoudnt worry about him and me, as we'll be fine. Well, I know yu won't worry about him, but still. Hes stuck around longer then yur father did, and don't even get me started on Ty's dad. At least Tom hasn't hit me yet or anything. He even said that when I save up enouf money, he'll let me get one of those online degrees from University of Phoenix Arizona, or whatever its called. Imagine me, with a college degree!

Speaking of that, I hope that yull get a chance to be a writer like yu want to. I know this kind of messes up yur plans about going to school next year, but why do u need college for that? Yuve been making up stories since you were a little kid n e ways so its not like they could teach yu anything else, right? But that skolarship thing will be there later, right? It's not like yu could never get it again. It just cant be right now becuz I need yu to do something for me.

Tom sez that Ty can't go. He sez that having the Kid around will just "freak" up his concentration. (Ok, he didn't say freak, but yu know what I meant) I know this seems like I am making a bad decision but last nite I had a dream. It was all black around me and there was a flashing light really far away. I felt like I had to walk a long time to reach it. I finally got there and the light was a sign for a motel. Yu know what the motel was called, Bear? It was called the LAST CHANCE MOTEL. Do u see what that means? LAST CHANCE MOTEL. It means it's my last chance! My dream was a message, I know it, and I think Whoever is watching over us knew I was having a tuff time making this decision and that's why I had the dream.

But Tom does say that Ty can't go. So I am going to leave him here with yu. Yu were always better at taking care of him then me. Remember when I was sick for like a month last year couldn't move, and u took care of Ty becuz we couldn't afford to send him to camp at the YMCA? Yu did a really good job then and I remember thinking yur going to be a good dad some day, not like yur dad. Now that I think about it, yu take care of Ty a lot more then I did anyways like a good brother should and yu were always better at it. That is why I feel ok about leaving him here with yu. I just think it would be better for him if he stayed here. What if something happens to me when Im with Tom? I don't want him to see that.

I got sumthing I printed from the internet for yu. Its called a Power Of Attorney. It means that yu can do stuff for Ty without me. Like doctors and school and stuff. It means yull be in charge I guess. At least thats what I got from it. Denise from downstares told me about it. Yu would normaly have to be there with me to have it notterized, but Denise owes me for that time I gave her some smokes when she couldn't afford to buy more. Her kid is a nottery public or something (do yu really have to go to school to learn how to sine and stamp papers? How hard can that be?) and she will cover for me and notterize it. Yull have to wait for yur birthday but thats real soon. Its my present to yu. I hope yu like it.

I am going to miss yu, so yu know. Yu grew up ok, despite everything. I hope yu don't hate me or n e thing for this, but maybe Ill be back one day if this doesn't work out. Maybe, I don't know. Maybe, I was never meant to be a mom. I see yu sometimes and I think how much better it would have been for yu if yu were never born. But I remember yu as such a happy baby, not like Ty who cried all the time. Yur smile still makes it worth it and I hope yull still smile even after this.

Please make sure Ty gets the note I wrote for him.

I don't know what else to say.

Please don't try looking for me. I don't want Tom to get mad.

Mom

P.S. I left a little bit of muney to help yu out for now. I really can't give more becuz Tom sez we need to save for our future. Remember, Rent is due at the beginning of the month, along with the other bills. Yu paid those for me n e ways, but what kind of a mom would I be if I didn't remind yu.

THERE WAS a second note.

Do you remember that one too?

Ty,

Yu listen to yur brother and do what he sez, ok? Mommy loves yu!

Mom

That's what I found when I came home from work that day. It was a Saturday night. I didn't know where the Kid was.

She left $137.50 in an envelope with my name on it.

The next day, I turned eighteen. Three days after that, I graduated high school.

It's funny, then, after everything, that when the doorbell rings, I don't even think of her.

I haven't thought of her in months.

There are other things now.

Like the man before me, that look of fond exasperation on his face as I spout off about how our kid is going to grow up to be a serial killer with a tail. God, I love him so fucking much. "Did we even test for that?" I ask him, sounding hysterical. "Was that one of the tests? To see if our sperm makes serial killers with tails?"

"No, Bear," my husband sighs. "I don't think there was a test for serial killers with tails."

"Well, there should have been!" I shout at him, even as we stand in the room painted the palest of blues with cartoon elephants and tigers stenciled onto the walls in a field of grass and flowers. There are clouds on the ceiling above and a goddamn crib, a crib where our son is going to be in about three months, because for some reason, Otter fucking Thompson convinced me that we should knock up some woman we didn't even know, a pretty young thing named Megan who was injected with my spunk and now has a child growing inside her. A fucking baby that no one knows about, and what the hell were we thinking?

I'm pretty sure I'm on my way to a full-scale meltdown.

The doorbell rings.

A phone rings.

Otter looks over his shoulder. "That's my phone. It's downstairs. You need to take a deep breath and answer the door. Someone showed up a bit early."

"No violent video games!" I tell him. "And he eats all his vegetables! I don't care what he tries to say. Those goddamn brussels sprouts are going down his throat or he can stay at the dinner table all night!"

"All night," Otter agrees. He drops his big hands on my shoulders, squeezing me tightly, grounding me. "Bear. Focus."

Which, honestly, is probably the wrong thing to say.

"I am focused," I snap at him. Granted, I was focused on the idea of our son murdering people with his tail and feasting on their insides, but whatever.

"You need to get the door," he says, steering me toward the stairs. "I need to see who called to make sure everything's okay."

His phone cuts off but immediately starts ringing again.

There's a knock at the door.

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and before I can walk to the door, he spins me around and kisses me hard, mouth working over mine, the barest hints of his tongue on my lips. Pretty much everything short-circuits at that, like it normally does with him, even after all these years. I'm rather breathless when he pulls away and can't even glare at the smug little twist in his smile.

"Good?" he asks me.

"Blargh," I tell him.

"Good," he says, pushing me toward the door. He turns to the living room, where his phone has started ringing again, and whoever it is better have a good goddamn reason for blowing up his phone like that.

The doorbell rings again.

"Huh," I hear Otter say. "It's Megan."

Which, honestly, given that she just had another OB appointment (it's like she's going daily), is not making me feel any better. I don't know how parents of serial killers ever show their faces in public again. I mean, what the hell would the neighbors think?

The phone rings again.

There's a pounding on the door.

I open it just as I hear Otter say, "Is everything okay, Megan?"

I'm thinking about how things are changing.

I'm thinking about how we're having a kid.

I'm thinking about how I would go to the ends of the earth for the man standing in the living room.

I'm thinking about my brother, who is finally coming home.

I'm thinking about his boyfriend, who I think knows the surprise Otter and I have, even though we've been trying to keep it a secret.

I'm thinking about my best friend and his wife. How happy they're going to be for us.

I'm thinking about their parents, who will love this kid so much that he'll never be alone.

I'm thinking about a lovely, crazy, beautiful old woman who had gathered us up in her arms and did her best to shelter us from the sharp edges of the world.

I'm thinking about everything we've gone through to get to this point.

But I'm not thinking about her. Even though she was the catalyst for it all, never her.

She's no longer part of my vocabulary. She doesn't have the right to be.

Maybe there are days when she's there, just skirting the edges of my thoughts. But I don't ever allow myself to focus on her. Not now. Not after all she's done. Not since the Kid came home from his wayward journey in Idaho to see for himself what she'd become.

So, no.

I'm not expecting this.

There's a little girl standing on the porch of the Green Monstrosity. And maybe I'm a little distracted, trying to half listen to Otter on the phone behind me, but there's something about her, with her dark hair braided down the back of her head, loose little wisps hanging around her face. There's a smudge of dirt on her nose. She's got a backpack slung over her shoulder, her hand tight on the strap. Her eyes are wide as she stares up at me. She looks exhausted, and there's something familiar about her that I can't quite place.

"Can I help you?" I ask, trying not to show this little girl that I'm pretty much a fucking lunatic who is capable of impregnating a woman with a serial killer baby who could be born with a tail.

"Slow down, slow down," Otter says into the phone. "Say that again, Megan."

"Man," the little girl on the porch says. "He sure wasn't kidding. The color of this house is like an abomination against Mother Nature."

A buzzing starts in my ears. "Who wasn't kidding?"

She rolls her eyes, and I take a step back as if I've been shoved. I know that look. "Tyson," she says. "You must be Bear. Derrick."

"Wait," Otter says. His voice sounds rough, like he's having trouble speaking. "What?"

"How do you know my name?" I ask the girl, gripping the door tightly.

She fidgets on the porch. Looks away. Back at me, then away again. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She sniffs and grips the strap to her backpack even tighter. "Ty said if I ever needed help, I could find him here."

"He's on a trip," I say dumbly. "He'll be back this afternoon."

"You're shorter than I thought you'd be," she says as if it's nothing. "How disappointing to know that's what I've got ahead of me." She takes a deep breath. It comes out shaky.

"I don't...," Otter says, and he sounds so unsure that I want to go to him, but I can't seem to make my feet move. "What do you mean hidden behind the other one?"

It hits me then. This little girl. Even though I probably knew as soon as I opened the door and saw her eyes that looked so much like my brother's, so much like my own, so much like hers, it still takes me by surprise, and it's like the Kid and I are standing in the kitchen picking ourselves back up again. That's what we do. We get knocked down, we spit the blood out onto the ground, and we push ourselves back up. That's what we've always done. That's who we are.

She's lost, Bear. And I don't think she's ever going to be found. Nothing's changed. But....

What?

I met Izzie.

"Izzie?" I whisper.

Bear, she's... amazing. She's like me. Smarter, even. I don't know if I have words to even describe her. No, I take that back. She's like us. She's you and me.

We can't....

She nods. "Ty said to find him if I needed help." She sniffs again, and I can tell she's trying to keep it together. But it's a losing battle. "And I need help."

I know. There's nothing... bad happening. I don't think. She wasn't bruised. But Julie was never like that.

There's more than one type of abuse.

"Are you sure?" Otter says from behind me. "How could they never see that...? I don't—there's two... oh fuck."

"What happened?" I manage to ask.

I told her the same thing. Julie.

Will she listen?

I don't know. Bear, we can't forget about her.

But I did, didn't I? To an extent. Out of sight, out of mind, and I have a life, I am building a life with my husband. We are having a child, and things are finally going our way. We are happy, we are healthy, we are whole, and I haven't had time for things that I've pushed away in an attempt to keep my sanity.

There's not much more we can do, Ty.

And maybe that had been a lie.

Julie would never let us see her.

She said as much. But there has to be some way, right?

We can ask Erica Sharp, but I don't know how many rights siblings have when the parent is still involved. Even one with a history like Julie McKenna.

I'd left a message for Erica Sharp. She'd called back a day or so later. It'd gone to voicemail. I'd gotten distracted with life after that.

And I didn't call her back.

I promised Izzie too. Just like you.

What?

That I wouldn't forget about her.

We won't. I just... I don't know what we can do.

A tear spills over her cheek. Just one. She looks up at me, and even before she says it, I know. Somehow I know. And in the darkest corners of my heart, there is only relief, and I can't be bothered to feel any guilt because of it. Maybe that'll come later. But right now, it's just relief.

"She's dead," Isabelle McKenna says. "Mom. She's dead and I have nowhere else to go and Ty said if I needed help to find him and I need help! I need help so bad." Her chest hitches, and it's that, that little action, a little girl on the verge of tears standing in front of me, looking up at me like I'll have all the answers that causes my knees to buckle.

And for the first time in my life, my little sister launches herself into my arms. The weight of her reminds me so much of Ty that I can barely breathe around the lump in my throat. She sobs bitterly against my chest. The blood roars in my ears.

You and me. That'll never change, Papa Bear.

But it will, won't it?

It's already happening.

"Twins," Otter says from somewhere behind us. He sounds just stupid with awe, and through the haze, I am barely grasping what he's saying. "Jesus Christ. We're having twins?"

DO YOU remember how it all began?

I do.

And this is where it begins again.

One last time.

# PAST

Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

—George Santayana

# 1. Where Bear Makes the Wrong Assumption

I PARKED in the driveway, massaging my head, trying to curb the headache that'd been threatening all day. It probably hadn't helped that I'd spent the day standing in the front of a classroom populated with the minds of the future. (Read: pubescent, hormonal teenagers who didn't understand why they couldn't have their smartphones out when Mr. Thompson was talking, and you can't just take it away from me and put it in your desk, wait until my father hears about this. It was so hard not to snark right back that I couldn't wait until his father heard about it, but since I was the responsible educator, I merely smiled and said the phone could be collected at the end of class.)

The sky was starting to streak, but it was unseasonably warm, the air already muggier than I had ever hoped it would be. For a moment, I allowed myself to miss the Pacific Ocean, but I pushed it away. This was our life now, and by choice. If I had to do it all over again, I'd be in the same exact place. Being here wasn't about me, not really.

I pushed open the car door and stepped out, trying desperately to ignore the Easter decorations that had somehow popped up since I'd left this morning. I fumbled with my messenger bag and the key fob, grumbling about husbands that felt the need to have a ceramic rabbit carrying a basket filled with eggs sitting on the grass next to the cement path that led to the door. I paused when I reached the porch, rolling my eyes at the pastel garland wrapped around the railing.

("But Bear, we need it to look amazing. You know that the spirit of the holidays flows through me and that there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Uh-huh. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Melanie Marshall from next door got first place last December in the neighborhood Christmas decoration contest and lorded that over you."

"Absolutely not. And even if it did, everyone knows that the contest was rigged and that Melanie Marshall probably slept with half the judges. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I am going to crush her this year."

"She didn't sleep with half the—"

"You don't know that."

"Otter, you are thirty-seven years old and just declared war against a WASPy housewife who you accused of sleeping her way to first place."

"Isn't New Hampshire weird?"

"Fine. Just as long as you don't sleep with the judges this year."

"No promises. I want that damn blue ribbon.")

The porch light was already on, and I felt the day slowly melting off me now that I was home. It was a Wednesday. The Kid had a late class on Wednesdays, which meant that it'd just be the two of us. I was okay with that.

I pushed open the door, groaning at what sounded like a group of small children screaming HAPPY EASTER overhead.

I shut the door behind me and the children ceased at once.

I opened it again, and there went HAPPY EASTER.

It stopped as I shut the door.

"What the hell?" I muttered, glaring at a little white box set just above the door. On second thought, maybe I wasn't okay with coming home at all.

"Found it at Lowe's," a smug voice said behind me. "Let's see Melanie Marshall beat that. It has settings for almost every holiday. Even National Cheese Day in July, and is the sound of a farmer milking a cow. It's...terrifying, if I'm being honest. We don't have to celebrate that."

I turned around to see Oliver Thompson leaning against the entryway to the kitchen, that familiar crooked smile on his face, big arms across his chest. And maybe there were more lines around his gold-green eyes, and maybe his light hair was just a bit thinner, and maybe he was a little softer around the middle, but he was still the handsomest man I'd ever seen, and even after all these years, my heart stumbled in my chest at the sight of him, safe and warm, wearing a pair of ridiculously tight jeans that did things for me and a blue sweater that clung to his chest.

"Hey," he said, sounding amused, as if he knew what I was thinking.

"Hey yourself," I said back.

"Did you see the decorations outside?"

"What?" I asked, trying to figure out if my headache had eased enough that I could try and get him out of those jeans.

"The decorations."

"That's super."

"Are you staring at my crotch?"

"A little bit."

"You're objectifying me."

"Probably. But I've had a rough day, so I think I'm allowed."

"Is that so." Otter pushed himself off the entryway and walked toward me, steps slow and deliberate. "I'm a little offended."

"Yeah? I feel real bad about that. Question: how did you even get those around your thighs? And a follow-up: I think I need a demonstration."

He rolled his eyes a little, but that was okay. He slid my messenger bag from my shoulder and hung it on the rack next to the door. There were little crinkles around his eyes as he smiled down at me, taking my face in his hands. His wedding ring felt cool against my cheek as he leaned forward and kissed me sweetly.

I sighed into the kiss, happy to be home.

"Hey," he said again as he pressed his forehead against mine.

"Hey yourself," I said back, because that's the way it always went. He'd crowded me up against the door, and it felt good being overwhelmed by him. It always did.

"Rough day, huh?"

I shrugged as he brushed his thumbs over my cheeks. "Molding the minds of the future is hard when said minds belong to little shits who think they already know everything."

"And yet this is what you chose for yourself."

"Ugh. You would say that. Why didn't you ever try and stop me? I'm pretty much convinced that it's all your fault I'm stuck with ninth graders all day. I don't know that there's anyone more self-centered than a fourteen-year-old. I was never that bad."

"A little."

I snorted. "Yeah, because Julie allowed for something like that to ever happen. I didn't have time to be selfish, not with trying to find ways for the Kid and me to stay alive."

Otter's fingers tightened just a little on my face, and I didn't like the frown he wore very much. I shouldn't have said any of that. I didn't know why I did.

And no matter what you do, that voice whispered, that damnable voice I didn't think I'd ever get rid of, she'll always be right there, won't she? You can go for days without thinking about her, and then surprise! There she is, all over again.

"Ignore me." I nuzzled his hand just a little, trying to distract him. "I'm just bitching because I can. Tell me what else you bought in order to take down Melanie Marshall like the responsible adult you are."

"What makes you think I bought anything else?"

"Otter."

"Bear."

"Everyone knows you can't walk into Lowe's without coming out with at least ten things you didn't know you desperately needed."

"I'm a man. That's what men do."

"Oh Jesus. I'm a man and I don't do that."

"Kind of a man."

I shoved him off as he laughed at me. He snagged one of my hands and tugged me toward the kitchen, walking backward and grinning at me. "Come on. I've got a surprise for you."

I narrowed my eyes at him but allowed him to pull me along. "This better not be anything like the last surprise."

"Yeah, okay. But that wasn't my fault at all. That was on the Kid."

"Both of you brought home that dog. And don't you try and tell me different, Otter Thompson. I saw the look on your face."

"Yeah, because we could possibly have known that you'd be allergic."

"I got splotches. On my everywhere."

He grimaced. "So you showed me. And that's still an image I'll probably never get out of my head, so thank you for that."

And maybe I was trying to play at being annoyed, but my husband was holding my hand and I just so happened to love him a lot, so I huffed out a breath and said, "As long as it's not an animal."

"Not an animal," he promised. "It's better than that."

"I don't even know how to take that."

His smile took on a bit of a wicked curve. "I'll show you how you can take it a little later."

I stared at him.

He waggled his eyebrows at me.

And I laughed. Of course I did. I'd had a shitty fucking day, and all I wanted to do was make it to the end of the week and we'd officially be on break for the holidays. I was cranky and tired, but Oliver Thompson was here, looking like he did, acting like he did, just being himself, and so of course I laughed.

God knows life hadn't been exactly the best. We'd been dealt a shit hand for a long time. And even when things had started getting better, there was always something that seemed to come up that threatened to break apart everything I held close to my heart. Some of it seemed like a lifetime ago, days by the sea where I was young and scared and sure that there'd be a knock at the door with news that we were being evicted from that shitty fucking apartment with the brown wooden steps that creaked dangerously when walked upon.

Or it would be someone there who'd found out that she had gone off to parts unknown, leaving an eighteen-year-old in charge of the smartest ecoterrorist-in-training, a vegetarian with more brains than common sense. They'd come inside and he'd be yelling for me, begging me to not let them take him away, and yes, I'd fight for him, I'd scream and punch and kick, but I'd be held back, and Tyson would be gone, gone, gone, placed in a home where I couldn't get to him, where they wouldn't let me see him.

Those were the fears I had lived with.

But then it was other things. Those things I didn't expect.

Like my best friend's older brother coming back to the little town by the sea that he'd left behind. And even though I'd been so angry at him, even though I wanted to forget everything that had ever happened between us, I still found myself getting pulled right back in, even if I hadn't understood the why of it at the time. There had always been this spark, this fire that burned me up because of him, and I pushed and pushed and pushed until I couldn't anymore.

I'm not gay, Otter. I don't care if you are, but I'm not.

Naïve, that.

And I should have known, really. That we would crash and collide as we always had. There had always been something there between us, and even though I hadn't always recognized that, I'd fought tooth and nail for something with him, even after those three years in which he ran to California and lived a life away from the drama of Bear and the Kid.

I still had that letter. Tucked safely away.

I know you were hurt and have every reason to be angry, but just know that there hasn't been a day that has gone by that I haven't thought about you and Ty. Maybe that's my punishment, knowing you are doing well and knowing I had nothing to do with it. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you, for having done so great despite people breaking their promises to you.

It was good to see you, even if it was only for a moment. I am glad I got at least that. I've missed you, Papa Bear.

Yes, he'd broken promises, but so had I.

And he limped, didn't he? Even now as he pulled me toward the kitchen, there was that little hitch to his step that you probably wouldn't even see if you weren't looking for it. It'd gotten better after all these years, but he still favored it when it was cold. I still remembered standing above him, the machines beeping around him, a tube shoved down his fucking throat, eyes taped shut as he breathed and breathed and breathed. Everything gets taken away from you, the voice had whispered then. Either you push it away because of a woman who dared to call herself your mother, or shit like this just happens. It piles on top of you, and it's going, going, gone.

Except he hadn't gone.

She had, though. Mrs. Paquinn. She'd gone.

And yeah, he limped just a little, but he was here with me, wasn't he? Here with that mischievous smile on his face, that look that I knew so well, and there was a history between us, long, long years that I never thought I'd get to have.

I was almost thirty years old, and I'd been with the love of my life for the better part of a decade.

There were days that I waited for the other shoe to drop.

I didn't think I could ever stop doing that.

Maybe it was the way the Kid was vague about how school was going, how he seemed to be dead-eyed some days, where I'd wonder if the doses he was taking for his panic disorder were far too high. Or maybe it was the way that there were still secrets we kept from him, of a kid named Ben born only a couple of weeks ago. Otter disagreed, but he didn't push, and I told myself it was the right thing to do, that I wasn't keeping this from the Kid because I wanted to. No, I was doing it because I had to. There were still earthquakes sometimes, and we'd wait for everything to stop shaking as we curled up in the bathtub, his breath rattling around in his chest as he struggled to breathe.

Maybe one day I wouldn't worry about what happened next. Maybe one day I could just... let it go.

Maybe I could even start today.

There was a handsome man with his hand in mine, and he loved me more than anything else in the world.

I'd certainly put him through enough shit.

There was more garland on top of the cabinets in the kitchen, and something bubbled in a pot on the stove. There were candles lit on the kitchen table in the breakfast nook. Silverware sat atop folded napkins next to plates that we hardly ever used, a gift from his parents as a housewarming present when we'd moved to New Hampshire. They were certainly nicer than anything I'd ever owned before.

Shit.

Had I forgotten something?

It wasn't anyone's birthday.

It wasn't our anniversary (the main one, but then Otter was a dork sometimes and he'd say, "Eight years ago today, you told me you loved me for the first time," or "Six years ago today, we did that one thing that's probably illegal in seven states, so we should probably try it again").

Shit.

"You didn't forget anything," he said as he pulled me toward the table.

"I know," I said. "I wasn't even thinking that. I remember everything."

"Uh-huh."

He dropped my hand as we reached the table and pulled out the chair for me, looking at me expectantly.

So of course, I was instantly suspicious. "I didn't forget anything," I said slowly.

"Nope."

"I know that. I'm just telling you in case you forgot."

"Glad we're on the same page."

"Riiight. So...."

"Can't I just do something nice?"

"Yes. But this reeks of not that."

He squinted at me. "That's probably just the Alfredo sauce on the stove."

"That.... Okay. That was funny. I'm not laughing, because I'm convinced you're up to something and I have to be distrustful, but I still thought that was funny."

"All right, then. Wine."

"You don't even like wine. Not really."

"Yes, but you do."

"Don't take this the wrong way."

"Well, when you preface it like that."

I glared at him. "I'm going to ignore that. Are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?"

He patted my shoulder as I sat in the seat. "Wouldn't be that hard. You're a lightweight, and word on the street is that you're pretty much a sure bet." He scooted my chair closer to the table.

"Damn right I am. You know what those jeans do to me. It's like they're my—wait a minute. That's part of it too! You're trying to seduce me!"

He walked back toward the stove. "And why do you sound so scandalized at the thought? In case you can't remember, been there, done that."

"Wow. Our entire sex life has just been reduced to been there, done that. That's.... I don't know what that is." But it still didn't stop a Bear and Otter Greatest Hits montage in my head. Add in the fact that Otter was a hell of a lot more flexible than he looked, and I had to keep my gaze from sliding unfocused while I drooled at him.

There was a salad bowl on the table filled with leafy greens and bright red tomatoes, which were probably expensive as fuck. Money tended not to be an issue anymore, not with how much Otter made from his contracts (teaching teenagers, shockingly, wasn't the moneymaker I was led to believe), but there was still that little tug at the back of my mind, that little itch that reminded me how bad it used to be. How there'd be days when there was only enough food left for Ty or me, not both of us. That was toward the beginning, when I still hadn't quite figured out how to ask for help, when I was angry and defensive, sure I could handle this on my own. Wanting to prove I could handle it on my own. I'd made sure the Kid had milk and cereal for breakfast, and he'd get to eat free lunch at school, because he'd already been in a program. Then he'd come home and he was six years old, and he wouldn't even say a damn word at the forty-nine-cent cup of noodles for dinner again, and I'd sit next to him, making sure he ate it all. He'd ask me where mine was, and I'd shake my head and say I'd eaten already. He'd frown and then hold out the fork, broth dripping onto the chipped Formica, telling me he thought it tasted funny and that I needed to check to make sure it wasn't poisoned so he didn't die. Neither of us was fooled, but I always checked. Sometimes I'd pretend to choke and gasp, head lolling down onto the table, and he'd shriek with laughter, tears in his eyes, little hands tugging on my hair, saying, Bear, Bear, Bear, stop it, just stop it, and I'd—

"Bear?"

I blinked. Otter was sitting in a chair at the table, close enough that our knees bumped underneath. He'd dished a plate for me, chunks of chicken resting on a bed of fettuccini Alfredo. He was holding the salad tongs and an empty bowl in his other hand, but his eyes were on me.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay. You spaced out a little."

"Yeah," I said, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Just... a little tired. Got lost, I think."

"Where'd you go?"

No judgment. Just a question. He knew what Ty and I did, how we could drift a little in our heads. It'd gotten better over the years, but sometimes it happened without me realizing it.

"Just... noodles, I guess."

"Noodles." He set the salad bowl next to my plate.

"When—after.... Damn, I don't know why this is still so hard to talk about."

He didn't speak. Just waited for me to find my words. I adored everything about him.

I sighed. "Before I got my head out of my ass and did the right thing, we didn't have much. We didn't have anything. And your parents always offered, and Anna and Creed were there, but I didn't always let myself have that, you know?" I shrugged awkwardly. "It was a... weird time. Noodles."

"I'm—"

"Otter, I swear to god if you're going to apologize, I'm dumping my plate in your lap."

He scowled at me. "I wasn't going to apolo—"

"You had that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That one you get when you feel guilty about stuff that happened a long time ago that you had no control over. And now you've got the grumpy look on your face when you know I'm right but don't want to admit it."

He ignored that and instead said, "Wine?" as he uncorked the bottle.

"I'm onto you, Thompson. You're up to something."

He rolled his eyes. "You're projecting."

"Yeah, because that's something I do—wait. Okay, it is, but I'm not right now! You seem to have forgotten that I know you better than anyone. You're being shifty."

"You do know me better than anyone," he agreed, pouring me a glass and setting it next to my plate. I wasn't going to fall for it. He was trying to get me drunk to ask me for some kinky sex thing involving a traffic cone or to tell me he'd actually been working with the mob all these years and that we had to go into witness protection. It would actually explain quite a lot, and now he was giving me that look, that soft look he got sometimes with me, like he knew I was being ridiculous. I never thought I'd ever have anyone look at me that way, and even now, even after all this time, it still knocked me for a loop whenever it happened.

"Sappy," I muttered before I picked up the full wineglass and drank half of it in one go. I felt better after that.

"Can't I just do something nice for my husband?"

"Keep talking. When it finally comes out and I tell you that I told you so, I am going to give you so much shit. But we can't go into witness protection until the Kid graduates. I won't uproot his life like that."

"Bear, I'm not in the mafia."

"I wasn't thinking that!"

He waited.

"Okay, I was thinking that a little, but you're acting strange, and now I'm getting nervous." I took another drink of wine through a mouthful of chicken Alfredo.

"You're getting yourself worked up over nothing."

"Is it a kinky sex thing?" I blurted out. "If it's a kinky sex thing involving a traffic cone, I don't know if I can do that. I mean, do you know how much lube you'd have to use for that? And where the hell would we even get a traffic cone? It's not like we can steal one from a construction site, because they'd all be dirty, and I won't put dirty traffic cones up my ass, Otter, I really won't. I don't want to have to go to the emergency room to have to explain to a doctor why I need to have gravel extracted from my asshole. And if that happens, I am going to blame it all on you, because I won't be taking the blame for it. I won't. You will be there holding my hand while they take dirty asshole rocks out of me because you couldn't take the time to order a goddamn traffic cone online, if that's even possible. And you know I'm okay with trying new things, but I still get freaked out over that video we saw with the two guys on the seesaw that had those obscene dildos on either end and they kept seesawing them into each other's asses, and why would anyone even think about doing that? Why would you take a piece of child's playground equipment and make it sexual? I mean, yeah, there's sex swings, and that's fine, but a seesaw? A seesaw, Otter. With dildos on it. Who does that? What's next? A slide made of anal beads? Hanging from the monkey bars by nipple clamps? And that's another thing! How do I know what nipple clamps are? We've never used them. We're so normal, we're not even vanilla. We're vanilla bean. That's what this is, isn't it? You're getting me drunk so you can tell me we need to have a kinkier sex life. Oh my god. I knew you were up to something. All I wanted to do was come home after dealing with little shits all day who apparently can't survive an hour without checking their Myspace or sending their twatterings about how everything is hard because they're fourteen years old and no one will ever understand them. I wanted to come home and just forget about that, but now I have Alfredo sauce on my face while you are talking about sticking a sounding rod in my dick and—how the fuck do I know what a sounding rod is?"

I sucked in a deep breath.

Otter said, "Wow. That went places I didn't expect."

"You can't stick anything in my dick! You look online for a traffic cone, but nothing goes in my dick, Otter."

"Myspace. Twattering. Jesus Christ. It's like you're twenty-eight and eighty all at the same time."

I glared at him over the top of the wineglass, which had gotten refilled at some point. He was so good to me. "I know things," I said, licking my lips for any drops of wine that thought they could escape me.

"Bear, when you got a smartphone for the first time, you thought an app store was a physical place you had to go to in order to download apps."

"The salesman didn't have to be so rude about it. I mean, he acted like no one had ever thought the same thing before."

"I don't know that anyone has. I don't know that there's anyone in this world that thinks like you."

"Ugh. You're gushing again. Please stop. I know I'm great. You don't need to keep reminding me. Stop filling my wineglass."

"I find it easier when you're lubricated."

I gaped at him. "Did you—did you just make a pun?"

"I'm not even embarrassed."

"You should be. My god, even I'm embarrassed for you."

"Really," he said dryly. "You just talked about dildo seesaws while in the same breath telling me you wouldn't mind me sticking a traffic cone up your ass. And I can't even make a joke?"

"A pun isn't a joke. It's offensive. I mean, you're old, but you're not that old. It's such a dad thing to do."

He paled a little at that, hand tightening around his fork.

And of course, I immediately felt bad. "No, no, no. You're not old. I mean, you are older than me, but you're not old. I heard that thirty-seven is the new something-something. And hey! When your birthday comes around again, thirty-eight will be the new... whatever the new thing is."

And even as I watched, I could see him steel himself. He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He reached over and took my hand in his, gripping it tightly. "Okay," he said. "So there is something."

"Ha," I said weakly. "I knew it. You liar."

"Bear, I—Derrick, there's—" He coughed and shook his head a little. "Okay. You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Of course. I mean, I've known that forever. Hell, if there's one thing I do know, it's that. I—you know I love you too?" My hand felt clammy, because for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what the hell was happening right now, but it was serious.

I hated it.

His mouth twitched. "Yeah. I figured as much when you and the Kid wrote me a love poem with a subtle vegetarian message embedded into it."

"I bet that damn seagull's long dead by now," I said savagely. "And I'm happy about it. That motherfucker had it out for me. I hope it got eaten by a shark."

"I don't think sharks eat seagulls."

"What? Of course they do. They're right there on the water. How could they not? They're floating appetizers."

"You know what? We're going to look this up—goddammit. No, Bear. Stop it."

"Stop what? You started all of this by telling me you loved me!"

He huffed out a breath and squeezed my hand. "And somehow we ended up on seagull appetizers."

"It didn't even take that long," I said with a frown. "I don't know whether to be impressed or worried."

"I'm sure there's medication for that, but that's not the point."

"Oh good. I would be concerned if it was. And also slightly offended that you got me drunk to tell me I needed to be on medication."

"Seriously. You're drunk already."

I grinned at him. "Eh. Buzzed. But it'll be easier for you to have your way with me."

He sighed, but I saw the way his lips twitched, and I knew I was so getting laid later. It put me at ease, at least a little bit. "I'll keep that in mind. Can I finish?"

I nodded.

"Okay. It's... just...."

"Otter," I said quietly. "You know you can tell me anything. We're a team, okay? That's what we do."

"I know," he said, eyes darting away before coming back to me. "We've been through a lot."

"Yeah. But we've gotten this far."

He smiled at me, and I thought it was possible I'd do anything for this man. "Yeah. Yeah, we have. Which is why I think we're ready."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but we kind of already did the whole marriage proposal thing, remember? It was really rather overly dramatic, what with you waking up in a hospital and everything like we're in some kind of goddamn overwrought romance novel or something."

"I'm pretty much the bad boy to your plucky heroine."

"Ass," I said, turning my hand over so I could hold his hand properly. "But I mean, if you want to ask me again, I'm okay with—"

"I want to be a dad."

I did the absolute worst possible thing I could do then. I laughed. And the hurt look on his face tore me to shreds. "No," I said quickly. "No, I'm not laughing at you. That was just... a knee-jerk reaction. It's not—god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that. Okay? You're—"

"I'm ready, Bear," he said, interrupting me. "I know we've... danced around the topic, and I haven't pushed. I knew you needed time with everything. I mean, with the Kid and Dom and that whole... thing. The move. Trying to protect him as best you could—it's admirable. You've done well by him, Bear. Really good. Maybe better than anyone else could have done if they'd been in your same position."

"It wasn't just me," I said sharply. It annoyed the hell out of me when he downplayed his own contributions. "It was you too. You helped... us. Me. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

He shook his head. "I don't—okay. That's fine. We're a team. We have been for a long time now, and I think we're ready. I've been... uh. I've been researching. Everything." He stood up quickly, jarring the table a little as his chair scraped the floor. He let go of my hand. "Hold on, okay?"

I could only nod as he backed out of the kitchen.

I told myself to breathe.

To really breathe.

It was only a minute before he came back, but by then I'd already started to work myself up again, that little voice in my head laughing at me, telling me that it was a mistake, that I'd never be able to do this, because what could I possibly know about being a parent? You never had one, it whispered. You never had a father, and your mother hated you enough to leave you and the Kid behind to fend for yourselves after stealing almost everything you had. You scraped by, you crawled through the dirt, and sure, yeah, somehow you're here now, in a nice house with a nice job and a nice man, but what exactly did you do to deserve this? And what could you possibly have to offer anyone else?

I pushed it away, but it didn't go far. It never did.

He held a three-ring binder in his hands, and maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe he'd already had it somewhere in the boxes in his office upstairs, but it was blue, a pale blue like a spring sky.

Or like a little boy, that color you used when you told the world, look, look, look, I'm having a kid, I'm having a baby boy, and this is how I show everyone. He's blue, baby blue, and he's mine, he's ours, and look at it. Just look at it.

His eyes were a little wide as he came back to the table, sitting back down beside me, jostling the wineglass as he set the binder down in front of him, hands resting on the top, his wedding ring flashing in the candlelight. He cleared his throat, fingers flexing just a little. "Okay, I know this is a lot. I know it is. But I just want you to listen. Just for a bit."

I nodded jerkily.

His smile was a little brittle as he tapped the binder. "It's in here. Just. Um. Some of the stuff I've looked into." He opened the binder slowly, and I tried to ignore the way my heart jackrabbited in my chest at the fact that there were color-coded tabs along the edges. It was the stupidest thing to focus on, but I couldn't look away. "We don't have to make any decisions right away, and I know this might be a lot to just drop on you, but I thought maybe we could look through some of this together?"

He was nervous, and I was sitting there, dinner forgotten, gaping at him like an idiot. "Some of this," I managed to say.

"Yeah. Yes. Some of this." His fingers twitched again on the plastic cover, and I still couldn't get over that it was divided into sections. "I mean, there are so many options that we have. Things aren't like they were when we first got together. Things are better now for same-sex couples. We don't even have to look outside the US. I mean, we can, and if that's the direction you want to go, I'm totally on board with that, but... I just want to start. You know? Somewhere. A conversation. About adoption or surrogates and—okay. I know it's a lot, and I can tell by the look on your face that—"

"I don't have a look on my face! And wow. I really didn't mean to shout that. Holy shit."

He shook his head fondly. "It's not—Bear. I want this, and I want you to want this too. I don't want to force you. Or push it. But I'd like for us to talk about it, you know?"

I could do this.

I could do this.

I probably couldn't do this, but I sure as hell could wing it.

"I—"

The front door slammed open, causing both of us to jump. We laughed a little at ourselves, and Otter called out, "Ty?"

There was no response.

His brow furrowed a little bit, and all I could think was that if it wasn't one thing, it was another, because somehow I knew something wasn't right.

There was a little choked gasp from out in the hallway, something I knew so well. It was the sound of my brother struggling to breathe, to force air into his lungs, even though his throat was closing up and the red claws of panic were tearing into his skin.

I shoved myself away from the table, the wineglass tilting over, dark liquid soaking the tablecloth. I ignored it because it wasn't important. Not now.

I heard Otter jumping up behind me even as I ran from the kitchen.

Tyson Thompson was slumped against the now-closed door, feet sliding out from underneath him, skin pale, glazed eyes bulging even as he tried to pull the collar of his shirt away from his neck like it was choking him.

I stumbled a little as I reached him, tripping over the damn rug in the hallway. I fell to my knees in front of him as he hit the floor. His skin was cold as I cupped his face, his fingers knocking against my hands as he tried to shove me away.

"Kid? Tyson."

"I c-can't b-breathe," he panted out. "I c-c-can't breathe, Bear, oh, Bear, I can't b-b-breathe."

We'd been here before.

More times than I could count.

More times than someone like him ever deserved.

Panic disorder was a bitch like that.

It didn't care if he was the smartest person in the world.

It didn't care that shit had been slung at him again and again and again.

It didn't care that I hated it more than anything else in the world.

It just pulled him down, wrapping itself around him, smothering him. He felt cold, but he was slick with sweat, and I was frozen, like this was the first time all over again, like I was a lost teenager and he barely came up to my waist, and he was looking up at me, begging me without speaking to make it better, to make it go away.

We'd been alone then.

We weren't now.

Otter crouched next to us, pressing his forehead near the Kid's ear, and he was whispering, his breath hot against my fingertips. He was saying I know you can hear me and You're safe here, you're home and you're safe and Breathe with me, okay? You just need to breathe with me. Otter's gaze darted quickly over to me, and I did the only thing I could. I followed along with him.

"That's it," I said, voice hoarse. "That's right. We're here, okay? We're here. And you're gonna breathe with me, okay? That's what you're gonna do. You're gonna breathe in. Hold it. And then you're gonna breathe out. Hold again. And we'll do it as long as you need to."

"I c-c-can't."

"You can. And you will. It's hard, I know. And it won't feel like you can actually do it, but I know you can. You hear me? I know you can."

And he did. Eventually.

We sat there, slumped on the floor, giving him space but making sure he knew we were still there. He breathed in and we counted. He breathed out and we counted. It went on and on like that for a while.

And it did end. It always did. That was the fucked-up thing about it. It would end, but it could always come back. It was a quick fix. Nothing more.

His skin had a little color to it once his throat loosened enough for him to breathe erratically.

"Can I have some water?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Otter said. "I'll get it. Be right back."

He rubbed the back of my head as he stood and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Shit," the Kid muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "Shit. Fuck. God-fucking-dammit." He knocked his head against the door, hard.

"Hey," I snapped at him. "Don't do that. You're going to make things worse."

"I thought... dammit. I thought I was getting better. I thought I could—" His voice broke as he shook his head.

"It's okay. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Okay? I promise you. We'll figure it out."

He laughed bitterly, and I tried not to recoil. I'd never heard him make a sound like that before. "We've already figured it out," he said, and it was like he was mocking me. "I'm fucked-up in the head, Papa Bear. Or hadn't you heard?"

"Don't say that."

He snorted. "It's true."

"You're trying to piss me off. It's not gonna work."

"Whatever."

"You know what? Being a dick isn't going to help you right now. You get me? You're sixteen, but I'm still your big brother, and I will kick your ass if you try to sling that shit at me."

He gaped at me, dark hair sticking on his sweaty forehead.

I glared right back.

"That.... I might actually believe that."

"Good. Because I'm serious."

"About what?" Otter asked, coming back into the hallway.

The Kid rolled his eyes. "Bear is threatening to abuse me if I don't stop acting like a dick."

"Sounds about right," Otter said as he crouched back down beside us. He tried to put the glass up to the Kid's lips, but Ty just sighed and took it from him. He drank on his own, grumbling as we made him finish the entire thing.

By the time Otter took the glass away from him, we were all sitting on the floor and the Kid had pulled my hand into his lap, tugging on my fingers, refusing to look at either of us.

We waited, because it was the right thing to do.

Finally, the Kid muttered, "I don't suppose we can just forget about this."

"Nope," Otter said cheerfully. "Not going to happen."

"It was part of the deal we had," I reminded the Kid. "Before we came out here. And before we let you cut back on your therapy. Anything like this happens, we talk it out so we can understand what triggered you. And if we can keep that from happening again."

"Yeah, well. Don't know what you can do about this. It was stupid." He groaned. "Jesus."

Otter glanced at me before looking back at the Kid. "What was it?"

"It's nothing—"

"Tyson."

He thumped his head against the door again, but it was just a tap. His eyes were closed, but he didn't let go of my hand. "It's not—it wasn't anything big. It—I don't even know why it happened. I was walking home and this—this woman was yelling at her kid, and wires got crossed and I thought it was her and—it wasn't. I know it wasn't. Of course it wasn't. But I thought what if it was, and then I just kept spiraling until—"

"Okay," Otter cut in. "That's good. We get it. Don't get yourself worked up again."

I tried not to show the relief I felt at that. Not because of what he'd said (because fuck that and fuck her too), but for the fact that he'd been able to get it out and into the open. It hadn't always been that way. I thought it meant he trusted us. That he was doing his part. And that it was working. No matter how smart he was, no matter what he'd been through to get to this point, he was still only sixteen. When you're sixteen, things seem much bigger than they actually are.

Well, I thought as Otter bumped my shoulder. Most of the time.

"That's... okay?" I tried.

"Gee, Papa Bear. Thought of that one all on your own?"

"Don't get smart with me."

"Someone has to."

I thought of Otter's binder full of I WANT TO HAVE A BABY WITH YOU and decided I needed to be as parental as possible, just to show him I could. "I can still ground you, you know."

Otter sighed.

The Kid's eyes flashed open at that. "You can't ground me."

"Bullshit I can't. I am your guardian. You are a minor. You don't get to talk back to me."

"You probably shouldn't have said that," Otter muttered.

"A minor?" the Kid said, sounding outraged. "Do you know what I've done in my life? I am a college student. I have convinced four people in the last six months that the cow meat they were shoving in their faces was obtained via nefarious means that involved nonregulatory practices that any normal person would have considered barbaric. Did you know that in 2000, the number of animals murdered for food was almost ten billion? And that was over a decade ago. The human virus has only expanded since then—"

"Give me your phone."

"This isn't going very well," Otter said helpfully.

"My phone?"

I held out my free hand. "The kids in my classes look like they'll die when I take their phone away, so I assume that's an appropriate enough punishment."

"But I just had a crisis."

"Exactly. So you shouldn't be looking into a bright screen for a while so you don't... get a headache. Or something."

Otter's face was in his hands.

"Maybe I'm emotionally devastated and need to look up online how to cope with my feelings on message boards where people with similar issues post with awkward usernames!"

"You have your laptop," I said. But then, "Which you can only use with supervision for an hour a night. And you aren't allowed to use your Super Nintendo."

"Jesus Christ, what year do you think it is?"

"He's got a point," Otter said. "And it's not even a Nintendo. It's an—"

"And you will come straight home, and you will go to bed by eight! No. Seven thirty."

Both of them were staring at me.

I scowled at them.

"This might be my fault," Otter told the Kid.

"I'm not giving you my phone," the Kid said.

"I pay for it."

"I use it."

"Do we need to put a hit out on the unsuspecting mother you saw?" Otter asked, brushing the Kid's hair off his forehead.

The Kid sighed. "Violence never solves anything. Mostly."

"I'll do it," I told the Kid. "If you want me to. I'll find her and take her out. I could probably get away with it too. No one would suspect the mild-mannered schoolteacher in the library with a candlestick."

The Kid rolled his eyes. "Mild-mannered. Really. That's what you're going with."

"We could all plan together," Otter suggested. "I think between the three of us, we could plan the murder of someone we've never met and probably have no hope of finding and figure out how to get away—yikes. I really need to stop talking. I blame this on the both of you."

And Ty laughed then, and it was a little hoarse and maybe a little forced, but it was better than it'd been before.

Maybe it wasn't... appropriate to go about it the way we were, but hearing Ty laugh made it okay. That excuse probably wouldn't hold up in court when I was on trial for murder, but I would worry about that later.

"You need the bathtub?" I asked the Kid quietly.

He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. "I'm fine. I'm good. Probably take a pill and let it work."

HE WAS getting changed in his room when I went into the hallway bathroom that he used. I frowned at the towels on the floor, picking them up and hanging them on the rack. There was the orange pill bottle near the sink, the one that wasn't to leave the house. Any doses he needed, he pocketed, so it lowered the risk of some junkie college student pilfering them out of his bag when he wasn't looking.

I picked up the bottle and popped off the lid. Initially he was taking up to four milligrams per day, but with the diagnosis of panic disorder came increased doses of up to six milligrams. He was resistant at first, until we all sat down and discussed what we thought was going to be best for him. And we did keep track of the pill usage. We weren't stupid.

Which is why I frowned at how empty the bottle looked.

I rattled it around.

The pills bounced.

Maybe he—

I shook my head as I fished a pill out. I put the lid back on and set it back down on the counter.

When I knocked on the door, I heard a muffled "Hold on." I leaned against the doorway, listening to Otter move about in the kitchen, washing up the remains of our interrupted dinner. And then I remembered the binder, sitting on the table, no doubt waiting for us to continue. For the life of me, I couldn't think of a single reason to tell Otter no, aside from that I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready, and that made me feel like the world's biggest asshole. Because he wanted it so, so badly, and I was the one holding us back.

The Kid opened his door, looking exhausted, eyes a little puffy. He wore sweats and a thin white shirt. "Your hair's getting a little long," I said quietly. "Need me to schedule a cut?"

"I can do it."

"All right. Hey, we should hang out this weekend. Go get lunch. Maybe go to the movies or something. What do you say?"

His smile was forced. "Yeah. Sounds good, Papa Bear."

I nodded slowly, bouncing the pill in my closed fist. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Yeah. I know. I just... I'm tired, is all. It's been a rough day."

"Yeah, I get that. Getting grounded is always tough."

He rolled his eyes. "Not gonna happen."

"Says you. No TV. Go to bed."

"Jerk."

"Little shit."

He grinned, and it was real. "Love you too."

"Got your pill."

He held out his hand.

I hesitated. "Hey, weird thing, but. Did you...."

"What?"

"Seemed to be a few less Xanax in the bottle than there should be."

He looked me straight in the eye and said, "Yeah. That was my bad. I was getting my dose yesterday while brushing my teeth. They fell in the sink. Faucet was running. They melted fast. Forgot to say anything."

And yeah. That happened. Hell, I'd done something like that before. "All right," I said, handing him the pill. "Just... if you need—"

"I'll come to you," he said. "I promise."

"Yeah. Okay. Good night, Kid."

"Night."

And he closed the door.

I stood there, just a little longer.

THE BINDER was gone when I went back to the kitchen.

I didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

There was a strange little ache in my chest, but I ignored it.

Otter closed the dishwasher and leaned against the counter, drying his hands. "He doing okay?"

"Think so. Not the first time it's happened. Won't be the last."

"Maybe. I just can't tell if it's getting better or worse."

I frowned. "What?"

"Between his decision to want to come here and everything he was leaving behind, I don't know what to make of it sometimes."

"Because of him." We both knew who I meant.

"Yeah."

I sighed. "Yeah. Did we do the right thing? You think?"

"Keeping Dom's kid from him?"

I winced at that. "Yeah."

"Some days I think so," he said, holding out his hand for me. I took it and he pulled me close. "Other days, I don't know."

"He's going to find out. Eventually." Which was a day I wasn't looking forward to.

"I think we did what we thought was right. At the time. Maybe it was a crush, or maybe it was hero worship—"

"I think we both know it was more than that."

"Yeah." Otter frowned. "Probably. But we told him we'd follow him whatever his choice was, and he chose to come here. Maybe it had to do with Dom and Stacey, and maybe it didn't. But he was hurt either way, and we did the best we could. He made his choice, and we went with it."

"Doesn't mean it's not going to blow up in our faces," I muttered against his chest.

"We'll deal with it when the time is right."

"We can't leave it for the last possible second. I don't want us going back to Seafare without him knowing. That would probably just make things worse." The thought of him finding out by seeing Ben for the first time scared the hell out of me.

"Okay," he said easily. "We'll figure it out. Promise."

His hand was in my hair, and I knew he had let it go, but for some reason, I couldn't. "The binder."

He tensed. Just a little. "Yeah?"

"Can you... hold on to it? For now. Don't—don't get rid of it. But, maybe just set it aside? Just for a little while."

"I can do that," he said, like it was nothing. "I can definitely do that."

"It's not like I don't—"

"Bear, it's okay. I promise. It'll hold."

Sometimes I thought Otter was our reward for all the crap that had been slung on me and the Kid in our short, complicated lives. And if he was, he was the best thing I could have ever asked for. It sucked that he got the shit end of that deal. "Sorry about dinner."

He kissed my forehead. "It happens. We have all the time in the world."

# 2. Where Bear Finds Out

I SHOULD have seen it for what it was.

And maybe I did. Maybe I saw all the signs but chose not to believe them. Maybe I subconsciously ignored them, because I knew the Kid couldn't be that stupid. He couldn't be. He was the Kid. He was the smartest, bravest, fiercest person I'd ever known. His convictions were ironclad, his heart strong, his head in the right place. I knew that. I knew all of that.

"How's school going?" I would ask him.

"Fine," he would always say. "Good. Real good."

Later: "Figure out a major yet? What you want to do with your life?"

"Not yet. I'll get there. It's early yet."

And later still: "Not on the Dean's List?"

"You know how it is, Papa Bear. Competition is hard-core. I can't do it every time."

"No, it's okay. I know. Just... you know you can talk to me, right? If you need to? I'm here."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

Dom's name was never mentioned, at least not by or to the Kid. And aside from the time Dom had shown up on our doorstep demanding to see Tyson, I hadn't really talked to him. Sure, there were texts every now and then, congratulations on the baby and the wedding. There was the how is everything going? and no, doesn't look like we'll be coming home this summer, sorry, but Otter was the one that kept in contact with him. I didn't blame Dom for what had happened or the choices he'd made, because I couldn't. I'd been the one to introduce him and Stacey. I'd been the one to start all of this, and maybe the reason we never talked about Dom was because I was too worried the Kid blamed me for everything.

And later, after the truth had been told, I'd think how if Dom had been there, if he'd still been a part of the Kid's life, that he'd have seen it. He'd have known. If it'd happened at all.

And that... well.

That hurt too.

THE DOORBELL rang one summer afternoon. I was home sick, curled up on the couch with a blanket, surrounded by discarded tissues, tea cooling on the coffee table in front of me. I was zoned out in front of horrible daytime TV, unsure why the panel of women were shrieking at each other when just a moment before they'd seemed like they were the best of friends.

Otter was out of town, having been hired by some political website I'd never heard of ("I would have been surprised if you had." "Hey! I know things!") to follow around an up-and-coming Martha's Vineyard reject on the campaign trail as he ran against some stuffy incumbent. Otter had shown me the picture of the man he'd be stalking ("Photographing, Bear, photographing"), and he'd been all wavy hair and perfect white teeth, and I told Otter in no uncertain terms that if this douchebag tried to get all up in his shit, I'd cut them both.

Otter, for some reason, had found that hysterical and apparently attractive at the same time, because he kept laughing while also trying to give me a hand job. It was really an awkward experience, but then he'd twisted his wrist just right, and I'd sucked on his neck while he snorted in my ear.

You don't say no to hand jobs.

He'd been gone for a couple weeks and wasn't due back for six more days, but I wasn't pining. No, of course not. I was just sitting on the couch, dying, while my husband was hundreds of miles away from me.

"Because I don't feel bad enough about that as it is," he'd told me on the phone when I told him as much.

"Good," I'd said. "Because I'm pretty sure my lungs are about to fall out of my mouth."

"Well, you do sound terrible."

"Thanks. Really."

"I can come home. You know—"

"Stop. Don't. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. You're doing good with what's-his-name. Has he hit on you yet? Everyone knows that most young Republicans hire gay hookers and have sex with them."

"Wow. That's not a real thing at all."

"They said it on the news."

"I think that might be the cold medicine talking. And no, he hasn't hit on me. His wife is also here."

"Please," I snorted. "I had a girlfriend once. Still kissed you."

"Oh boy."

"You're a home-wrecker."

"I'm not a—"

"Came in and wrecked that home. Couldn't let me think of anyone else, no matter how much I tried."

"How much cold medicine did you take?"

"Stop trying to change the subject." I sneezed. "Excuse me. Stuff came out. Gross. Wow, that almost looks alive—"

Otter groaned. "I take it back. I'm never coming home."

"Bullshit," I'd said with a sniff. "You love me. That's why you wrecked the home and seduced me and ruined me for anyone else."

"I pretty much did all that, didn't I?"

"You don't get to sound all smug about that. I contributed to the wrecking."

He'd sounded like he was smiling when he'd said, "It all worked out in the end."

"Ugh. You're getting sappy. Go away."

"I'll call you later."

"Yeah, yeah. Love you."

"Love you too."

And then I'd shut down, the TV squawking in the background, waiting for that one specific moment when my nose would clear and I'd be able to breathe again. I was convinced it would be the greatest thing I'd ever experienced, and I'd—

The doorbell rang.

I opened my eyes, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

It rang again a moment later.

"I don't want any!" I shouted at the door. "I'm dying, so I wouldn't even be able to taste your Girl Scout cookies or hear you talk about your lord and savior Jesus Christ!"

The doorbell rang again.

Fucking persistent Girl Scouts and/or lovers of Christ.

Or maybe it was a robber. With a knife.

Had I remembered to lock the door?

I didn't know.

I was going to get stabbed by a robber.

They'd find my body, snot on my upper lip, used tissues on the ground, and say, "Well, he looks gross."

Otter and the Kid would be sad for a little bit, sure. Maybe they'd cry at the funeral, but they'd both move on. Otter would get married to the Martha Stewart reject and they'd have kids with perfectly coiffed hair, and Tyson would get hired on by PETA and eventually stage a military coup and force vegetarianism on everyone else.

"I can't let that happen," I muttered. "I can't get stabbed and die." I tried to get up, but that turned out to be a bad idea, so I sat back down with a groan. "Okay. Fine. Come in. You can kill me. Just make it quick. And tell Otter that when he gets remarried to Phinneus Van der Woods the fourth, he's not allowed to have his engagement announcement in the New York Times say anything about how the happy couple likes to go yachting in their spare time, because that's just fucking stupid. Seriously. Yachting? They might as well also play croquet using mallets made out of wood repurposed from the old Summer House that had been built by Jebediah Van der Woods in the late 1800s."

"Wow," a voice I didn't recognize said. "That was... specific."

I opened my eyes. Standing awkwardly near the door was a kid I'd never seen before. He was thin and wearing tight jeans (skinny jeans, I thought the youths called them—fucking millennials). His skin was dark and lovely, and he was watching me with a curious expression.

He didn't seem threatening, but then I was sure murder victims sometimes thought the same thing. "Are you here to kill me?"

"Should I be? Are we role-playing? Like, you're the spy and I'm the FBI agent bent on revenge who has finally caught up with you. You've been shot and are coughing up blood, and I have to decide if my morals are firmly planted in the gray or if I have some hope for redemption. I'd have to go buy new dress shoes before we do this. I feel I'd wear expensive ones. Did you know that a pair of Testoni dress shoes cost almost forty grand? They have gold and jewels inlaid in them."

Dammit. I liked my potential murderer. "Well, make it quick. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to last."

"Yeah, it looks like—oh my god, there is a used Kleenex stuck to my non-Testoni shoe. What is wrong with you? How could you do this to me?"

The stranger in my house was hopping on one foot, scraping his shoe against the wall, a look of disgust on his face. His thick black hair was tied back, held in place by a leather strap.

"As fun as this is," I said, voice hoarse, "if you're not here to kill me or bring me cookies, who the hell are you and what do you want?"

He grimaced as the Kleenex stuck to the wall. "My name is Corey. Corey Ellis. I'm a student at Dartmouth."

"Oh-kay? And what do you want?"

He rubbed a hand over his face. "This is probably going to seem weird, but—hell. You know Tyson, right? Tyson Thompson?"

That caught my attention. I sat up quickly. "He's my brother. What happened? Is he okay? Did he get hurt—"

Corey's eyes went wide. "No. No, no, no, he's fine. I swear. It's not—man, you are so not going to believe me on this."

"Are you a friend of his?" I asked, confused.

He shook his head. "We've never met."

That... didn't sound right. "Uh-huh," I said slowly. "And you know who he is because...."

"Everyone knows who he is," Corey said, pulling his bag up higher on his shoulder. "Smart kid, right? Got a lot of attention when he came here."

I squinted at him. "Are you like... a groupie? Or something?"

"Wow. Absolutely not. I am so not a groupie. Are you being offensive? Because I think you're being offensive. First, I come in here and you automatically assume I'm going to murder you, which, do I even need to tell you how racist that is?"

"I'm not racist—"

"And now you're accusing me of stalking your brother."

"How did you know where we live?"

Corey sighed. "I followed him home yesterday."

"You were saying about stalking accusations?"

"Okay. Point to you. But I swear that's not what I'm here for."

"Maybe you should quickly explain why you're here before I call my husband to tell him I'm being accosted by my little brother's stalker."

He looked startled. "Husband?"

I glared at him. "You have a problem with that? Yes, husband. And he's big and strong and vascular, and he will totally kick your—"

"Trust me. I have no problem with that whatsoever. Is that him with you in the picture on the wall? Holy hell. Way to land that one. Talk about a DILF—"

"Corey."

"Right. Sorry. Look. I'm doing this because I think it's the right thing to do, okay? Just... don't tell your brother I was here. I don't want to get more involved than I already am."

"Okay," I said. Then I sneezed again. "Gross."

"Ugh," Corey said. "I wish I hadn't just seen that."

"Eh. If it makes you feel better, I wish you hadn't either."

"I would get you a tissue, but I'll be honest here. I don't want to come any closer."

"It's fine. I got plenty."

"Maybe I should come back later."

I blew my nose before I looked blearily back at him. "It doesn't get much better than this. Spit it out."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and he looked nervous about standing in front of me. I didn't know what was wrong, but it couldn't have been anything good. I almost didn't want to hear what he had to say.

I remembered what he'd said before. "Why can't the Kid know you were here?"

"The Kid?"

"A nickname—it doesn't matter."

He shrugged. "I don't—look. I'm here because I want to do the right thing, okay? And I told myself that maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was just... seeing things. But then I couldn't stop thinking what if it was something? And I just couldn't get it out of my head. Because if it is something, then it's not good. And as much as I hate going behind another person's back, sometimes it's the right thing to do."

"Going behind his back," I said slowly. "By... coming here?"

He nodded, head jerking up and down. He bit his bottom lip, looking down at the floor.

I felt clammy, and I didn't think it had anything to do with my cold. "What is it? Is he okay?"

He hesitated. "Is he... taking anything? Any medications?"

I blinked, unsure of where the hell this was going. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because he's buying pills on campus."

Everything pretty much stopped. "What?"

He told me a story then. About a guy he used to date, a real fucking scumbag that Corey had thought had the whole bad boy thing going on. Turned out that underneath the leather and swagger and cheap cologne was an asshole who made bank selling Klonopin and Adderall and Xanax to stressed-out frat boys and sorority chicks, people looking for a way to de-stress in ways that alcohol couldn't provide. It'd taken Corey longer than he cared to admit to dump the asshole, but he'd done it and was better off because of it.

But Corey stressed he wasn't a snitch, okay? He didn't like getting involved in shit that didn't concern him. It was just... Tyson. There was something about him. Corey had seen him around campus, at first a little unimpressed with this kid who was supposed to be some big shit.

He was smart, sure. Of course he was. He was Tyson Thompson, after all. His IQ was high, he'd skipped grades, he'd graduated early, he'd gone to college at sixteen, and yeah, his grades had sloughed off a little, but then he'd turned seventeen, and asked us to trust him. I got this, Papa Bear, he'd said to me. I can handle this on my own. Let me do this on my own. And sure as shit, I'd said okay, okay, okay, because I had trusted him. He'd never given any indication otherwise, he'd never lied to me, never held anything back, or so I'd thought.

And yeah, maybe we weren't in each other's back pocket like we'd once been. There were years when he'd been my sole focus, when all I could think about was making sure he was fed and bathed and happy and whole, and even though it felt wrong at first, I'd slowly backed off, because he was his own person. He didn't always need me hovering over his shoulder forever, no matter how much I wanted to be. And it was hard at first, hard to let him go out into the big and scary world on his own, knowing there were people out there that could hurt him, that would hurt him. Otter had held me close, had whispered in my ear that mistakes were going to be made—it was inevitable, after all—but we'd be here to help him, we'd never leave him behind. Things are changing, Otter had said. But it'll be okay, Bear. I promise.

So I'd let him go.

I'd trusted him.

And I had other things going on, didn't I? I had a job. I had other kids in my life that I cared about, other kids that were exasperating and fascinating all at the same time. I had a house in a town that was almost starting to feel like home, no matter how much the call of the ocean tugged on the back of my mind. I had friends, and maybe they were the type that I'd only meet up with once every couple of months for a beer, but they were mine. They weren't Creed and Anna, they weren't lifelong and forever, but they were good.

And Otter, of course. I had Otter. For the longest time, the Kid and I had been a package deal, just like it should have been. We were Bear, Otter, and the Kid, and that's the way it was. Every choice I made had Ty in mind. Everything I did, I did for him, and when I let him go, when I trusted him to know his limits, I was able to see—maybe for the first time—what it meant to be Bear and Otter, just the two of us. Because that was what it was going to be, eventually. I knew that one day, and maybe one day soon, Ty would take that next step. Maybe he'd find a roommate. Maybe he'd get a place on his own. Maybe we'd stay here. Maybe we'd go back to Seafare and he'd stay here. Maybe he'd follow us home. I didn't know. I tried not to think about it.

But for the first time in a very long time, I felt settled in my skin. We were making plans for the future instead of day by day. We weren't just surviving.

We were living.

Or so I thought.

It was the little things, wasn't it? The little things I hadn't put together to see the picture as a whole. The glassy eyes. The robotic movements. The indifference. The Kid was brash. The Kid was sarcastic. The Kid was fire and outrage and noise and vital.

But he hadn't been that way in a while. Maybe a long while.

And here it was now. Being dragged into the light by some kid I didn't know.

Hindsight is a fucking bitch, because now that I could see it, I thought maybe it went back months and months, and as Corey spoke, as he told me what he'd seen, I couldn't help but feel a mounting sense of horror that I'd never seen it. That I'd missed all of this.

Mostly.

Yeah. That was my bad. I was getting my dose yesterday while brushing my teeth. They fell in the sink. Faucet was running. They melted fast. Forgot to say anything.

I gritted my teeth, pressing my palms into my eyes, shoulders shaking.

"I... saw him," Corey said. "Talking to my ex. I told myself it was nothing. That it didn't—I don't know. I just—needed to see, you know? For myself. I thought maybe I was overreacting. Or that it was none of my business what this kid I didn't know did. His life, right? Not mine. I have my own shit to worry about. But... I just couldn't let it go. I don't know why. I just... I remember reading about him. In the Dartmouth paper. It was so... gushing and talking about how shitty he'd had it and all that he'd overcome to get where he was, and it just wasn't fair that he would do this. So I followed them."

Corey had seen it happen, from a distance.

Money changed hands.

A little bottle went into the side pocket of Ty's backpack.

It was familiar, this. He'd dated his ex for almost eight months. He knew what it looked like.

And later he'd followed the Kid to the library, bumping into him in the stacks hard. Ty's backpack fell. The bottle popped open. Pills of varying shapes and sizes and colors spilled on carpet. Corey had apologized profusely when the Kid went down on his knees but had managed to do one thing when my brother wasn't looking.

"I took a picture of them," Corey said, looking down at his hands. "On my phone. So I could see what they looked like when I looked them up later. The numbers and the letters."

"What were they?" I asked in a calm voice.

Klonopin. Xanax. Ativan. Valium. All benzodiazepines. A couple of Adderall. There was a single Percocet too, but we'd find out later that narcotics were a place he'd only dabbled in, never going too far for reasons even he couldn't explain.

"And you're sure about this?" I asked.

Corey nodded, looking away. "It's none of my business, I know. It's just—I'll never know what he went through, you know? Or what you did. But that doesn't mean I didn't deal with my own shit. I remember, okay? What it was like. Stuff like this. And it's just... he seems like a nice guy. And if he's going to be some kind of savior like everyone thinks he is, then he doesn't need to be doing this shit."

"Thank you for doing this."

He looked up, and his eyes were wet. "You won't tell him? That I was here?"

I shook my head slowly. "No. He'll never hear it from me. My husband will, but I can promise you Ty won't. From either of us."

He was grateful at that, and I felt terrible because of it.

"Can you send me the picture?"

He nodded. He pulled out his phone, and I rattled off my number. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a text. I ignored it.

He was at the door when he stopped and turned back around. "I didn't even ask you your name."

"Derrick," I told him quietly. "My name is Derrick."

His smile was fragile. "Maybe I'll see you again."

I nodded and he left, the door closing behind him.

I sat there for a long time.

If it's not one thing, it's another, it whispered. Isn't that right? Because that's the way it goes for you. Just when you think you're getting somewhere, just when you think things are finally going your way for once in your miserable life, shit just seems to blow right the fuck up, doesn't it? Oh, Bear. This is your life!

He'd been stupid, in the end.

I'd torn his room apart, not caring about how it looked, especially not after I'd found the first empty bottle. And the second. The third. The fourth. And on and on and on, stashed in nooks and crannies, in drawers and boxes underneath his bed. Yeah, one or two still had a couple of pills in them. Those I pocketed, tossing the empty bottles into the pile that was gradually growing. My stomach was twisting and turning, and it was laughing at me, laughing every time I found another bottle, every time I found a little plastic bag with residue in it. He'd kept them, stupidly, for reasons I didn't understand. After I kicked his ass, I would have to remember to ask him.

And I would.

By the time I finished, his room was in shambles, drawers hanging open haphazardly, clothes strewn across the floor, mattress tipped off the bed. There was a small hole in the wall behind a poster of Einstein sticking his tongue out.

It was ridiculous, really, almost like he'd wanted to get caught.

I did three things, after.

I texted Ty: Can you stop by the store on your way home and get me more Kleenex?

Kk, was the response. It'll be late. Library.

That's fine. Seven thirty?

Yeah. Should be. Feeling better?

I didn't answer.

I found a screwdriver in the garage and used it to take off the door to his bedroom. I carted it to our bedroom, grunting and sweating, breath harsh in my chest.

And I saved the worst for last.

"Bear? Is everything okay? I'm kind of in the middle of—"

"I need you to come home."

"What? Why? What happened? Why do you sound like that?"

"It's important. It's Ty."

"Is he—"

"He's fine. For now. He's not hurt. But if you're not here, I can't promise he won't be by the time I'm done with him."

"Bear," Otter chided gently. "What's going on?"

I pulled the phone away from my ear and only had to fumble for a moment until I could take a picture and send it to him via text. "Did you get it?"

There was a pause. Then, "Shit. Shit. I'm on my way. It'll probably take me about five hours."

"He's going to the library after class."

"How did you find out?"

"Please. I can't—I need you here. With me. I know you're busy, and I know you've got this thing going on, but I—"

"I'm coming. I swear. Just—don't do anything rash, okay? Even if for some reason he comes home, don't push it. We'll figure this out. It's not too late. We've caught it in time. This can be fixed. We will fix this."

I closed my eyes. "Yeah."

I CAN come home earlier, Ty said in a later text.

I stared at it for the longest time, and I—

("We're only given so many people in our lives, so many people that will love us unconditionally. Why do you think that is? I think it's because of times like this, times when you think they are gone and you see just how big of a hole in your heart that you have. And it's big, isn't it, Bear? We're all a puzzle, and when one of us is gone, that piece is missing, and we're incomplete. You above all others should have realized that.

"You have a chance, a chance to make something for yourself, something that is just for you but that you can share with the rest of the world. How dare you throw that back in our faces?

"The Bear I know wouldn't let that happen. The Bear I know would kick and scream and claw his way to protect what's his. The Bear I know would fight. And fight. And fight until he had nothing left in him, because the Bear I know would never give up.")

—couldn't even think of a single thing to say.

No, I texted back. It's fine.

"SHIT," OTTER said again, standing in the Kid's room, nudging the orange bottles with his foot.

"Yeah," I muttered.

He glanced over at me. "This isn't your fault. This isn't our fault."

I shrugged, looking away.

"Bear."

"We should have noticed. It shouldn't have been up to some goddamn stranger to show us what was right in front of us."

"He's smart. Smarter than both of us combined. He might have made a mistake sooner or later, but he was good. At hiding it."

I snorted. "A mistake. What do you think that mistake would have been, Otter? Tell me. Would it have been when we find him the next morning in his bed, fucking choking on his own goddamn vomit?"

"Hey," he said sharply. "I'm not the bad guy here. You don't need to lash out at me. That's not fair."

"God," I said, pressing my thumbs into the sides of my head. "Fuck. I know. I'm sorry. That wasn't—I don't think—"

"We gotta be together on this, Bear," he said, the hard lines on his face softening just a little. "We can't be at odds. Not over something like this. He'll see it. Yesterday, I would have said he wouldn't manipulate something like that, but...."

"You can't trust an addict."

"Addict," Otter sighed. "Jesus."

"It's what his therapist said."

His eyes widened just a little. "You called her?"

I nodded. "She said that he's still Ty, but he's going to try and explain this away. He's going to try and lie. He's going to do everything he can to deny it. It's... what happens. She... apologized. She said she didn't see this coming at all."

"He must have waited until he was done with his sessions before he took more," Otter said, staring down at the bottles.

"She gave me a list"—my vision began to narrow just a little—"a list of p-places we can send him to. Where they can h-help him get—get—"

"No, hey, no, Bear. Listen, okay?" His arms were around me, and I pressed my face against his neck. "One step at a time. Okay? One step at a time. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks."

I choked a little at that.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think so too."

"WHAT ARE these names here?" he asked with a frown, squinting at the email on the computer screen.

"Addiction specialists. She said that sometimes, rehab isn't necessary. But that detox can get pretty bad. She—she says that he might need to talk to someone else, someone who specifically deals with... this."

"He'll be lucky if I let him out of my sight again," Otter growled.

ON MY way. Got your Kleenex.

Okay.

HE CAME through the door. He didn't see us right away, sitting in the living room. I craned my head back on the couch, watching him. Otter squeezed my hand.

The Kid stopped for a moment, unaware he was being watched. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He popped his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders, like he was settling into something. I watched as he forced a smile onto his face, and he called out, "I'm home. I didn't know what kind of Kleenex you wanted, so I got the one with lotion."

And even faced with everything I'd been told, with everything I'd found, it was this little display that finally convinced me. That he was lying and manipulating.

It's a sickness, his therapist had said. Addiction is. And he'll explain it away, tell you that you're overreacting, that you're wrong and trying to blame him for things that aren't true. And part of him will believe that. But I think there will be another part to him, however small it may be, that knows you love him, that knows you're right. He's going to be a cornered animal. He may say things that are cruel. But it's the addiction talking. It's the fact that he was caught. He loves you, Bear. The both of you. And if I can be sure of anything, it's that.

Yes, yes, it whispered. There is that. There is always going to be that. But you don't even know him anymore, do you? He's kept this from you for months. Kind of fucked-up if you think about it, isn't it? Hey, but just think of how much like his mother he is! Isn't that fun?

"In here," Otter said. "Bring your backpack."

And I saw the Kid tense, just a moment.

He looked over into the living room.

He saw me watching him.

The smile tilted down, just a little, the fake thing that it was.

I swallowed down as much anger as possible. It was harder than I expected it to be. I turned forward again.

He tried. He really did. Even at the start. "Hey," he said, taking a step toward us. "What are you doing home? I thought you weren't back until next week."

"Things changed," Otter said. "Move your butt."

"Is everything okay?"

"Tyson. Now."

I didn't think I'd ever heard Otter speak like that. To anyone. And if Ty hadn't thought anything was wrong before, I was sure he did now. I wondered what his mind was racing with, what narrative he was trying to spin. Otter was mad, that much was sure. I was stiff and silent, which probably made it worse. For a moment, I felt bad about that, and I hated what we were about to do, what he was forcing us to do. My head was stuffy again, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pretend that everything was okay, that none of this had happened.

He came into the living room slowly, like he was afraid of spooking us somehow. I knew the exact moment he saw the empty pill bottles lined up on the coffee table. He stopped, making a sound like he'd been punched in the stomach. It hurt to hear. Because it validated everything, and no matter what came out of his mouth next, no matter how he tried to spin this, it would all be bullshit. He'd given himself away, and he'd only been in the house for a minute. It was only then that I realized a small part of me had hoped this wasn't real. That these bottles could be explained away. That Corey was a liar.

But it was true. All of it was true.

"Give me your backpack," Otter said, holding out his hand.

"Why?" the Kid asked, tightening his hand on the strap. He was pale, and his other hand was curled into a fist at his side.

"Because I said so. Don't make me ask you again."

The Kid glanced at me. "Bear?"

I kept quiet.

His eyes narrowed. "You know what? I don't think I will. I've had a long day, and I'm tired." He turned to walk away.

"You take one step," Otter said, "and you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight."

I closed my eyes. We'd talked about this. Beforehand. About what we'd do. What we'd say. And even though Otter was right, even though it needed to be said—a shock to the system—I had to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him. At the both of them.

"What?" the Kid said. "You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," Otter said flatly. "You can either hand me your backpack and take a seat, or you can walk out that door. The only way you'll be allowed back is when you're ready to man up about this."

"Bullshit," he said.

"Try us. I think you'll find just how serious we are."

"Bear."

Oh, this is goood, it whispered. Don't you hear it already in his voice? He's angry, yeah, sure, but he's scared too. Bear, Bear, Bear, he says. Papa Bear. Why are you letting him talk to me like that, Papa Bear?

"You were given a choice," I ground out. "I suggest you listen."

The look of utter betrayal on his face was something I'd never forget.

He looked toward the door. "I can just go to a friend's. I don't have to—"

"Fine," Otter said. "Then go."

"You can't kick me out."

He snorted. "It's my house. My name's on the lease. I'm pretty sure I can do whatever I want. Maybe even get the cops involved."

"And you're just going to let him talk to me like that?" the Kid asked me.

I shrugged. "I'd believe him. I was there when he signed the lease. He wouldn't joke about something like that."

"Great," the Kid muttered. "Glad to see you think this is funny. I'm not—"

"No, actually. I can assure you that I don't find any of this funny."

"What is this?"

I barely restrained rolling my eyes. "Really. That's how you're gonna play this. Like we're stupid."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Good," Otter said. "Since you don't know what we're talking about, then you have nothing to worry about. Or nothing to hide. No reason then why you can't hand me your backpack."

I thought he'd leave. I really did. I thought he'd walk right out that door and slam it shut behind him. His therapist had warned us of that. That it was a possibility. That he could run and run and run, and that we might not hear from him for days. "He'll come back," she'd said sadly. "They usually do."

But he didn't. For reasons I could barely begin to grasp, he stayed.

He growled at us, an annoyed sound that was meant to be angry but came out petulant. He all but threw his backpack at Otter, who snagged it out of midair with one hand, regardless of how heavy it probably was.

"Thanks," Otter said dryly. "Have a seat."

"I'm tired. You got what you wanted."

"Sit. Down."

He gave us a wide berth as he moved toward the opposite couch, a scowl on his face. He sat down, hands clasped in his lap, leg jumping up and down, foot tapping against the hardwood floor. A little bead of sweat trickled down his forehead near his eye.

Otter unzipped the backpack, took out a textbook, and set it on the coffee table, rattling the pill bottles. The laptop came next. The cell phone. A pencil. A notebook. Two pens. A pack of gum. Headphones. A flyer for some campus rally involving PETA. That last one hurt, because it was a ghost that Zombie Tyson had consumed.

And I thought back, again, as I had been all afternoon, to all the signs we'd missed. All the little things that pointed toward what was really going on. We should have seen this sooner. We should have done more. We should have been better. I thought it was possible this whole mess was almost as much our fault—my fault—as it was his.

There was nothing left in the main pocket. Otter zipped it closed.

The Kid wouldn't look at either of us, glaring off somewhere behind us. "I don't know what you think you're gonna find, but it's not—"

They were in the front pocket. Two unmarked pill bottles that looked exactly like the ones on the table, no labels. There was a major difference, though.

These were halfway filled.

"I don't know what those are," the Kid said immediately. "They aren't mine. It's not—"

I held up a hand, and he fell silent with a huff.

Otter handed me the pill bottles, and I opened them, spilling their contents on the coffee table. I picked up my phone where it lay next to me and pulled up the picture Corey had taken back at the library. He'd even somehow drawn on the photo, each pill circled with a little line trailing off it with shorthand written identifying each pill.

And yeah. They were all there.

The Xanax, which I recognized.

Klonopin too, though in a higher dosage than the Kid had ever been prescribed.

Valium, which he'd never had before.

Ativan, which had been discussed at one point but never offered.

Adderall, which wasn't even something ever discussed. It wasn't a benzo. From some of the kids I'd had in my classes, I knew it was usually prescribed for ADHD.

But here they all were.

And the thing that hit me the hardest was not the fact that we had verifiable proof right here in front of us, and not that he had been doing this in the first place, and not that we had somehow missed all the signs, but the fact that he was obviously taking all of these. That he was mixing them was the thing that hurt the most. I wasn't an expert on benzos by any means, but I probably knew a bit more than the average person, given the Kid's history. But even if I hadn't known what I did, I still would have known that mixing drugs like this was never a good idea.

Otter looked over my shoulder at the phone.

"What are you guys staring at?" the Kid demanded.

"Some other ones too," Otter muttered under his breath. Which was true. There was a pill or two that wasn't labeled in the photo. "Looks like the Vicodin I have for my leg. Same dosage."

"It's not mine," the Kid said again, starting to sound a little desperate.

We ignored him. "When was the last time you took any?" I asked Otter.

"After that day at the lake last year. Remember? I got that cramp when we were swimming."

Yeah, I remembered. It'd been a typical New England August day, hot and muggy, and we'd been at the lake, one last little hurrah before school started for the Kid and me. The water had been lukewarm and a little uncomfortable, but Otter was laughing, the Kid shrieking when I'd splashed him. Ty had made fun of us when Otter took off his shirt and flexed, showing off for me like he always denied he did. I'd leered at him, and the Kid choked and gagged, but it was all right. It was all right because we were together; we were alive after all the shit we'd been through.

And as the sky started streaking in oranges and pinks, the stars little hard flecks of ice against a deep, deep blue, Otter and I had been by ourselves, just treading water, our knees bumping as we kicked to stay afloat. We'd been close, our noses brushing together as we whispered about nothing in particular. He'd kissed me, once, twice, and then a third time, and being that close to him, I could see the lines around his mouth and the little divots around his eyes. It was such a sight to see, these little signs of age, because he was mine, and he had been for years, no matter what had happened between us.

Eventually, we'd gone back to shore after his leg had started bothering him.

The Kid was spread-eagled and snoring on top of large towels, his skin a little pink, an arm over his eyes.

Otter had taken a pill when we'd gotten home, and I'd massaged his leg. He'd groaned sleepily at me, a soft smile on his face, promising that he'd blow me in the morning as a way of saying thanks.

And that was a promise he'd kept.

"You should probably check," I said now, stomach twisting at the thought. "Just to make sure."

He nodded and pushed himself up from the couch. He was out of the living room before I looked back at the Kid.

He was tense, still. And glaring, his lips a thin line, brow pinched, eyes narrowed. I stared coolly in response, trying to keep my face carefully blank. It was harder than I thought it'd be, given that I wanted nothing more than to throttle the shit out of him.

"I don't know what you're accusing me of," he said.

"Funny. I don't remember accusing you of anything." Yet.

"Those aren't mine."

"So you've said."

"I was holding them for someone."

"Really. Great. If that's the case, if this is all a misunderstanding, then you'd have no problem giving me a name. Or better yet, getting this person on the phone."

"I can't—Jesus. Bear, I don't know what you think I did or what I'm doing, but I promise you, it's not—"

Otter came back into the living room.

The Kid paled a little bit more.

"Only a few left," Otter muttered. "I know there was more than that."

There had been. The bottle had been half full when I'd fished that pill out for him after the day at the lake. I remembered that much at least.

"Okay," I said. I took a deep breath, trying to push the anger away as much as I could before I looked back at the Kid. "Here's how this is going to go. You're going to talk. You're going to tell us the truth. We're going to listen. I promise you that we will listen. But if at any point we think you're lying, it's just going to be that much worse for you. Are we clear?"

"That much worse?" the Kid said, laughing bitterly. "What do you think you're gonna do, Bear? Spank me? Ground me? Send me to my room? Come on. Let's be real here."

"You currently enjoy a life with little to no responsibility," Otter said. "You don't have a job. You don't pay rent. We put money in your account every month for you to use. You have everything handed to you. And for good reason. After—after everything, this was supposed to be your reward. You worked hard, so we made sure that you got what you deserved for that. It was one of the big things we discussed before we moved here. We didn't want you to have to worry about the little things. Your focus should have been on your classes."

"And I have been focused on school—"

"What's your major?" I asked.

He blinked. "What?"

"What are you majoring in," I repeated slowly. "What are you going to school for?"

"I'm not... look, it's complicat—"

"How are your grades?"

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Mostly fine," he corrected, looking away. "Nothing to worry about."

He'll lie, his therapist had said. Most likely he'll try and lie his way out of everything. And you know how much respect I have for him, Derrick. Tyson is truly a wonderful young man, no matter what issues he may have. But he can be manipulative. Whether he means to be or not, it's something he does. I don't necessarily think it's malicious, because I don't know that he's got a mean bone in his body, but he does know how to twist things sometimes.

"Then you won't mind if we check up on that tomorrow," Otter said. "In fact, we should probably set up an appointment with your advisor. Just to check in."

"You can't do that—"

"I think you'll find that we can do quite a lot," I said. "You wanted to know how much worse it could be, Kid? You're about to find out. Because starting now, I'm going to be so far up your ass, you're not even going to be able to take a goddamn breath without me knowing."

He stood, eyes blazing, and there he was, my Kid poking through the zombie he'd become. This was the kid I knew, the kid that became outraged at the stupidest things. ("It's called a Double Down, Bear, and it's a sandwich that doesn't use bread. Instead they use two pieces of fried chicken, and then they put cheese and bacon in the middle. Apparently it's not bad enough that chickens are kept in cramped prisons and fed growth hormones. Oh no. Not for the Americans! No, we also get to have the chance of having a heart attack and the shits, all at the same time! KFC is the worst, Bear! They are the worst. That's why I'm making these flyers with Colonel Sanders with a Hitler mustache. People need to know the truth!") This was the Kid I'd known for years. He wasn't gone. He was just buried.

"I don't have to sit here and take this," he growled at us. "I'm not a child. You don't get to treat me like one."

"I think you'll find there's quite a bit we get to do," Otter said easily. "Sit down."

"You know what? I don't think I will. In fact, I'm—"

Otter slammed his hand on the table. The pill bottles rattled, some falling over.

The Kid's eyes went wide.

Even I jumped a little.

Otter pointed a finger at Tyson. "Sit. Your. Ass. Down."

The Kid sat down very quickly.

"When did this start?" Otter asked.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Wrong answer. Who are you buying from?"

"I'm not buying any—"

"Wrong answer. Are there any other drugs we don't know about? Any other pills hidden somewhere?"

"Seriously? You think I—"

"Wrong answer. I've asked you three questions now, and three times you've lied to my face." Otter shook his head. "One more chance, Tyson. You get one more chance. If you lie to me again, you're not going to like what happens next. I can promise you that."

The Kid looked at me, eyes pleading. "Papa Bear," he choked out. "I don't—why aren't you helping me? I don't understand what you want from me."

"I think you do," I said, voice a little hoarse. I didn't look away from the Kid when Otter took my hand in his and squeezed. "I think you know exactly what we want. I think you know exactly what this is." I nodded toward the pill bottles. "Found those in your room, Kid. Doesn't look real good for you."

"You were in my room? I don't go through your shit, what the hell gives you the right to go through mine?"

"Aside from the fact that most of your shit, as you call it, we bought you?" Otter said. "How about you apparently already went into our bathroom and helped yourself to a few Vicodin. Not your best argument."

"Why are you doing this?" the Kid asked, glancing between the two of us, eyes hard.

"Because we love you—"

"Right," he said. "Right. Love. Intervention style. That's what this is, isn't it? You think you found something that's not mine, and now you're staging an intervention. Jesus. Do you know how ridiculous this is? How stupid it is? There's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine. You guys are really reaching here. Okay? It's not what it looks like."

"Then what is it?" Otter asked. "Explain it to us. And remember what I said about one more chance. Because I was serious about that."

He opened his mouth once. Then closed it. Opened. Closed. He made a noise in the back of his throat and glanced toward the front door, like he was gauging the distance to see if he could make a break for it.

In the end, he didn't.

In the end, he didn't do anything at all.

He just... sat there, arms across his chest, refusing to look at either of us. And it was easy to see it then. The bags under his eyes. His sallow skin. He was skinnier than he'd been before. He was wearing layers, but I could still see it. And it struck me just how much angrier I was at myself rather than him. I should have seen it. I should have seen all of it. It never should have gotten this far. There had been a point in our lives when it wouldn't have, because every single thing he did, I watched over, not wanting to let him out of my sight for fear that he'd just be... gone, like everyone else in our life had been.

And it was hard to understand that, to reconcile this person in front of me with the Kid I'd known. We'd been scarily dependent on each other, not knowing how else to be. And maybe it hadn't been the healthiest thing, but goddammit, it'd worked for us. At least for a while. I'd protected him from as much as I could, and in return, he'd done the same for me. Maybe I shouldn't have leaned on him as much as I had, and maybe I should have forced him out more on his own rather than tightening the leash, but we'd survived, hadn't we? We'd gotten this far.

Granted, right now wasn't exactly the end result I'd hoped for.

I had to remind myself of that. That this person wasn't the Kid I'd known. Zombie Tyson wasn't real. He wasn't the Kid that wrote bad poems about Santa who was really Satan. He wasn't the Kid who used to crawl up my legs until I held him in my arms, his hands in my hair as he babbled in my ear. This wasn't the Kid who had grinned at me through a mouthful of soy ice cream, who laughed with his whole body, head rocked back, hands clutching his stomach. Who once asked Otter and me what the back room at a gay bar was for. Who announced to his graduating class that he was gay and proud of it, implying that he would never take shit from anyone. Who had once called me on the phone, words choked and wet, saying—

we were talking and then she said her face felt funny and then her eyes started to droop she started talking like she was drunk and then she fell down she fell down and her head hit the carpet and it made a weird noise i called 911 and the ambulance came but she wouldn't wake up i yelled at her and i screamed at her but she wouldn't get up

—things that no kid his age should ever have to say.

This wasn't him. It couldn't be. After all the things we'd been through, it couldn't have come to this.

"When did it start?" I asked him, and he must have heard something in my voice, something different, because he looked at me like he was actually seeing me.

He struggled with what he was going to say, mouth opening and closing again, frowning and shaking his head slightly. "I don't...."

We waited.

He looked at the evidence spread out before him for a long time. I wondered what that felt like, seeing it all there, all those empty bottles. I thought maybe he had wanted to get caught, that he'd wanted to be found out. Why else wouldn't he have just thrown all of them away? If he had, we'd be sitting here with nothing to go on but Corey's word, a stranger who could have just been making all this up for some unknown reason.

"Shit," he muttered, and he buried his face in his hands.

We didn't speak.

"It's not as bad as you think it is," he said, voice muffled.

"Pretty sure that's not true," Otter said quietly. "Especially from where we're sitting."

He dropped his hands. I watched as he picked at the frayed knees of his jeans, something that was supposed to be stylish but that I never understood. What was the point of buying pants that already had holes in them? The Kid had laughed at me when I'd told him as much, that little smile on his face that he got when he thought I was being a grumpy old Bear, as he called it.

"Do you know how dangerous this is?" I asked him. "What you could have done to yourself? What you have done to yourself? Mixing these drugs. Tyson. That's not—that's not healthy. For you. For your body. Christ. What if you'd...?" I shook my head, refusing to follow that train of thought.

"I'm not stupid," he said, a little anger returning.

"This suggests otherwise," I said, nodding toward the table. "In fact, this suggests you're the stupidest you've ever been."

"All right," Otter said, over the Kid's squawk of outrage. "Let's not get off track. Kid. When did this start?"

"The pills? Oh, I don't know, Otter. Maybe it was the time you guys forced me into therapy. You remember that? I told you I was fine, that I didn't need anyone after Eddie, and especially not here, but you guys made me go, and then you jumped wholeheartedly on the drug train at her first suggestion. Remember? Yeah, I'm pretty sure you do. She said pills, and the both of you just sat there with these relieved little expressions on your faces. Oh look, here's a solution, here's a fix so we don't have to deal with Tyson and all his problems. They'll be muted and soft and just glazed over, right? Isn't that how it went? Yeah. So, Otter, it started when you guys agreed to medicate me."

"And yet, you didn't say no," Otter pointed out, refusing to take the bait. "In fact, you didn't argue at all. You agreed."

He rolled his eyes. "What would have been the point?"

"We would have listened to you," I snapped at him. "If you hadn't wanted it, we would have listened. We told you that. If you didn't want it, you wouldn't have had to have it. Full stop. That was the deal. We could have found some other way around it."

"How, Bear?" the Kid asked. "By... what. Talking about it? About our feelings? I do that enough in therapy as it is. I don't want to have to come home—if this is even still my home—and spend more time talking things over."

"Yes," I said. "If that's what it took. After Dominic—"

His eyes flashed dangerously. "Leave him out of this."

"No. I won't. After Dominic, after I found you in the goddamn bathtub again, if you had said no, Bear, I don't want the Xanax or I don't want the Klonopin, I would have listened to you. Because every single choice we made, I thought we made together. So no, you don't get to throw that back in our faces. That's not gonna fly."

"Is that when this started?" Otter asked. "With... Dom?"

The Kid made a choking sound, and he shook his head furiously. "I'm not—I don't—he's not...."

"It was easier," Otter said. "Wasn't it? Feeling numb."

The Kid said nothing, though his shoulders were trembling. It took everything I could to not go to him, to pull him close, to whisper in his ear that everything was going to be okay.

"You wanted to feel numb, and it got harder and harder. So you escalated. Took more. And then we switched you to Klonopin. I remember that too. I thought there was going to be an argument, but... you didn't say much at all."

He didn't look at us.

"And... what. You worried about how much you were taking, because you thought you were going to get caught. So you started buying it off of someone or someones, and they said we've got other stuff here, why don't you try that? And you just said sure. Okay. Why not."

He bowed his head low.

"And the narcotics, was that... what. Just to feel high?"

He mumbled something.

"Didn't get that, Kid," Otter said.

He cleared his throat. "I said, I didn't... I don't like those."

"But."

"But I... I didn't have. The money. And I ran out. I didn't want—I thought you would have found out."

"Addiction is a bitch of a thing," Otter said.

And that got his attention. His head snapped up, and his eyes were wide, cheeks flushed. "I'm not an addict."

"Yeah," I said. "You are."

"Bear. It's not like that. I promise, okay? I swear to you. It's not—I can stop, anytime I want to. It was just—easier, it was easier, I took the easy way out. I swear to you. Oh my god, you have to believe me, you have to—"

"Ty, you gotta take a breath," Otter said, sounding worried. "You're getting yourself too worked up. Okay? Just take a breath or you're going to have a panic attack."

But even I could see it was already too late for that. I felt guilty at that, that we'd pushed him to this point, but I thought it was inevitable. We had to force the issue, and there wasn't going to be any other end result.

"No, no, no," the Kid said, high-pitched and manic. "No, listen, okay? You gotta listen to me. Bear, Papa Bear, please, listen. Oh please. I'm not addicted. I swear, I swear, I—oh please don't make me leave, you can't let me leave, okay? I'm just a little guy, please, Otter, you can't make me leave, I don't know where to go, I don't have anywhere else to go, and I can't—I c-can't be alone, I c-c-can't because you're all I've got. You're all I've got left because Mrs. Paquinn is gone, and Dom's gone, gone, g-gone, so please. Please don't leave me too. I can't breathe, oh, Bear, I can't breathe. The earthquake. Bear, there's an earthquake."

I had the darkest thought of my life while he spoke.

What if he's faking this?

Otter was up and moving before he even finished talking. He bent over and picked up the Kid as if he weighed nothing at all, hands under his knees and across his back. Tyson continued to choke out words help and scared and don't make me leave. I followed them down the hallway, through our bedroom, and into the bathroom, where there was a large jetted bathtub.

"Get in," Otter told me roughly, speaking above the Kid's high-pitched chants of please please please.

I did, knee knocking against the side roughly. I slid down the side, already reaching for the Kid.

Otter handed him over, and I could feel the sweat through the layers, soaked through and slick. The Kid wasn't speaking, his throat closing, eyes wild and bulging. He was clawing at his own throat, leaving red streaks against his neck, and I trapped his arms at his sides, sitting against the tub, holding the Kid in front of me, his back to my chest, his legs stretching out, where they jerked and kicked against mine.

His head twisted and turned against my shoulder, mouth open and teeth bared as he tried to suck in air. I leaned my forehead against him and whispered in his ear the art of breathing, something we'd been taught a long time ago, telling him that we were fine, we were safe, we were together, and we weren't going to make him leave, he could never leave us, of course he couldn't. He was here, we were here, and I needed him to breathe. I needed him to take in a breath and hold it, then let it out and hold again. He could do it, I told him, because I believed in him. I believed in him more than I did in anyone else. I knew what he was capable of, what he could be, and he'd just stumbled, just gotten a little lost. But we'd found him again, and he needed to breathe and breathe and breathe.

Otter was on his knees beside the bathtub, a big hand wrapped firmly around the Kid's ankle, holding him still, saying everything without speaking a single word. His thumb brushed up and down against the knob of the Kid's ankle where his jeans had ridden up.

It went on, as these did with him. People who don't have panic attacks can never understand just how bad they can be. The mind works against the body, and even though you know you can breathe, you're convinced you can't, and there's nothing you can do about it until it passes. You're trapped in your own head until it lets you go. That's what the Kid told me. He said it couldn't be explained, that no matter how smart he was, once it got its claws in him, he was at its mercy until it finally released him.

There'd been bad ones before. After Mrs. Paquinn. Dom's birthday party. The wedding invitation. But I didn't think there'd ever been one like this.

It felt like it went on for hours.

But I kept whispering in his ear, and Otter kept his hold on him, and eventually there came a great, gasping breath and the Kid tensed full body against me before he collapsed and began to sob bitterly against my chest.

"Sorry," he said. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm—"

"I know," I managed to say. "I know."

HE SLEPT deeply in the ruins of his room. He'd laughed a little hysterically at the sight, clothes strewn everywhere, drawers hanging haphazardly, the hole in the wall. Otter had pushed his mattress back up onto the bed, pulling the comforter back and letting him crawl into bed, freshly showered and dressed in sweats. He'd turned away from us almost immediately toward the wall, pulling the comforter up to his shoulder and burying his face into the pillow.

"We'll clean this up tomorrow," I said, but he didn't answer.

HE WAS angry. For a long time. He was selfish and rude and essentially a fucking asshole who I wanted to punch in the face. He said things he didn't mean. He told us to go to hell, that he never wanted to see us again. That he hated us. He hated us so goddamn much. He didn't mean it, he said after. He never did. He was sorry, sorry, sorry.

He refused to go to rehab. He said that wasn't for him. He could do it on his own.

I reminded him he wasn't on his own.

He glared at me for that but nodded slowly.

Later, he whispered in my ear that if I just believed in him, he knew he could do it.

Detox was something I would never wish on anyone. The less said about that, the better. He didn't go cold turkey—we'd been warned against that—but he wasn't given the amount he'd taken before, wasn't given anything but the Klonopin, and then it was only half doses. But there were night sweats and vomiting and more time spent in the bathtub. The panic attacks were swift and vicious, almost coming without warning and lasting what felt like hours. His eyes would be wide and blank, skin slick and trembling, and he'd be gasping for air, face turning red, then purple, and there was nothing we could do but hold on until it passed. There were times I wished his lack of oxygen would cause him to pass out. He never did.

He was supposed to be taking some summer courses. We'd emailed his advisor about a medical emergency. She'd responded immediately, letting me know there were situations that we needed to discuss about Tyson's standing at Dartmouth. Otter was there during the days, and I was there at night, given that I'd already agreed to teach some summer classes and couldn't get out of it. We switched back and forth, and it was draining and tiring, and my colleagues asked me if I was okay, my students eyed me warily, but I pushed through it because I had to. We had to. There was no other option. And we'd already decided that if it didn't work, if he was getting worse, we'd force him to go where he needed to go.

But it too passed.

He came out on the other side weak and shaking, eyes sunken and skin tinged yellow. He forced some soup down on a Saturday, hands trembling, but when he looked up at me, his gaze was clear, and he grumbled that he wasn't going to drown in the soup bowl and that I could leave him alone for a little bit. God, why did I have to be so annoying?

I nodded, running my hand through his hair, and had gone out into the hallway and let Otter gather me up in his arms as I broke just a little.

He did go to an addiction specialist. Sometimes we sat in. Other times, we couldn't. But we'd be in the waiting room, either one of us or both of us every single time. Without fail.

And we kept our promise. He didn't do a goddamn thing without running it by us first.

He hated us for it, I think.

But I didn't give two fucks about that.

"We didn't get this far to crap out now," I reminded him after he'd snarled at me for asking where he was going when he'd headed for the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder. "We've been through too much shit for you to do anything else like this again."

He stared at me for the longest time before he muttered he was going to meet his study group at the library. He sent me a selfie later on showing an arched eyebrow and people sitting at a table with books spread out in front of them.

That asshole.

IT WASN'T easy. Nothing good ever is. Once an addict, always an addict, or so they say. His recovery was slow and arduous, and there were days when I thought he'd slip right back to where he'd been before, days when I couldn't believe we'd missed this, that I'd missed this. Looking back, it was so blatant what had been going on, and the fact that I hadn't figured it out on my own continued to gnaw at me. I watched him like a hawk.

He accused me of not trusting him.

I told him I couldn't. Not yet.

I didn't miss the hurt on his face.

So, no. He didn't get better right away. Real life didn't work like that. There wasn't going to be a revelation of addiction and then everything was going to be all right. The Kid had been through the ringer and was only now finding his footing.

Everyone told us it'd take time.

"You just gotta be there for him, you know," Creed said to me one night when Otter and Ty were out at one of Ty's appointments. "Same as you've always been."

"Yeah, because that helped so well before," I muttered.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, yourself," I said back.

"Don't be a dick."

I blinked. "What?"

"Don't be a—"

"I heard you the first time."

"Oh. Then why'd you say—"

"I'm not being a dick."

"A little bit. You can't control everything, Papa Bear. No matter how much you want to. There's always going to be something that's out of your con—JJ, what the—Jesus Christ, did you bathe in chunky peanut butter?"

"I was trying to make a sandwich!" I heard JJ holler in the background. "I couldn't find a knife, so I used my hands!"

"How is it in your hair?"

"My head itched, Dad. But look! Look. It's chunky peanut butter, right? I guess now I'm nuts!"

There was a beat of silence, and then Creed burst out laughing. "Dude! Holy shit, I love you. Fuuuuck, you are the coolest kid in the world. And don't tell your mom I said fuck or shit. And don't tell her about the peanut butter."

"What'll you give me if I don't?"

"A dollar."

"Two dollars."

"Deal. Now go into the bathroom. I'll be there in a minute. And if you touch anything on your way there, I am going to tell that monster in your closet that it's open season on little boys tonight, you hear me?"

JJ screamed.

"Kids are so stupid," Creed said fondly. "He looks like he just crawled out of someone's asshole. God, I love him so much."

"I don't know if you're the best parent, or the worst."

"Eh. As long as he doesn't grow up to be evil, I'm cool. Don't tell Anna I said that."

"What'll you give me if I don't?"

"A dollar."

I snorted. "I'm not cheap like your son—and wow, I wish that hadn't come out like that."

"Gross, dude," Creed said. "Stop calling my child a cheap trick. That's fucked-up."

"Shut up."

"You're going to get through this, you know?"

I sighed. "You think?"

"Yeah. If there's anyone that can do it, it's you, Bear. You—man, I know I don't say this often enough, but you're the strongest person I know, okay? Like, I don't know that anyone could have done what you did. You're aces in my book, dude. I love you. And if you tell anyone I got all gay with you on the phone... well. That's fine. I'm secure in my masculinity. In fact, you can tell anyone you want. Because I'm sensitive."

"I love you too."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You've got this, okay? You and Otter. Hell, consider it practice for when you finally stop being a little bitch and get my brother pregnant."

I sputtered a long time after that.

IT TOOK him a long time—well over a year—before he came to us and apologized, eyes pointed toward his feet, hand twisting in his pocket. "I just—I'm going to get better. I'm going to be better."

I cried a little.

He made fun of me, telling me I was getting soft in my old age, and if I worried any more, I'd lose more hair than I already had, and man, didn't it look like my hairline was receding even more?

I threw a magazine at his head in outrage.

Otter rolled his eyes and said he didn't know why he put up with either of us.

The Kid and I both said bullshit at the same time.

We both looked a little startled.

Then we laughed.

It was a start.

# 3. Where Bear Makes a Decision

FINALLY ONE April he came to us again, looking more nervous than he'd been in a long time.

"I had a thought," he said as we sat around the kitchen table, the windows open, the spring air clean and warm.

"Don't hurt yourself," Otter teased him.

"I'm serious!"

"Hi, Serious, I'm Otter."

We gaped at him.

"What?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at us.

"Did—did you just make a dad joke?" the Kid asked faintly.

"I don't know if I'm turned on or frightened," I admitted.

"Ew," the Kid said, making a face. "What a terrible thing to say. We eat at this table."

"I'm funny," Otter insisted.

"Eh," the Kid and I both said at the same time.

"I'm divorcing you," Otter said. He glanced at the Kid. "And I'm putting you up for adoption."

"Good luck with that," the Kid said.

"If you tried to leave, you'd be sorry," I said. "I'd find you wherever you went."

"Ah, marriage," Otter said. "If it's not love, it's threats."

"We trapped you," the Kid said. "Forever."

Otter looked rather pleased at the thought, and not for the first time, I thought of the binder hidden away in his nightstand next to the bed. It'd been on my mind more and more lately.

"So, I've called you both here today to discuss my future," the Kid said.

"This should be good," I said.

"Remember when he was nine and did this?" Otter asked me. "He made me give him five dollars but refused to tell me what it was for."

"And I never will," the Kid said. "You will go to your grave never knowing what I—"

"He ordered Sea Monkeys out of the back of a magazine," I said. "He said he needed to study how they built the castles like advertised. It was really rather adorable, how gullible he used to be. I miss those days."

"Bear! You vile betrayer! You promised you would never tell anyone."

"I found him in his room talking to them," I said rather gleefully. "He was telling them how when they became sentient, he was going to become their supreme ruler, and that any dissent against him would be met with swift justice."

"You bought Sea Monkeys so you could become a dictator?" Otter asked with a frown. "That's... frightening. And really not unexpected, actually."

"I would have been benevolent. A loveable dictator, like Thomas Sankara."

"We have no idea who that is," Otter reassured him.

"He overthrew the government of the African Nation Burkina Faso in the eighties and promoted women's rights and launched a vaccination program to eradicate polio." The Kid frowned. "Granted, he had his faults, like when he fired a couple of thousand teachers when they went on strike—"

"I don't like him already."

"—but he was still pretty awesome."

"What happened to him?" Otter asked, because he couldn't not.

The Kid waved a hand at him. "He was killed in a coup organized by his closest ally. Them's the breaks, I suppose. I assume being a dictator is hard."

"How did we get to talking about this?" I asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"We don't ask that question anymore," Otter reminded me. "Remember? Because it makes us sad."

I sighed. "Right. Dammit. I'm a little sad now."

The Kid scowled at us. "Okay, so you know when I call for a meeting and then you two do that thing where you banter back and forth and you're in love and gross and nobody wants to see that?"

"Sea Monkeys," Otter said. "We were talking about Sea Monkeys."

"You weren't supposed to think about how we got here," I hissed at him.

"That's the day I learned about the dark side of big business," the Kid said solemnly. "That they could sell you lies and keep your hard-earned five dollars."

"My hard-earned five dollars," Otter said.

"Um, wow. Way to make it all about you, Otter. Thanks. Like finding out I'd ordered nothing but brine shrimp and that they wouldn't wear fancy little suits and dresses and make dinners in a brightly colored castle wasn't devastating enough."

"Hey! That's not—"

"Anyway, I had a reason for being here, but Otter—as usual—is attempting to distract us from the matters at hand."

"That's rude," I told Otter, in case he didn't know.

Otter looked grumpy at that. It didn't help his case, whatever it was. "See if I ever give you five dollars again."

"Oh man," the Kid said, smacking his head. "I forgot to tell you guys. I had to have Corey spot me lunch yesterday because I forgot my wallet at home. All I have is my card too. Do you have any cash I can give him? I feel bad."

"Sure," Otter said, reaching for his wallet. "How much was it?"

"Five bucks."

Otter started digging through the bills. Then, "You son of a bitch."

"Dammit."

"Should have waited a few more minutes," I said. "Would have worked. He's forty now. And you know they say the mind is the first thing to go."

The Kid squinted at me. "Like you have any room to talk."

"Worst meeting ever," I muttered.

"We've only been here for eight minutes, and I already don't like either of you," Otter said. "That has to be a new record."

Ty rolled his eyes. "Give it a bit. You guys will be back to embarrassing me with your disgusting displays of affection in no time. The elderly should not get caught making out in the pantry."

"I was trying to make the grocery list," I said. "Don't you blame that one on me."

Otter shrugged. "And you can't blame me either. You know how I get when he makes lists."

I grinned at him. "I'm so glad I married you."

"Yeah," Otter said, reaching under the table and squeezing my knee. "Me too."

"See!" the Kid exclaimed. "You're doing it again! That wasn't even a minute. This is terrible. Everything about this is terrible."

"Wanna go make out in the pantry?" Otter asked me.

"Yes. Yes, please. All of that."

"Ugh," the Kid said. "No one should ever have to see their older brother's horny face. You're going to make me more damaged than I already am."

And the good mood went right out the window.

The Kid winced. "Shit. I didn't mean it that way. Both of you need to stop looking at me like that."

"You're not damaged," I said sternly.

"And you know we don't like hearing that come from you," Otter said. "You've come a long way in a short amount of time. It's something to be proud of, Kid."

"I know that. But—it's. Argh. You don't understand."

"Then explain it," I told him. "We can't understand unless you tell us."

"I resented you," he blurted, then looked immediately horrified. And even though I knew I had to let him finish, it still hurt to hear. "Not like—god. Okay. I need you to listen to me, okay? Like, without interrupting me. It'll be easier that way."

"I never interrupt you."

"Sometimes," Otter said, patting my hand.

"Not when it's important."

"Sometimes," he said again. "You're just... forceful."

"That was a euphemism, wasn't it."

"A little. It's endearing. Mostly."

"Fine," I said. "I won't interrupt."

The Kid stared at me for a moment like he didn't believe me. Then, "I want to go back to Seafare."

And that wasn't something I expected. And there wasn't going to be a problem with me interrupting, because I couldn't think of a single goddamn word to say.

"I know—I know it's... weird," he continued. "I get that. After... well. After everything. But I think it's time, you know? It's been almost four years, and I... I don't know. I think I need it. And this isn't spur of the moment, okay? This is—I've thought about this. A lot. Maybe more than anything else. And I know things are a little bit better, but I've still got this fog in my head, and I don't know what else to do to clear it. I feel like I'm still floundering, you know? Like I'm out in the middle of the ocean, and I can't seem to find my way back."

Oh, yes, it whispered. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Bear? Drowning in the ocean. It's a good thing to know your crazy is apparently genetic. Either that or it's a learned behavior. And Otter wants to have kids with you? What could possibly go wrong with that?

"I don't know what else to do," Ty admitted. "Sometimes I think I'm getting better, and other times, I feel myself sinking right back to where I was before. I'll be lucky at this point if Dartmouth lets me continue at all. And that's... I know that's on me, but everything I do to try and make it better only seems to make things worse. I can't focus in my classes. I can't do what's asked of me, and if I keep on how I am now, it's going to just make things worse. There has to be a change, and I don't know if I can do that here."

"But you think you can do that in Seafare?" Otter asked. "No offense, Kid, but there's not a lot of happy memories there."

He shrugged awkwardly, looking down at his hands on the table. "Maybe. But there are some, right? I mean, Anna and Creed and JJ are there. Mrs. P. She's a good memory."

"The best memory," I said quietly.

He looked up at me, smiling just a little. "Yeah, Bear. The best." He glanced at Otter. "And it wasn't all bad. We got you there. And even with everything that happened after, we still have that."

"Package deal," Otter said, though I could see how much that had moved him. "Couldn't get one without the other."

The Kid laughed. It wasn't the sound I remembered before we'd come here, but there was still a note of familiarity to it, and I thought maybe it'd be enough for now. "Yeah. Like you'd ever want just one of us." He shook his head. "I think it's the right thing to do. At the very least, it'd give me a chance to... I don't know. Clear my head, maybe. It'd be something I know, something that's not here. Corey's going back to Arizona in the fall, and I need to be able to figure things out. How things are going to be without him here."

Ah, yes. Corey. There'd been a light in the Kid's eyes I hadn't seen in a long time the day that Corey burst into his life with a sharp tongue, or as Kori with perfectly manicured nails. They'd given something to the Kid that I couldn't, and maybe I hadn't been too excited at the prospect of a relationship between them so soon after everything the Kid had gone through, but I couldn't micromanage everything, as much as I'd wanted to. Well, Otter said I couldn't. We'd kept a close eye, especially after they'd broken up. But the Kid was made of strong stuff, stronger than even I'd given him credit for. But this felt like too much.

The fact that I'd met Corey already never came up. And maybe that wasn't right. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be that way. The day he'd knocked on the door to tell me about Ty, I would've never thought he'd eventually be involved in our lives as much as he was. There were days I thought Ty should know, but I realized that it didn't matter. Sometimes secrets were meant to be kept.

"You have other friends," I said. "It's not just going to be—"

He snorted derisively. "Yeah. See? I don't know if that's really true. For the longest time, I was the oddity, the sixteen-year-old anomaly that was supposed to be the Next Big Thing. It felt like I was in a zoo and everyone just wanted a look at me, the little kid who was smarter than everyone else. That tends to put a damper on things. And then with... my issues, it sort of alienated whatever was left when the newness wore off. I'm lucky Corey stuck around for as long as he did."

"Ty," Otter warned.

"Right, right," he said quickly. "No talking bad about myself, I promise. And I'm really not. Or at least I'm not meaning to. I'm just trying to show you how it is. I have classmates. I don't have friends. And I don't know that I'm in the best position to try right now."

"This isn't just running away?" Otter asked. "Because if that's what you're doing, it's not going to work. If anything, it might make things worse. The problems are still going to be here when you get back."

"No," he said. "I promise it's not that. And I know my promises don't mean much these days. That's on me. You guys don't trust me yet. And that's okay, because I don't know that I trust myself."

Even though I wanted to disagree vehemently, I couldn't. Because he was right. We didn't trust him. Not with himself. And here he was, being more transparent than he'd been for a very long time, and all I wanted to do was sugarcoat the hell out of it.

Life doesn't work that way, though. Not if you want to stay ahead of it.

"What happens in the fall," I asked him instead, "if you don't want to come back here?"

He fidgeted a little in his seat. "I don't know. We stay in Seafare? Or I do and you guys come back here. Or we all come back here. Or I come back here on my—I know it's a lot. You both have... things here. Your lives. Your jobs. Bear, you especially. Maybe I can just go by myself."

"But...," Otter said.

"But I don't think you'd let me do that."

"You're damn right we wouldn't," I said. "I told you, Kid. I'm not taking my eyes off of you for the foreseeable future. Consider it your punishment for your less than desirable decisions."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, trust me, I'm well aware of that."

"Good. Just so we're on the same page."

"You can't do this forever, Bear."

"Watch me."

"Otter?"

Otter chuckled. "Don't look at me. You know I agree with Bear."

"You guys suck," the Kid muttered.

"Very well too."

"Otter!" I yelped.

He blinked. "Wow. I don't even know why I said that. I'm getting really good at jokes."

"Yeah, maybe try a little harder," the Kid said. "And also, thanks for making a conversation about me all about you."

Otter shrugged. "I like being the center of attention. I deserve it after putting up with the two of you this long."

"You love us," I said, trying (and failing) to not make it sound like an accusation.

"A little bit," he said, and I had to suppress the urge to jump him right then and there. Apparently minimal validation did it for me. Who knew.

"Anyway," the Kid said, sounding disgusted. "Seafare? Thoughts? Concerns? Questions?"

"You really think this would be good for you?" Otter asked. "Seafare is... complicated. For you and Bear."

"But there was more good than bad, right? I mean, we... survived."

That wasn't the best endorsement I'd ever heard, but I supposed I could work with it. "I do miss the Green Monstrosity," I admitted. "And our family. But mostly the house."

"And you haven't signed a new contract yet," Otter said, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

The Kid grinned, and even though it wasn't as bright as it'd once been, it was something. "Could Corey come too? Stay the summer with us? He'd have to go to Arizona at some point, but we could figure that out later."

I sighed. "You've already decided this, haven't you."

"Maybe a little."

"Kid."

"Okay, maybe a lot. But... Bear. I think this could be good for me. To be home. Maybe I'll even be able to put myself back into someone I recognize."

And how could I say no to that?

IT WAS surprisingly easy, that decision. I thought there'd be more drama behind it, more angst. But the moment we agreed, we all felt... lighter somehow, even if none of us actually said that aloud. But I could see it in the way the Kid carried himself a little taller, the way Otter jumped into planning the move. It was significant, the transplanting of a life, but unlike how I felt when we'd packed up the Green Monstrosity the first time to head east (tense and nervous and excited and second-guessing everything), this felt like the right thing to do.

We'd made friends, sure, and they were sorry to see us go. They threw Otter and me a party in early May, and we drank and told stories and laughed in all the right places. But it hit me as we stood together, a toast being made to us by everyone else in the room, that these people, while good and kind, had always felt temporary somehow. Like they were placeholders for the real thing waiting for us back in Seafare.

"That's because you're kind of an asshole," Anna Thompson told me over the phone the next day while I was still nursing a hangover and groaning angrily over the stupid fucking packing tape that refused to cooperate.

"Thanks."

"Well, it's true. We all are. I mean, I have friends, people at both in and outside the firm, but it's.... I don't know how else to explain it. They are people I like, but not people I depend on."

I blinked. "Wow. We are assholes. That's... okay. I think I already knew that. But saying it out loud? That's slightly mind-blowing. Have we always been that way?"

She snorted in my ear. "Probably. I know I'd probably not like us if I wasn't me."

"Deep."

"Jerk."

I pressed my fingers against my forehead. "It's a weird thought, right?"

"What is?"

"That we're still us. Even after all this time. I mean, no one keeps their high school friends. Not really."

"No one probably went through everything we did. And by that, I mean when you cheated on me with my husband's older brother who is now your husband when you and I were dating."

"Holy fucking shit," I wheezed, dropping the tape on the floor.

"Awesome, right?"

"I didn't cheat on you!"

She snorted elegantly. "You kissed Otter when you and I were still together."

"That—that's not what happened. Otter kissed me. I wasn't even gay then."

"Because that's how sexuality works. Which, sidebar."

"Yes, counselor."

"And really," she said, "it's none of my business."

I rolled my eyes. "Because that's ever stopped any of us."

"Right. What are you?"

"What?"

"Gay? Bi? Otter-sexual?"

"Oh. Um. Pan, I think. Pansexual. Probably."

"Ah. That... makes an unbelievable amount of sense."

"Weird, right? I didn't even know what that was until last year. Kids these days, having all these newfangled terms. Corey taught me that. He's pretty smart, that one."

"Anyway. Back to the whole cheating-on-me thing—"

"You are actually terrible."

"I lose sleep at night over it," she assured me. "But our histories are too intertwined to ever be able to let any of us go."

"That can't possibly be healthy."

"Probably not. A therapist would have a field day with all of us, I'm sure."

"Eh. They kind of already do."

"The Kid?"

"He's getting there."

"And you?"

"Honestly? I'm relieved."

"About coming home?"

"Yeah. It's.... I think it's probably for the best. It doesn't feel like we're running away. It's more like we're ready to face what we left behind."

"That's surprisingly mature of you," she said.

"Right? We're getting old."

"I'm still pretty, so I'm fine with that."

I laughed. "God, I can't wait to see you."

"Me too," she said, sounding pleased. "I've got a cleaning service coming out to the Green Monstrosity. The tenants you guys had in there left everything looking okay, but it should be scrubbed from top to bottom."

"Oh, hey, you don't have to do that."

"Already done. Consider it a welcome-home present. But if you really wanted to repay me, I can tell you how."

"I'm not going to do a threesome with you and Creed, no matter how much he said you wanted one."

"He said what?"

"Uh. Nothing? How about that... sports... ball game on TV last night? My team totally won the touchdown—"

"I am going to murder him," she growled. "I had had one too many glasses of wine, and it was a joke."

"Oh my god."

"I wasn't being serious. It was just a... thing."

"Oh my god."

"Stop saying that!"

"You want me to have sex with you and Creed?"

Of course, that's when Otter walked into the room.

"Who the hell are you talking to?" he barked.

"Anna!" I said, rather hysterically. "She wants me to get down and dirty with her and Creed, but Creed said it'd be strictly no homo, but that if our dicks touched on accident, that would be okay."

"I am in my office," Anna hissed at me.

"Put it on speaker," Otter demanded.

I did, because he was using that tone of voice that made me want to climb him like a fucking tree.

"Anna?"

"Oliver. I am not—"

"There will be no threesome with Bear."

"I didn't—"

"Unless you pay me for it first."

"What!" I squeaked. "Are you pimping me out?"

"Two hundred for the night."

"Huh," Anna said. "That's... unsurprisingly affordable."

"I hate you both so goddamn much."

Otter kissed me deeply, then left the room, whistling as he carried another box toward the kitchen.

"This is why we can't have other friends," I said mournfully. "Because no one understands just how incestuous this family is."

"You think Otter would be into it?" Anna asked.

"Shut. Up."

"Moving on. Repayment."

"Right."

"So, I hear there's going to be an opening at the middle school this fall...."

THE NIGHT before the movers came, Otter and I were in our bedroom, packing up the last of our possessions. Corey and Ty were at Corey's apartment, doing the same. Most of Corey's stuff would be sent on down to Arizona to his friend Sandy's house, where he'd be living after he spent time with us in Seafare. This was the last night in the house. Tomorrow night we'd be in a hotel before we started the cross-country trip back to Oregon.

Music was playing low off Otter's phone, and even though we had so much more to do, we were sitting side by side against the bed, legs spread out in front of us, his hand clasped over mine, his thumb rubbing mine. Each of us held a beer, the condensation dripping onto our laps. It was quiet, quieter than it'd been in a week.

It was good. Strange, but good.

And because he always seemed to know what I was thinking, he said, "It's weird, right?"

"What's that?" I asked, turning my head toward him. I kissed his bare shoulder once, liking the taste of clean sweat.

"Everything all packed up. Going back."

"Good weird or bad weird?"

"Good weird, I think. It's not bad. It's just... all this stuff, you know? Our whole lives are in these boxes. Everything we own. And yet, even if it all disappeared, we'd still be okay."

I laughed quietly. "No one believes me when I tell them you're a softie."

He frowned at me. "And just how many people are you telling this to?"

"Enough that I realize people think you're some kind of hardass."

"I am a hardass. You see how big I am?" He flexed, and it was so unfair. "I'm intimidating."

"Yeah, yeah. Scary as all hell."

"Damn right."

"You've got dust on your nose."

"Maybe I like it there." His cheek scraped against mine as he turned to kiss me.

"That's fine with me," I mumbled against his lips.

"Good," he said as he pulled away. Before I could complain, he reached behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. I rested my head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly.

We were quiet for a time, each of us lost in our own thoughts. He'd been right. It was weird seeing everything stored away, ready for the move. We'd accumulated so much crap in the last four years. And rather than taking it back with us, we'd sold or donated all the shit we didn't need. The Green Monstrosity wasn't as big as our New Hampshire house, and even though I was sure we could find room for everything we had, it wasn't necessary. It felt like we were getting back to who we once were, and I couldn't help but be nervously happy about it.

I said, "We're doing the right thing."

He hummed a little.

"Right?"

He squeezed me tighter. "Yes. Yeah. I think so. It'll be good for him. For all of us."

"And you're happy?"

He frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just asking."

"Fishing, more like."

"A little."

"Yes, Bear. I'm happy."

"But it could be better."

"I don't get where you're going with this. Bear, we're good. Everything is good."

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Which, really, was practically an impossibility, given that I was about to take the biggest leap of my life. My heart was starting to thump almost painfully in my chest, and I had to force myself to remain calm.

I pulled away from him, setting my beer down on the floor next to us. His frown deepened as he watched me, those lines on his forehead appearing as they always did when he was concerned.

"So look," I said, wincing a little as my voice broke. "I wanted to talk. To you. About something."

"Okay," he said slowly. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"I know."

"Then why are you nervous?"

I groaned. "Because I am. That's the type of person I am."

"Yeah, but why are you nervous with me?"

"Ugh. Would you just shut up for a minute and let me talk? And wow, I didn't mean that to sound so rude. What the hell."

He set his beer down too before giving me his full attention. I was distracted, if for just a moment, by the familiar gold and green in his eyes. This was Otter, I told myself. Just Otter. I'd known him practically my whole life and had probably loved him for just as long, in one way or another. And I could give this to him, because he'd given everything to me.

Or it could already be too late, it whispered. Because he's asked time and time again, and there's always been a reason, hasn't there, Bear? A reason to say no, a reason to deflect, a reason to push it away and think about it later, later, later. And besides, are you really sure you can do this? There's no going back, after all. He'll never forgive you if you offer this and then try and take it away again.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, not wanting to speak with a mouthful of crazy.

Too bad things don't work out that way.

"I want to get you so pregnant," I blurted out.

His eyes bulged. "You want to what?"

And of course, I panicked. "Oh my Christ, that is not what I meant to say. Holy shit! I mean, aside from the obvious fact that I can't get you pregnant, because of all your man parts, that's not what I was going for. And that's not to say that if we could that you wouldn't be the one getting pregnant, because fuck gender roles, right? I mean, yeah, I'm smaller than you and tend to flail more, and you're all big and grr and look at me, I just did six thousand squats for no reason whatsoever. And I know I told you to get me pregnant when we saw that stupid little kid in those stupid checkered Vans doing that stupid fucking dance, but why would it have to be me getting pregnant? I mean, fuck what society says about our roles, right? Fuck that. But then I got weird again, and I think I won't ever stop being weird about it, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry that it's taken me this long to get to this point. Because here you are, you're forty, you are forty years old, and by the time we get this done, what happens when they graduate high school? You could be sixty years old, and we'll be there, all proud and happy, with signs made of glitter that say things like I MADE YOU AND I AM PROUD OF YOU and YOU ARE SO COOL, and everyone will be happy and merry, and then some stupid little shit will look at you and say oh, that's so nice that your grandpa was able to come to your graduation. And then I'll get arrested for the murder of a recent high school graduate, because no one calls you a grandpa, even though you'd totally be the hottest grandpa ever. And then I'd have to go to jail for murder, and you'd be a single dad, even though they'd already be a high school graduate, and I don't even know how conjugal visits work! Like, are those even a thing? You just get to come into the prison with a bottle of lube and bone me in some weird little room that stinks of semen from everyone else that used it? I don't want to have sex in a room that smells like other people's spunk, because there is no way in hell that could possibly be hygienic. I mean, what if someone shoots on the floor and I accidentally put my hand in it when I have to bend over, because you'll be old and we'll have to do it standing up because your hip could break? I don't want to touch a semen-soaked floor in a jail where I'm at for murder because of your bad hip, Otter."

I gulped down air.

Otter looked like he was going to pass out.

He said, "I'm... just... what."

I groaned. "That was not how this was supposed to happen."

"I'm.... Before I make assumptions, maybe you could explain exactly what this is supposed to be."

"Shit," I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Just... stay there. Don't move."

"I don't know that I have enough synapses left to even think of moving," he said faintly.

"Good," I said as I pushed myself up and ran to the hallway, where I'd put the box I needed earlier in the day. I'd placed it under a couple of other boxes to make sure he didn't accidentally find it and ruin the surprise.

"No," I mumbled to myself. "Because you can just do that all on your own, can't you, Bear? Fucking idiot."

I found what I was looking for and clutched it close to my chest. I took another deep breath and went back into the room. Impossibly, Otter's eyes widened further when he saw what I carried. His chest hitched a little, and I told myself that I absolutely could not cry, because that would be fucking lame.

"Look," I said, then cleared my throat. "Just... sit there. And let me talk. I had this whole thing planned out in my head, and everything I said before isn't what I was trying to say."

"You told me that you wanted me to fuck you in jail with my bad hip," Otter said.

"Yes, yes, and I'm sure you'll never let me forget that. It's probably going to be one of those stories we tell our kid down the road and it'll—"

"Our what?" he asked, and I almost died right there, because never in my life had I ever heard Oliver Thompson sound so hopeful.

I was going to cry.

I had no chance.

"You asshole," I hissed at him, trying to blink away the burn. "Would you just listen?"

He nodded dumbly.

"Okay. So. Look. Just. You are—fuck, I totally forgot what I was going to—wait. I remember. Most of it. Okay. So. You are super cool."

He coughed roughly.

I pretended that wasn't a critique at my delivery. "No, you are. In fact, you might be the coolest person I've ever known in my life. And I know now, and I've known for a long time, that I will never love anyone as much as I love you. You have put up with so much shit from me. From the Kid. This life... we're—we can be a mess, Otter. The two of us. We got fucked over and dealt the worst hand, and the hits kept on coming. It didn't matter how much happiness we tried to hold on to, we were battered again and again and again. She didn't give a damn about us. She left me. She left the Kid. She fucked off and ran because she couldn't deal with the reality she'd made for herself. And that wasn't fair. It wasn't. And I did my best. I really did. And I made mistakes. Jesus, I made so many fucking mistakes. And sometimes I didn't even learn from them. I did what I thought was right, even when it was wrong. And then you came back and—"

"Bear—"

"No, please. Please just let me finish. Because you have to know what you did for me. For us. Otter, we wouldn't be alive now if it wasn't for you. I really don't think we would. Not as we are now. Maybe we would have survived, but we wouldn't be alive. Because we didn't have a home. We didn't know how to live. And then you came back and you showed us how, and you protected us and kept us safe and made sure that no matter what, we would always be safe and happy, regardless of what else happened.

"And then there was... just. Jonah. And my mom. And Isaiah. And your stupid ex-boyfriend teacher who apparently still wanted to bone you, and I really fucking hated that guy. Like, you don't even know how much. And then—and then Mrs. Paquinn, and you, and I had your fucking ring around my neck, okay? I stood above you when all those machines were beeping and you had a goddamn tube down your throat, and I thought you were going to die. And it wasn't fair. After everything we'd been through, it wasn't fair. But you didn't, okay? You didn't, and you opened your eyes, and then we got married and then the Kid was gay and got addicted to drugs, and you know how that went."

"Holy summarizing," Otter said, voice rough.

"I know. And when I say this all out loud, it sounds fucking ridiculous. I mean, how was any of that real? But it was. This was our life. And we made it this far, and I just—I fucking love you, Otter. I love you because, no matter what happened, no matter what got thrown at us, you made sure to shield us as best you could. You're my husband, okay? And my best friend. And I want to get you pregnant. Fuck. Not you. I want to get someone else pregnant. And not by having sex with them! By having the doctor put some jizz in a vagina, or however that works, because honestly? I'm not really clear on the specifics yet. Like. Is it a turkey baster? Is that a real thing? Because that sounds disgusting. So. Here. This is yours. You made most of it, but since we're going back to Oregon, I updated it. Just. Flip to the page I marked with that sticky note I had to use because I couldn't find the stupid I'm completely anal tabs that you used."

And then I thrust his binder at him.

He gaped up at me.

"Take it!" I demanded.

He did. He reached up slowly and took the binder from me. He set it in his lap, and even though I thought I should sit back down next to him, I couldn't figure out how to make my legs work. So I stood above him. Like an idiot.

He ran his hand reverently over the cover of the binder before opening it and flipping to the page I'd marked.

"It's not as comprehensive as all the stuff you did," I said, chewing on my thumbnail. "And there's probably a lot of stuff I'm missing. And it's seriously going to be fucking expensive. I mean, how hard is it to get a chick pregnant, right? High schoolers do it all the fucking time. Creed did it to Anna and they didn't have to pay seventy grand. I mean, what the fuck? But it's called the Northwest Surrogacy Center, and it's based out of Portland. It's supposed to be the best, and we go in, tell them we want to knock up a woman, and then they'll trot them out like an auction or something, and we have to judge them, which seems really mean, but I don't want our baby to come out with beady eyes and a hook nose, so I get why. Though I'm still fuzzy on the auction, or how that works, because that seems sort of demeaning. But then we give them all our money and we'll have to live on ramen and Fig Newtons for the rest of our lives, because once you have a kid, you're broke and don't ever get to have privacy anymore ever. But I want that. With you. I want to eat ramen and Fig Newtons with you forever, because I'm ready. I'm sorry I took this long to get here. I'm sorry you thought I didn't want it. But I'm ready now. And I know there's the Kid and his whole deal, but we can't put off our lives because of him. We can't. It's not fair to us. And he wouldn't want that. I don't want that. And I hope you don't either. So yeah. The end. Can I please get you pregnant?" I sighed and put my face in my hands. "I don't know why I keep saying that."

I heard him close the binder.

I heard knees pop as he pushed himself up.

And then I was surrounded by him, his big arms around me, squeezing me so tightly that I thought my bones were creaking. And he was shaking, so much so that I thought he was laughing.

"What's so funny?" I asked suspiciously.

And then I heard him choke out a sob.

That's when I realized that I, Derrick Thompson, had made my husband, Oliver Thompson, cry.

"Whoa," I whispered fervently.

And that's when I felt it, the wetness on my neck from where his face was pressed against me. I wiggled my arms out from where they were trapped between us and stood on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck. He shuddered against me, and we swayed back and forth while he shook. I would have been worried about his reaction if I hadn't heard him mumbling, "I love you, I love you, I love you," against my skin.

Eventually, he pulled back. His eyes were red and leaking, and he looked like the best thing I'd ever seen. "Are you being serious?" he asked me hoarsely.

"Yeah," I said, feeling my own lip trembling. "Let's make a baby."

And he laughed then, and he was crying at the same time, but it was such an awesome sound, made all the better when he picked me up, hollering in my ear as he spun me around and around and around, my feet knocking boxes over but neither of us caring.

He set me back down and took my face in his hands before leaning in and kissing me fiercely, and it was like that first kiss all over again, so wonderful and frightening and unexpected that it knocked the breath from my chest. But this was different. I didn't know who I was the first time.

I did now.

"You're sure about this?" he asked again.

For a moment, I was offended that he could even ask such a thing after all I'd said, but then I realized just how extraordinarily important this was to him. That I had finally agreed to the one thing he'd wanted for a very long time. But I'd been selfish, wrapped in my own insecurities and those belonging to my brother, but it couldn't be just about him or me. Otter owned just as much of my heart as the Kid did, and I promised myself I'd do everything I could to make sure he knew that.

"Yeah," I said, sniffling just a little. "I'm sure."

"We're going to be parents," he said, sounding awed. "Bear, we're going to be parents."

"Damn right we are. Not only that, we're going to be the best parents. Like, our kid will be the most well-adjusted, normal, and—why the hell are you laughing!"

He shook his head as he wiped his face, his crooked smile bright and wide. "Bear, that's probably not going to be a thing. And that's okay, because our kid is going to be so loved. Just you wait. I'm going to show you, okay? You and me, Bear. We're going to do this, and it's going to be so, so good."

"I'm still probably going to freak out," I warned him, already getting caught up in his joy. "Probably all the time. And I can't promise I won't throw up anytime the kid shits itself. Because—and I am being honest here—poop is gross, and I don't care who it comes from. And don't even get me started on vomit. Why the hell do babies leak so much? It's fucking gross."

"We'll get used to it," he promised me as he kissed my cheeks and my forehead and the tip of my nose.

"That's not reassuring," I said, laughing a little hysterically. "At all."

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"Um, it matters a lot."

"And we really need to talk about this whole woman auction thing you've got going on in your head, because it actually frightens me just how wrong you are."

I scowled at him. "Well, I don't know. I've never done this before!"

"I love you," he said again. "I love you so much."

"Yeah?" I said, arching an eyebrow. "How much?"

Then he growled against my mouth, hands going to my ass as he lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. "Why don't I show you?" he said.

"We have to finish packing—"

"I'm gonna pack you—"

"That's not even sexy. Why the hell is it working? Take off your pants!"

And he kissed me again and again and again.

TWO DAYS later, the house was empty, the keys turned in to the landlord. The sun had barely breached the horizon and we were driving past the house one last time, having stayed in a hotel the night before. Otter pulled the SUV to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the house and put it into park. Kori was blinking blearily in the back seat, her hair pulled back, a frizzy scarf around her neck, even though the morning was already warm. The Kid had told me once before that he thought Kori was a shield for Corey, someone he sought comfort in when he was nervous or scared. I didn't know if that was quite right, but then I wasn't an expert on bigenderism. I hoped that even if she was scared or nervous, she was as excited as we were to start something new.

"It was good," Otter said quietly, staring up at the dark house with the FOR RENT sign on the front lawn. I reached over across the center console to take his hand in mine. "For what it was."

"Yeah," I said. "It was. But I think we're ready. Kid, what do you think?"

He didn't answer at first, and I turned around to glance back at him. His face was paler than it usually was, and I was reminded of the weeks following the confrontation over his addiction. Some days were harder than others, but I had faith in him. Once we got home, things would be even better. Anna and Creed and JJ. Stephanie and Ian Grant. Alice and Jerry Thompson. And Corey too, at his side.

"Kid?" I asked again.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I think I'm ready."

"Home?"

"Home."

Otter squeezed my hand and pulled away from the house. As we drove on, the sun rising at our backs, I wondered if we'd ever come back here. For some reason, I didn't think we would. Not like we had before.

I shook my head, chiding myself. Now wasn't the time for that. We had a long trip ahead of us, and it felt like a first step into something greater.

But as we left our old neighborhood behind, I couldn't help but feel like we'd forgotten something. It was a feeling scratching at the back of my mind. For the life of me, I couldn't think what it was.

It was fine, though. It'd come to me if it was important.

"Good?" Otter asked me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other warm in my own.

"Good," I said, smiling over at him.

And we drove on.

# 4. Where Bear Learns the Art of Breathing

IT WAS important.

What I'd forgotten.

Because after everything we'd gone through, after all that had happened in the last year, the one thing that I should have remembered was the one thing I'd forgotten.

And the moment I saw him, I knew we were in deep shit.

Ben Miller.

Dominic Miller's son.

AND IT probably didn't help matters when the first time Tyson Thompson became aware of Ben's existence was after he'd been handcuffed in the back of a cop car after hiring beach vagrants to protest a chain restaurant that I'd never even heard of before.

I should have remembered. I should have planned for it. But with the homecoming we'd had, starting with an awkward dinner that ended up with me drunkenly announcing that Otter and I were going to try and have a kid, immediately followed by Creed announcing that Anna was pregnant again, then the Kid being weird about the plans we'd made seemingly without him, I'd just... forgotten. Put it out of my mind. Didn't even think about it.

And maybe that made me a bad person. That I could forget the existence of an entire person so integral to our family. I told myself there was no excuse for it. That while it was planned to hide this from him as much as we had, we weren't trying to be malicious about it. For the longest time, the Kid's health and well-being had been my top priority, to the point where I sometimes wondered if I was doing too much for him. Instead of letting him figure things out on his own, I shielded him from the worst of it.

I know what you're thinking. For a time, Dominic Miller wasn't exactly my favorite person, and so that could have led to the decisions that were made, however subconsciously. I didn't know exactly what had gone on between the Kid and him, but I had a pretty good idea. Because regardless of how the Kid often insisted he was nothing like me, our stories were weirdly the same. The big difference was that the Kid knew how he felt, whereas I had been blind to most of it.

He never said anything to me, but he had treated Dom the same way I had treated Otter. But the Kid had a level of self-awareness that I would never achieve, so if there'd been the type of feelings there that I thought there were, then Dominic and Stacey must have been a slap in the face, regardless of how inappropriate it would have been for any relationship other than friendship to have happened between the Kid and Dom. He'd been sixteen years old. Dom would have never laid a finger on him, not in that way. I knew that. I knew that. But if he had, I would have torn him to pieces and not felt bad afterward.

Hypocritical, yes.

But I know that.

I wanted the Kid to avoid the mistakes I'd made.

And in doing so, I made things worse.

There had been times I'd let the Kid down. I knew that. He'd been disappointed in me before.

"NOW YOU listen to me," I said, feeling angrier than I had any right to be. But the Kid was handcuffed in the back of a cop car, and I could see the whites of his eyes. Either he was panicking, on his way to panicking, or had just gotten finished panicking, and I wasn't thinking rationally. "You haven't been around for the past four years and—"

"That wasn't my choice," Dominic said in that strangely broken voice of his.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I didn't say it was. Don't interrupt me again. We clear?"

He nodded at me, though it looked like it cost him.

"You haven't been here, Dom. I know that's not your fault. I'm not blaming you for anything." Mostly. "But things are different now. We make the choices we do to protect those we love. You, of all people, should know this. The Kid might be a pain in my ass, and he might not think things through all the time—"

The little shit muttered something under his breath, but I ignored him.

"—but he is my brother and he belongs to me. I've raised him. I've cared for him. I've held him when the panic attacks became so fucking strong he couldn't breathe. He's stronger than anyone else I know, but he can still break, and if you're the one to break him, then may god save you from me. You're still a member of this family, and I love you, but if you hurt him, Dominic, I will end you."

And I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was a badass. I was standing toe to toe with a cop the size of a goddamn yak and giving him a piece of my mind. I meant every word. He belonged to us, but I would spread parts of his body all across the county if he hurt the Kid in any way.

I was fierce. I was hard-core.

And then I said the stupidest thing I'd said in a very long time. "Do you need us to pick up Ben? It has to be close to the end of your shift."

Dom shook his head. "He needs his routine, you know? Can you call Anna? He knows her. She's on the emergency contact list, and it'll be easier."

And I agreed. Like it was nothing.

"You're wrong, though."

"About what?" I asked, ready to kick him in the motherfucking balls, not caring if I'd get arrested for assaulting a police officer.

"About Tyson belonging to you," he said, eyes flashing. "You know as well as I do that from the first moment I laid eyes on him, he belonged to me too. Maybe even more than you. The moment he followed that ant outside, he was mine."

Dominic Miller was a big guy, possibly even bigger than Otter. He was in his prime, healthy, and extraordinarily intimidating when he wanted to be.

He had also just pissed me the fuck off.

Which meant I started forward without thinking, aware that he could probably take me down with a single swing of his fist but needing to do something.

Thankfully, Otter liked my face shaped the way it was and pulled me back before I could move any farther, stepping out in front of me, blocking my path to Dominic. "Now might be a good time for you to leave."

Damn right it is, I wanted to snarl over his shoulder. You better run before I attempt unsuccessfully to harm you physically.

"Please don't attack the police officer that we know and love," Otter muttered to me, which for a brief moment, made me angrier before I deflated. He was right, of course. Besides, I'd made it this far without getting arrested, and knowing Dominic, he would totally do that just to prove a point.

So I said the only thing I could. "All you need to do is remember to just breathe, okay?"

The Kid nodded at me, and I let Otter start to pull me away. And because I needed to make sure Dom understood that none of this was okay, I snapped over my shoulder, "And take those cuffs off him. As much as he deserves them, they'll only make things worse."

I didn't look back after that.

"I AM going to kill him," I growled to no one in particular as I paced back and forth in the kitchen of the Green Monstrosity.

"Is he talking about Hot Cop or Tyson?" Kori whispered to Otter.

"Hard to say at this point," Otter whispered back. "Probably both."

"Ah. That... doesn't clarify anything, actually. Dammit."

"Yeah, you'd think you'd know that by now."

"Throwing shit through windows? Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"Ah," Otter said. "We're on Tyson now."

"Thanks for clarifying," Kori said. "Because I never would have figured it out on my own."

I whirled around on her. "And you."

"Eep," she said. She cleared her throat. "Let me try that again. You startled me." She coughed before she squared her shoulders. "Me? What about me?"

"You should be on television," Otter said.

"Thank you. I think so too."

"You let him throw a rock through a restaurant window! I know he can be stupid sometimes, because it's genetic, but I expected more from you."

Kori squinted at me. "Did—did you just insult yourself while also trying to make me feel bad? Because that's impressive. And to reiterate, Tyson didn't throw anything. It was the beach hippies."

"Who couldn't be bothered to also be arrested," Otter said. "I never get to do anything fun."

I glared at him. "You're going to be in trouble too if you keep talking."

"That was surprisingly attractive," Kori said. "You two should seriously consider making a sex tape. For science."

"Well, we tried once—"

"Otter!"

"I mean, we've never done that before nor have considered it. And we certainly have never set the camera up but then just forgot to turn it on."

Kori gaped at us. "I'm going to go masturbate—meditate. I'm going to go meditate. At the idea of your sex tape."

"You sit your butt down," I said. "You're in trouble too." I turned and gripped the edges of the kitchen sink, trying to calm myself down.

"Ugh. That's unfortunate."

"Hey," Otter said, coming up behind me and hooking his chin over my shoulder.

"Hey, yourself," I said back.

"It's okay."

"Right."

"They need to work this out on their own."

"But he's—"

"Not as fragile as you sometimes think he is," Otter said gently. "He's been through a lot, sure. But he's always been stronger than people give him credit for. You have to trust him to know what he's doing."

"I don't know if I can do that. Not yet."

Otter sighed. "I don't blame you for that. And part of me agrees. But this isn't about you or me. Whatever happens with Dom and the Kid isn't something we can have any control over. I know it's hard, Bear, but sometimes you've got to let things go."

"That's terrible advice."

"But it's right."

"I disagree with you completely."

"I can work with that," he said, nose in my hair, breath against my ear. I felt him grin when I shuddered just a little bit.

"You cheat," I muttered.

"And I feel real bad about it."

"So much meditation," Kori breathed behind us.

Otter smacked a kiss to my check and stepped away. "You need to call Anna about Ben."

I was starting to get a headache. "Yeah. I should—"

"Who's Ben?" Kori asked.

"Dominic's son. He's at day care."

And Kori made a sound then that honestly gave me fear for her life. Like she was choking and imploding all at the same time. "His what?"

It hit me then, just what we'd forgotten.

After everything we'd been through, after all that we'd had to focus on, the one thing we should have talked to Tyson about was the one thing that we'd let fall through the cracks.

I turned slowly to look at Otter, who was already staring at me, eyes wide.

"Oh shit," we both said at the same time.

"Jesus Christ," Kori said, glancing between the two of us. "Are your lives always this dramatic? Who the hell are you people?"

IT WENT as well as expected.

Which is to say it didn't go very well at all.

Especially when I said, "I did what I thought was best. What I thought was right. I will do whatever I can to keep you safe. To keep you from hurting."

And the Kid said, "No more. You don't get to decide for me anymore."

It felt like I lost something that day. Something I wasn't even aware I could lose.

IT SEEMED like I didn't see him much that summer. We'd always been so intertwined in each other's lives that I felt the loss keenly. It probably wasn't the healthiest relationship, but for a long time, it felt like all we'd had was each other. That wasn't necessarily true, but I hadn't done anyone any favors by pushing those around us away all those years before and clutching the Kid close to my chest.

"It'll be okay," Otter told me late one night. "He'll come around. He always does."

"Your optimism is annoying."

He chuckled quietly in the dark. "You love it."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled as he pulled me closer, making sure my head was on his pillow, just how he liked it. My back was against his bare chest, and I grabbed his arms, making sure they were tight around me.

And it was later, when I was about to drift off, when he said, "It's going to be like this, you know. Sometimes."

"Hmm?"

"When we have a kid."

I was wide-awake after that. "It is?"

He snorted against my neck, which was both disgusting and amazing at the same time. "I'm pretty sure having a child means that they may love you, but they don't have to like you all the time. And I'm pretty sure the opposite is true."

"Then what is the point? I thought having a kid meant you would always have someone who reveres you? Why would I want to bring someone into the world who's going to treat me like I'm the asshole?"

"Sometimes, you are the—"

"I'm pretty sure sleeping on the couch is an option right now."

"Why would you want to sleep on the couch?"

"I didn't mean me, you—and now you're laughing. You suck."

"You never complain."

"That was terrible. You should feel embarrassed."

"And yet."

I absolutely did not have to smother a laugh, because he wasn't funny.

"You...."

"What?" I asked.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

And he sounded so unlike himself, so hesitant, that I had to turn around just so I could see his face and he could see mine. He grunted as my elbow went places that were undoubtedly uncomfortable for him but still looked slightly apprehensive as I faced him, so close that our noses brushed together. His eyes glittered in the dark, and I reached up to trace my fingers over his brow, smoothing it out.

"You're stupid," I told him. It sounded more reassuring in my head.

He rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"No, listen. You're stupid."

"Got it the first time."

"Well, stop it, then. I told you I wanted this. With you. Okay? And I wouldn't take something like this back. This is a big thing, Otter. And it's terrifying and ridiculous and I'm sure I'm probably going to freak out a billion times more."

"Maybe a little more than a billion."

"You know me so well. It's like we're married or something."

Oliver Thompson seems simple on the surface. He's big and strong and smiles like the sun. He's well-spoken and handsome, and I could understand how people would look at him and just see the superficial. It'd be so easy to dismiss him as a pretty face who never seems to let a single thing get to him.

But he is so much more than that.

Little things make him happy. He likes the sound leaves make under our feet when we walk in the fall. He likes the way the ocean smells, salt carried on the wind. He loves his brother fiercely but laments at times that he's not sure he knows who he is anymore. He likes drinking beer and has an obscene number of beer cozies, most of which he can't even remember where he got them from. He loves it when I sit on his back when he does push-ups, no matter how much he complains about it. He likes hugs and the way sand feels between his toes and eating crunchy peanut butter directly from the jar.

But there is more.

He's never completely forgiven his parents for their treatment after he came out, even though they supposedly had their reasons, however ludicrous they were. He loves them, but they hurt him, and hurt is not so easily forgotten.

He sometimes doesn't know his own worth, and I decided a long time ago that I was going to do my very best to make sure he understood he is worth everything.

He can be shy, especially when meeting new people, because he doesn't want to say the wrong thing. It's why he always finds himself behind the camera rather than in front of it. Things are easier when they're filtered through a lens.

His leg bothers him more than he likes to admit, because he doesn't complain about anything.

He's stubborn and too self-sacrificing.

He has the biggest heart out of anyone that I've ever known.

He's good. He is kind.

And for some reason, he's mine.

Which is why I knew exactly what I was doing when I said, "It's like we're married or something," because Oliver Thompson loves being reminded of that fact. For some reason, the idea of being married to me will always put a smile on his face, no matter how serious the situation.

I knew him. I knew his heart. His fierce, breakable, unfathomable heart.

And he did. How he smiled at that.

"Yeah," he said. "Like we're married or something."

"We're going to be parents," I told him. "I promise. I don't care how long it takes or if we have to sell my kidney, we're going to have a kid that will one day hate us for being reasonable because we won't let him try crack or get on the back of a motorcycle."

"Those... aren't even remotely related."

"Sort of."

"Him, huh?"

"What?"

"You said we won't let him try crack."

"Our conversations are so weird."

He laughed. "Don't I know it. But... that's what you want? A boy?"

"Honestly? I don't know that I've thought about it one way or another. I guess I've always just thought.... I have no idea."

"Ever since we've started this, it's always been a kid, or it. This is the first time I've heard you say he."

I was starting to feel a little cornered. "What about you? What do you want?"

He knew I was deflecting, but he let it slide. "I'd be happy either way."

"Liar. Tell me."

"I'm not lying."

"Otter."

"I would. I promise. I just—it's dumb, right? Boy, girl, anything in between, it wouldn't matter to me. I just—" He averted his eyes.

I took a little leap. "You want a son?"

He shrugged but didn't say anything.

"I could see that," I said slowly. "A little you running around underfoot."

"It's stupid, right?"

I kissed his forehead. "No. It's not stupid. I like that idea."

"Really?" And he sounded so damn hopeful that my heart broke just a little.

"Really."

"Okay. Okay. That'd be—okay. But a girl would be okay too," he added quickly.

"Yeah."

"And I think I'd want it to be a little you instead."

I snorted. "Yeah, because that wouldn't be a fucking nightmare."

"So we're going to do this?"

"I thought we'd already decided to."

"No, I mean here. Because if we use the Northwest Surrogacy Center, then we'd have to stay in Seafare. We wouldn't go back to New Hampshire. It'd be—we'd stay here. Is that what you want?"

I hadn't even thought about that. Sure, some part of me must have realized that, but on a subconscious level. Is that what I wanted? To stay in Seafare? What if the Kid wanted to go back to New Hampshire? Could I really let him go?

I opened my mouth to tell him I didn't know. I really did. Instead, I said, "Anna said there's going to be a teaching position opening up at the middle school. She's already talked me up to the district, apparently. I think they're scared of her."

And there it went again. That crooked smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I could—well. We could do this. If that's what you wanted. Stay in the Green Monstrosity. Start here."

"What about the Kid?"

I took a deep breath and said the one thing I never thought I'd say. "We can't let him decide what our future is going to be. He's... old enough. To make his own decisions. To make his own mistakes. The best we can do is be here if he needs to come home again. And I'm probably going to contradict that daily, so. Fair warning."

"Even if he wants to go back to New Hampshire?"

"Even if," I said.

Liar, it whispered.

THE KID was in love with Dominic.

I knew that.

I knew that.

It still took me by surprise.

But I was even more surprised when he started picking himself up.

Putting himself back together.

Piece by piece by piece.

I made sure he knew I was there.

But I still stepped back and let him do what he could on his own.

It hurt.

It was the right thing to do.

HE WENT back to therapy with Eddie Eagan.

I would have thought his license would have been revoked by now.

The damn beads still hung from the doorway.

And on and on it went.

WE CELEBRATED the Kid's birthday.

My family plotted something against Gross Tree Bush Thing.

I had to step in to stop them because I loved it almost more than any of them.

"I WANT everything to go back the way it was," he told me.

"It wasn't always that great."

"We had our moments, you and me."

"We did, didn't we?"

"Yeah, Papa Bear."

"I'll kill him, you know."

That startled him. "What? Who?"

"Dominic."

"Bear—"

"If he hurts you, I'll kill him. I don't care that he's family. I don't care that he's one of us. You were mine first, and I swear on all that I have, if he does you wrong, it'll be the last thing he does." I said this because no matter how much I disliked the idea, no matter how much I wanted him to be better before it happened, even I could see where they were headed. Dominic and Ty, it was just.... It was almost like it was inevitable.

We're brothers, right?

Sure, Kid. Brothers.

And brothers stick together no matter what.

No matter what.

I CLUTCHED him close the morning he left for Tucson, eyeing Dominic warily over his shoulder, thinking, Please don't hurt him. Please don't hurt him.

And as they drove away, it felt like the end of one thing and the beginning of another.

HE WAS going to her.

I thought I was going insane.

What if she's changed? it whispered. Or even worse, what if she's the same? What if she drips little bits of poison in his ear and he comes back and despises you? She'll tell him it was your fault she left. That she couldn't deal with you. He was just a little guy, after all. Wasn't he? A five-year-old with a mouth that a brain couldn't quite catch up with, but he was just so little. And you were old enough to know the world had teeth, and when it latched on, shaking its head side to side, it would tear and shred. She knew that too and didn't want to get pulled down with you. So she left, and she'll tell him as much.

I held my phone and waited.

THEY CAME back, Dom and him, the Kid looking no worse for wear.

Except.

Except—

"So, you guys are fucking now?" I asked, leaning against the counter.

And everything pretty much exploded after that.

HE SAID, "I met Izzie."

And goddamn, did that make me take a step back. "Isabelle?"

"Bear, she's... amazing. She's like me. Smarter, even. I don't know if I have words to even describe her." He shook his head. "No, I take that back. She's like us. She's you and me."

"We can't...."

"I know. There's nothing... bad happening. I don't think. She wasn't bruised. But Julie was never like that."

"There's more than one type of abuse," I muttered, thinking of those days when she'd be on the couch, the cigarette smoke thick and blue around her in that shitty fucking apartment with the splintered stairs. Get me some ice, she'd say. Get me some ice for my Jack. I don't like it when it's warm.

AND HERE it was. This moment. The one I'd been anticipating and dreading all at the same time.

He was going back.

We were staying here.

I'm proud of you. More than I could ever say. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.

I know.

Just remember your promise. Okay? Whatever you've decided to do. Please. That's... that's all I ask.

You and me. That'll never change, Papa Bear.

"YOU CALL me," I told him the morning he left. "Every day. No, two times a day. You know what? Don't even worry about it. I'll call you. Just make sure you answer."

He laughed wetly, and I had to look away. I needed to hold on until he left.

It was just the three of us, just me, Otter, and the Kid. He'd already said goodbye to Dom earlier before he'd had to go on shift.

We stood in the driveway of the Green Monstrosity, and all I could think of was the day we moved in, the sheer delight on his face at the horrible color of this house, this house that Otter had bought for us. A place we could call our own, where we'd have a home at last. Things had been so, so different then, the Kid all knobs and knees.

And here we were now, saying goodbye.

Otter took a step forward and pulled the Kid—Tyson—into a hug, spinning him around like he used to when he was just a little guy. Ty laughed, and whatever was whispered between them was just for them.

Eventually Otter set him down and stepped back. He smiled at me, jerking his head toward Ty.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and stepped forward. "Keep your phone charged," I said. "Just—it's always a good idea to keep it charged."

"I will," he said, sounding amused.

"And make sure you pull over if you're starting to feel tired."

"I know."

"And drink lots of water."

"Bear."

I looked up at him.

The day he left, Tyson Thompson was twenty years old. He was healthier than he'd been in years. His eyes were bright, and though he was nervous, I could tell he was excited. He was going out for the first time on his own. He thought he needed to prove something, and though I didn't quite understand the why of it, I knew it was his choice. I had to trust Ty to know what he needed.

And somehow, I did.

"Okay," I said, stopping my fussing over him and taking a step back. "You should probably head out. Wasting daylight, Kid."

He frowned a little before he shook his head. "Right. Got a drive ahead of me. I'll—uh. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Later."

Otter sighed behind us.

The Kid turned toward the car.

And that was that.

I told myself that was that.

And it was.

And then—

He spun around again, a determined look on his face. He rushed toward me, and before I could do anything about it, my little brother launched himself at me. I caught him, barely, as we collided.

I hugged him as hard as I could.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely. "More than anything in this world. And nothing will change that."

I breathed him in.

We stood there, together, for a long time.

But eventually, I had to let him go.

So I did.

He wiped his eyes as he took a step back. And when he smiled at me, though my heart was breaking, I knew then that he'd be okay. "I'll be okay," he said, and I didn't know if it was for my benefit or for his own.

"I know."

He left without another word.

Otter was at my side, rubbing his hand up and down my back, as the car disappeared from sight.

"He'll be all right," Otter said finally. "And you will too. You'll see."

I knew he was right.

And I was ready for whatever came next.

The house felt a little emptier when we went back inside.

But I had a feeling it wouldn't be for long.

THREE DAYS after he left, the Kid sent me a text.

It was a picture of a quote by Sylvia Plath.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

"Okay," I said as I breathed and breathed and breathed. "Okay."

# 5. Where Bear Has Bro-Time with Creed

"OH MAN, I am so glad you guys are here," Creed said when he opened the door. "Anna's on a warpath."

"What did you do?" Otter asked, smacking his brother upside the head as he walked into their house.

"I didn't do anything," Creed said, glaring at his brother as he closed the door behind us.

"You got me pregnant," Anna shouted from the kitchen.

"Well, yeah. There's that," Creed said as he took our coats and hung them in the hall closet. It was toward the end of September, and there was already a nasty bite to the air. He lowered his voice. "But seriously, thank you for coming. I'm hoping she'll be a little nicer since we have company. JJ's already escaped to Mom and Dad's, so he's the lucky one. I'm not even joking. It's like my wife has been possessed by a demon. I'm worried she's going to try and eat my face. It wasn't like this at JJ's six-month mark. It was all sex and crying, sometimes even at the same time."

Otter and I both grimaced at him for that.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You're so lucky you're gay. You get to impregnate a woman and then live elsewhere."

"I heard that," Anna said, appearing out of nowhere, causing all of us to jump.

"Meep," Creed squeaked before flushing. "Hello, my love. You are looking radiant as usual."

"Uh-huh. And I'm sure there are plenty of places you could go live if that's what you want. Maybe Bear and Otter will take you in. Or you could go sleep on a park bench."

"I like to walk around without much clothing on," Otter said. "Probably not the best idea."

"Ew," Creed said.

"So awesome," I said.

"I'd hit that," Anna said.

We all gaped at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Like I'm actually going to. For one, Otter's married. Two, he's married to Bear. And three, I feel no need to complete the set, even if I've already slept with two-thirds of the men here."

"Whoa," Creed breathed. "I adore you. And I'm slightly disgusted."

"Also, I'm gay," Otter said. "So. That probably puts a kink in your plans."

"Right," Anna said. "Because I don't know how to use a strap-on. Ask Creed." Then she whirled around, hand over her rounded stomach, and stomped back toward the kitchen.

Otter and I stared at Creed.

He fidgeted.

I said, "So, what exactly did she mean—"

"Come see the new countertops in the kitchen!" Creed said quite loudly. "They're quartz."

"I have a bad feeling about this," I whispered to Otter as we followed Creed.

"You're the one that wanted to ask Anna what to expect during a pregnancy," he whispered back. "I told you that we should just look it up on the internet."

"The only things that I could learn off the internet was that some people have a pregnancy kink and others sometimes eat placenta after the child is born."

"Jesus Christ, what the hell were you looking at?"

"You know I don't understand how to internet!"

"You're a teacher."

"I am aware, thank you. Which is why those damn smartphones go in my desk before every class starts. But it's okay! I've already written down every possible question that we could have and will interrogate—I mean interview, Anna and Creed about them tonight."

Otter groaned. "Let me see the list."

"No. You should have made your own if you want one so bad."

"This isn't going to end well."

"Excuse you, this is going to be fantastic. We are going to be the best parents, because we'll know everything when it happens."

"Are you guys going to whisper-shout at each other all night?" Anna asked. "Because if you are, I just want to make sure I know you're going to be wasting my time."

"Stop whisper-shouting before it's too late!" Creed whisper-shouted at us.

Anna turned slowly to stare at him.

"You're the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my entire life," Creed said quickly.

Anna's face softened just a little.

We all breathed a sigh of relief.

She turned back toward the stove, where multiple pots were bubbling.

"Come over here," Creed said to us, glancing nervously at his wife. "Just come right next to me and look how awesome this quartz is." Right now, he mouthed.

We stepped carefully toward him.

Anna hummed.

We froze.

She stirred one of the pots. It smelled like spaghetti sauce.

"Yeah," Creed said loudly as he pulled out his phone. "Just look at the little flecks of crystal in the counter. Great, right?" He pointed at his phone, then pointed at me.

I frowned.

"Otter, can I get you anything to drink?" Anna asked. "You know, since your brother apparently doesn't remember how take care of guests."

"No, no," Otter said hastily. "I'm good."

"Hmm," she said again but still didn't turn around.

Creed jabbed his phone, then jabbed me.

Got it. I pulled out my phone, and he typed furiously.

ACT NORMAL SHE KNOWS EVERYTHING came through.

I squinted at him as I showed the message to Otter.

"Yeah," Creed said loudly as he typed on his phone again. "We just wanted a different look for the kitchen, you know? Something that wasn't granite. We thought—"

Anna coughed.

"Anna thought granite was a fad that'd go out of style soon, so we went with quartz."

A new message: SHE'S LIKE SPIDERMAN. ALL HER SENSES ARE TINGLING. PREGNANCY MAKES YOU A SUPERHERO. OR A VILLAIN.

"Who are you texting?" Anna asked without turning around.

Creed started sweating. "No one, my queen. Light of my life."

"Well, it must be someone. You are typing on your phone."

Otter and I stared wide-eyed. Creed was right. She had superpowers.

"Just my parents, my flower. Wanting to make sure JJ was okay."

"And is he?"

"Y-yes."

"You don't sound sure."

"Yes. I'm so sure. He's doing wonderful. They're eating mashed potatoes right this second, and he's not even trying to put it up his nose."

"Interesting. Because I could have sworn Alice said they were going to order pizza. I wonder why they would be having mashed potatoes."

"Did I say mashed potatoes? I meant pepperoni."

"Hmm," she said.

SEE? SHE KNOWS ALL. SHE HEARS ALL. I THINK THE BABY IS EVIL. OR AWESOME. I DON'T KNOW WHICH.

"Bear and I were thinking of redoing the kitchen at some point," Otter said, staring at the curve of Anna's stomach.

"Make sure you don't ask Creed for advice," Anna said. "Unless you want your house to look like crap."

"I'm terrible at home décor," Creed said. "That much is evident. Color swatches? I don't even know what those are. I shouldn't be allowed to have opinions about redecorating. Or anything really."

"I could come over and—"

"No," Otter and I both blurted at the same time.

She looked at us over her shoulder.

"Um," I said. "We couldn't ask that of you."

"Not in your delicate position," Otter said.

"Delicate?" she asked evenly. "Huh. Delicate."

"Why did you say that?" I hissed at Otter.

"Oh no," Creed groaned. "We're all going to die."

"Bear doesn't know how to use the internet!" Otter said.

"Traitor," I breathed.

"What, really?" Anna asked with a frown. "Jesus, Bear. Are you sure you're in the right profession? JJ might be in your class one day, and I vouched for you to get that job. I don't know how I feel about that. Also, Creed. Come here."

"Save yourselves," Creed muttered under his breath. "There's no hope for me. While she's feasting on my flesh, run." He walked as if a man toward death.

Otter and I stared mournfully after him.

I thanked the lord that Creed was like his brother in that he had large amounts of muscle mass. I hoped it would be enough for Anna while we made our escape.

Anna did not, however, feast upon his flesh. Instead, she stood upon her tiptoes and kissed him sweetly on the lips. He sighed a little, shoulders relaxing, and like it was commonplace, his hand went to her stomach, rubbing along the curve of it. I thought maybe it was a diversionary tactic, and that in a moment, she'd rear up and unhinge her jaw before biting off Creed's head.

Instead, she said, "Sorry," as she pulled away. She was smiling up at him, and it was the same smile I remembered when I thought I'd loved her. "I'm being a jerk. I don't mean it."

"I know," Creed said. "And I lied to you. I was texting Bear."

"He said you were Spider-Man," I answered dutifully. "Because of your superpowers. Also, I do know how to use the internet. I just don't like looking up people selling breast milk on it."

She arched an eyebrow at me. "And why are you looking up people selling breast milk?"

"Well, now when you put it like that, I... have no idea."

"Sometimes he doesn't know why he does the things he does," Otter said, and they shared a weird secret smile, like they had an inside joke with each other. They were commiserating.

I didn't know how I felt about that.

WE'D SAT down to eat before Anna asked us how the surrogacy search was going. I knew it was coming, because we'd told our family that we'd already started the process. The people at the Northwest Surrogacy Center couldn't have been nicer to us. Every interaction we'd had so far had been pleasant and easy. Some dark, twisted part of me had prepared for some flack that two married men were wanting to conceive, but that hadn't been the case. If anything, we were treated just like every other couple, and that was something I should have expected. I'd spent much of my life preparing for the other shoe to drop with good reason. It was hard for me to trust something out of my control, but Otter said I was getting better at it. What had started out as tenuous was slowly gathering strength, to the point of where I didn't dread every email or phone call we received from the surrogacy center.

But still. "It's, uh. Invasive? I mean, I knew it would be, but still. Invasive is a good word."

Otter picked up the thread for me. "Very, very detailed background checks. And into everything. We've got nothing to worry about, but it's still disconcerting."

"It's like you're being judged," I said, wiping sauce from my face. "At everything you do."

"We are being judged," Otter said. "Income, home life, extended family. Speaking of which, you're going to get a phone call soon. The both of you."

"And you better say nice things," I warned Creed. "I'm serious. If you tell them anything about the things we used to do—"

"Like the time you and I got high in eighth grade while stuffing our faces with pizza rolls and woke up spooning each other wearing nothing but X-Men boxers?"

"Yes, Creed. Exactly like that."

"Wow," Anna said. "Looks like someone already beat me to getting the complete set."

"I did not have sex with Bear," Creed said. "I would have remembered that. Because I would have been an amazing lover."

"You stay away from him," Otter said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling my chair over until I was pressed up against him. "You can't get high and spoon with Bear ever again."

"It was one time—" I tried.

"Actually, it was four times," Creed said, waggling his eyebrows at me. "And I think the last time, my nipples got hard."

"Have some more garlic bread," Anna said. "So you don't talk any more."

Creed nodded and looked exactly like JJ did when he shoved his face full of food.

"I'm not going to get high and spoon Creed," I said, trying to shove Otter's arm off me.

"See that you don't," he said, refusing to move. "I don't want to have to rip his nipples off."

"We'll make sure we say nice things," Anna reassured me. "You don't have to worry about that."

"I know. It's just... weird. I guess I wasn't expecting it. That and how clinical it is."

"Clinical?" Creed asked through a mouthful of bread, spraying crumbs on the table.

"There's a database," I said. "Of all the surrogates. There's a photo and stats and family history. It's almost like a dating site, except instead of swiping and going out to get laid, you're deciding who you're going to knock up. Without actually sexing them."

"He said that to the specialist we're working with," Otter said. "She sprayed her tea all over her desk. Some got on my hand. It was an odd day."

"Oh, Bear," Anna sighed. "That's.... I don't know what that is."

Creed high-fived me. "My man. You speak the truth."

"How long does it take to pick someone?" Anna asked. "Have you seen anyone you've liked?"

"No," I said quickly. Too quickly. "Nope. No. Of course not. No. Haven't even thought about it."

Both Creed and Anna froze.

"Good job," Otter said, jostling me a little. "Really."

"I tried," I said. "You know I did."

"That's the sad part."

"You did?" Creed asked, sounding thunderstruck. "You found someone? I thought these things took time!"

"They do," Otter said, frowning at me pointedly. "And we haven't decided anything yet... but, yes. There might be someone we're interested in." He winced. "That sounded weird."

"When did you start looking?" Anna demanded. "I thought you just went to the center for the first time a week ago!"

"Um, surprise?" I said. "We actually went up to Portland after Ty went to Tucson. And before we say anything more, you have to promise us this stays here. No mentioning this to anyone. As far as the rest of the nutjobs are concerned, we just started, okay? Especially Tyson. I don't want anything distracting him right now. He's got more important things to focus on."

"Because that's going to end well given our history," Creed said.

"This isn't like that," I said. "This isn't something bad. I just need him to do what he went back to New Hampshire to do."

"And how's that going for him?" Anna asked. "Because if I recall correctly, you weren't a fan of the idea to begin with."

She had a point. I hadn't thought it was a good idea, even though I'd known for a while it could be a possibility. "It's going okay," I said begrudgingly. "I still think he should have taken some time off, but he's not a little kid anymore. He makes his own choices, even if they're terrible and I dislike them immensely."

"He'll be fine," Anna said. "You know that."

"Of course he will," Otter said. "He's got all of us."

"And Dominic," Creed said.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And Dominic."

"Who sexes him up."

"Creed," Anna growled.

"What? He does. I know none of us like thinking about it, but it happens. You know it does."

"I hate you so much right now," I muttered, trying to find something to throw at him. But Otter had taken away everything sharp within my reach without batting an eye.

"You should see some of the things I do to Bear," Otter said mildly.

Creed gasped and started choking on garlic bread.

"I love you so much right now," I said.

"It's like nothing ever changes," Anna sighed.

"Dude! Wrong! So wrong!"

"You brought this upon yourself," Anna reminded her husband. He opened his mouth to retort, but Anna narrowed her eyes at him, and he subsided. She waited a beat to make sure he wasn't going to speak before she turned back to us. "So, spill."

"What?" I said distractedly, staring at Otter, thinking about some of those things he'd done to me.

Otter was smug, of course.

Anna snapped her fingers at me. "Bear. Close your mouth and wipe your chin so you can tell us about this poor woman you've decided to inflict our family upon."

I blinked. "Oh. Um. Right. So, I have some questions."

Otter looked less smug at that. "I'm sorry for what's about to happen."

Creed looked thrilled as I dug into my pocket, trying to find the flashcards I'd written my questions down on. I thought it was better to write them out so I didn't forget anything.

"Her name is Megan," Otter said, sounding resigned. "She's twenty-six. She's... funny and sarcastic. Very sweet. She's a paralegal in Eugene. This would be her second pregnancy if we go through with it."

"Second pregnancy and she's only twenty-six?" Creed asked. "She have her own kid?"

Otter shook his head. "She carried for another couple two years ago."

"Some women just like being pregnant," Anna said, patting her husband's hand. "And I can see why. Sometimes. All the other times, though, I want to have this demon child out of me and then have you castrated so we don't have to worry about this happening ever again."

"When's your due date?" Otter asked.

She smiled thinly. "Not soon enough. Middle of December."

"I told her to hold it in for an extra week or two so we could have the baby on Christmas and name it Jesus," Creed said. "But then she reminded me I was terrible at ideas and we agreed the actual due date is just fine."

"And do you know the sex yet?"

They shared a look that only couples that'd been together for a long time could pull off, speaking without exchanging a word. The Kid said Otter and I did the same thing, but I thought it was still weird to see.

Anna finally nodded after Creed did a complicated maneuver with his eyebrows. "It's another boy," he said quite proudly, as if the gender of his child had been decided by the sheer force of his will and sperm. Which, to be fair, was at least partially true.

"Yes," Anna said dryly. "How lucky are we. Because we already didn't go through it with JJ, we get to try again."

"Eh," Creed said. "He was a practice kid. We learned from our mistakes, and we'll do better the second time around. JJ was our starter kid. Creed Junior will be immaculate."

Otter frowned. "Creed... Junior?"

"Yeah," Anna said. "Isn't it fun how he thinks that's going to happen?"

"Babe," Creed said. "We've talked about this. You know that I need someone to carry on my legacy."

"And what exactly would that legacy be?"

"We also talked about that. I'm still working on what my legacy is going to be."

"Okay," I said. "I'm ready to ask you a question now."

They all stared at me.

I stared back.

Otter coughed.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Congrats on having another boy. I'm sure he will bring joy and enrichment to your lives. And yes, her name is Megan, and we've met her one time, and yes, I accidentally told her that she can't have sex with her boyfriend if she gets pregnant with our kid, because I didn't want her boyfriend's sperm to mix with ours and make a weird hybrid baby that we'll have to share with her family because that would just be stupid. And yes, Otter made that sound he makes when I say something I probably shouldn't have, but Megan didn't get it, asked the specialist if it were possible for her boyfriend's sperm to mix with ours."

"Megan's a little... like Bear," Otter said.

"Ohhh," Anna said. "I get it now."

I squinted at Otter. "What do you mean by that?"

"That she's perfect," Otter said, patting my hand.

"Smooth," Creed muttered.

"Can I ask the questions now? Because I have at least two hundred of them, and I'm thinking it's probably going to take a few hours."

They stared some more.

I waited.

"I really am sorry about this," Otter said. "You know how he gets."

"We know," Anna and Creed said, and I would have been offended, but I was focused on the note cards in my hands.

"Okay," I said. "Question one. Is it true that you have to wear a diaper after you give birth because your downstairs is just not in the shape it'd been before you started?"

Creed choked on his garlic bread.

Otter put his face in his hands.

Anna grinned evilly. "Oh, do I have things to tell you."

A COUPLE of hours later, I screamed a little when Creed's hand dropped on my shoulder. I was attempting to do the dishes, but mostly just staring blankly out the window above the sink, trying to take in everything I'd learned at dinner. Mostly what it boiled down to was that giving birth was the most amazing and the most disgusting thing to ever happen anywhere, and that women who went through it were probably capable of pretty much anything.

That still didn't mean that I wasn't horrified by the explicit details that Anna had laid out before us.

And it probably hadn't helped that we were eating Italian food with lots of sauce.

Like, there was sauce literally everywhere.

I hadn't finished dinner.

In fact, Anna was the only one that did. I'd even given her the rest of mine.

It'd gotten to the point where I'd actually only ended up asking two or three questions before Anna had just run with it, going in directions that I'd never thought of in my worst nightmares. I didn't know what afterbirth was before. I sure did now.

So yes, I was startled when Creed touched my shoulder, sure it was his wife coming back for more. Most likely, it would be recipes that included placenta that she'd printed off the internet that she wanted us to try.

Creed arched an eyebrow at me. "I'm telling everyone we know that you scream like a preteen goat."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"I did call your name. Like, one time."

I rolled my shoulder, dislodging his hand. "Where's Anna?"

"Why?"

"No reason. I just... don't want to be surprised by her or placenta recipes."

Creed gagged a little. "Disgusting, right? I can't believe people actually do that."

"You would totally do it."

"Well yeah. Just once, though, so I can tell people and get them to give me the look you're giving me right now. It's hilarious. But Anna said no, because she never lets me do anything."

"Except get her pregnant."

He grinned at me. "Yeah, except for that. I'm pretty good at that. Need some help?"

I shrugged. "Sure. Not much left to do."

"Maybe I just want to spend some time with my best bro."

"Says the guy that's about to be a father for the second time, yikes."

"Yeah, yeah. Seriously, though. We don't see each other as much as we used to." He came up to stand next to me, taking a dish out of my hand and beginning to rub it dry with a hand towel I'd set on the counter. "You have sex with my brother, and then you move in with him. We get JJ, and then you move away for years. Then you move back, and I've knocked up my wife again, and you're getting ready to knock up someone too, and I figure we could use some bro-time."

"That's... a rather condensed version of events."

"Bro-time," he insisted.

"Bro-time," I agreed.

"We could get stoned if you want and spoon. We just can't tell Anna. Or Otter."

"I don't have X-Men underwear anymore."

"For shame, dude. You've changed. It's like I don't even know you."

I laughed quietly before I sobered a little. Creed waited, because he knew I'd come out with it eventually. I didn't know what it was about the Thompson brothers, but they knew how I ticked.

"I'm worried," I said finally.

"About?"

"Things changing."

He frowned. "How so?"

"I... you know. With a kid and everything. We had Tyson, and he's only just gone out on his own. This is the first time it's been just Otter and me, and we're—"

"Are you guys doing okay?"

"Yeah. Sure. We're fine. Great, even. But that's what concerns me. Having a kid is going to mess with that, you know? We won't.... You can't ever undo that."

"Well you could—"

"Creed."

"Yeah, yeah." He sighed. "Look, you want me to be honest about it?"

"Uh, I think so?"

"It's terrifying."

"Great. There's the reassurance I was hoping for."

He bumped his shoulder against mine, holding his hand out for another plate. "It is! Bear, it's scary as fuck. It's also stupid and aggravating and annoying. You don't sleep, you eat like shit, you look like shit. You don't have any money. You don't have any time for yourself. You get poop in your hair and snot on your shoulder. Have a healthy sex life? Yeah, you can forget about that for pretty much ever. You worry all the fucking time about the dumbest things, like if your kid will have a lazy eye or if the guy that drives the ice cream truck around the neighborhood is as creepy as he seems and wears a necklace of finger bones under his shirt."

"You are not making me feel any better—"

He ignored me. "You'll get pissed off at everyone who gives your kid shit. You'll see more bodily fluids than you ever thought possible. If teeth come in crooked, you wonder if it's your fault. When they're screaming in the grocery store because you wouldn't pick the right goddamn apple, you'll wonder if adoption is still a viable alternative. When they're telling everyone on the plane that the booger they just ate was as big as their fingernail, you'll daydream about going out for a pack of cigarettes and not coming back."

"Wow, you would think, given the parental history some of us have—"

"And there will be times you want to throttle the hell out of them, and the only thing that actually stops you is that it's technically illegal—"

"Oh my god."

"But Bear, I promise you, the moment they look at you and smile and call you Daddy, it's just... it's everything."

I exhaled sharply.

"Look," Creed said, setting another plate in the drying rack. "It sucks. Being a parent sucks. You're always being looked down upon for everything your kid does. You always think you're doing it wrong to the point to where you wonder if you're messing them up irreparably. And people, all those other people who don't have kids, are fucking judging you when your kid is acting like a douchebag in public, like you're such a shitty person that you can't control your own child. Seriously, I never thought I'd hate childless couples who fucking snark and roll their eyes at us because I used to be them. Dude, they are such assholes. Like, I'm sorry my child is being loud while you're trying to enjoy your hipster cup of coffee while doing your fucking Sudoku, you weird fuck, but my kid is just a kid. He doesn't know that you're a dick, which is why he's asking you about your stupid fucking bowler hat that you got at a swap meet because you're goddamn ridiculous."

"Whoa," I breathed. "You have so many feelings about hipsters."

"They are the absolute worst," Creed growled. "Fucking man buns and T-shirts from the eighties worn ironically with stupid fucking names like Xander or Josiah. You are not cool, and when you buy a repurposed log for six hundred dollars that's supposed to be a chair, you are not allowed to pass judgment on my child."

"I am weirdly uncomfortable right now."

"Sorry. I just... I just hate them so much. Like, what are they trying to be? Because if they're trying to be bitches, then by god, they're doing it right."

"Can we get back to the part where you're supposed to be making me feel better about everything?"

"Oh. Right! Where was I?"

"I honestly don't even know."

"The daddy thing. Papa Bear, all that other shit just falls away when they call you Daddy. Man, I can't even begin to describe what that feels like." He smiled as he looked down at his hands. "And they're funny too, you know? I didn't... I didn't expect that. JJ is... I know he's not like Ty was. He's not... the smartest kid in the world. But he just... he gets me, you know? And I get him. Anna says he's my kid, through and through. And he can make me mad, and yeah, there are times I've wondered about what my life would be like if we hadn't fucked up and gotten Anna pregnant. But then he'll call me Daddy, or he'll say something funny, and I'll just laugh, you know? I'll laugh, and it will have made everything we've been through—all the poop and snot and fucking hipsters—worth it. It's worth it, Bear. And nothing will ever happen to make me think otherwise." He frowned then. "Unless he grows up to be the next Charles Manson or something. If that happens, we'll probably need to revisit my assessment."

"I don't know if I feel any better."

He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You're not really supposed to. You can do all the research you can, you can ask my wife questions about the state of her vagina after childbirth—"

"I regret that so much right now, you don't even know. Did she have to pull up pictures to show what can happen? I mean, my god. How do they do that? I stub my toe and I think the world is ending."

"—but the only way you'll actually be ready is when you hold the baby in your arms for the first time. You'll wing a lot of it. Trust me on that. Because nothing anyone can tell you can actually prepare you. Oh sure. You'll think you are, and maybe you'll know more than we did, but all of that just flies right out the window that first moment. You'll make mistakes, Bear. You and Otter both. And there will be days when you'll want to pull the covers over your head and cry a little. But it's worth it. In the end. You can trust me on that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Dude, it's fucking amazing."

"I like her," I said quietly, as if speaking it any louder would make it untrue.

"This Megan chick?"

I nodded. "We're gonna give ourselves time to think on it. Maybe meet with some other surrogates just to be sure, but... I don't know. I thought we clicked, a little. When we met. She's a little ditzy, but she's... cool. And that's such an understatement to describe a person who could carry our kid, but—it's just all I can think of. She's cool."

"That's good, man. You get good vibes from her and all that. The only thing I think you're doing wrong is not telling Tyson. I get why you're doing it, but I don't want that to come and bite you in the ass."

I heard Anna laugh in the living room with Otter's warm voice running as an undercurrent. I took the towel from Creed to dry my hands. "I know, but it is him we're thinking about. He's says he's better with the idea, but you saw his reaction when we first brought it up. He wasn't... thrilled."

"You know I love him, right? Like, behind JJ, he's the best in the world?"

"I know."

"Good," Creed said. "So remember that when I say he's a fucking shit."

"Hey!"

"He is. Or he was. That was a dick move, what he pulled at that first dinner back. I get why, I really do. For a long time, it's been just him. You always put him above everything else. Then Otter came along and did the same. But Bear, he's doing what he needs to do to right himself, and you gotta do the same for yourself. You have earned this, okay? Both you and Otter have. And if he's going to be a dick about this, then fuck him. After everything you've done for him, he should be willing to give you this."

"He apologized," I said. "I think he's okay with it now."

"But you're not telling him," Creed pointed out.

"Not just him. Everyone. Dom. Your mom and dad. Anna's parents. They all know we're trying, but we just... in a way, you're right. This is our thing. And I want to keep it that way. For now."

He watched me for a moment. Then, "You don't think this will work, do you."

I took a step back. "What? I—I don't—"

He shook his head. "Dude. You don't think this will work."

And maybe that was right. Or rather, maybe that was almost right. I knew what we were trying to do, but everything I'd gotten in my life, everything I'd loved had come with a price. A trade-off. There was always something bad to offset the good. And I was getting better at it—focusing on the positive—but I'd been conditioned all my life to expect the worst. Mom leaving. Otter leaving. Mrs. Paquinn dying. Otter's accident. Ty's mental state. His addiction.

And what's the one constant here? it whispered. Who is the common denominator in all of this? Oh, that's right. It's you, Bear. You're the one connected to all of this. Makes you think, doesn't it? Makes you really think.

"It's not—"

"Cut the shit, Papa Bear," Creed said, a scowl on his face. "I've known you for far too long to let you try and talk in circles around me. What the hell?"

I glanced toward the living room to make sure we weren't being overheard. Anna and Otter were seated close to each other on the couch, speaking quietly. I couldn't hear what they were talking about, but neither of them was looking at us.

To be safe, though, I lowered my voice. "It's not that I don't think that, it's just... it's, okay. It's expensive, right? And there are no guarantees. If we don't get this, if it doesn't work, we're out that money. Most of which, by the way, is coming from Otter."

Creed snorted. "Yeah, because what's his isn't yours at all. Dude, you're married. Knock it off."

I glared at him. "I know that, but I'm a teacher. You can't ignore the fact that my salary doesn't exactly cover the seventy fucking thousand dollars this is going to cost us. And if it doesn't work, that's just... gone."

"Okay," Creed said. "Fair. But what if it does work?"

I could find nothing to say to that.

Creed sighed. "Look, Papa Bear. I know you've been dealt a crappy hand, okay? Life sucks and then you die. But Jesus, you are allowed to have hope for something. Dude, enough with this sad-sack martyr routine. The chances are greater of this working than not. You guys are going the IVF route, right? Gestational surrogacy?"

I shook my head. "We were looking at that, but then we met her. She just... fits. You know? Think we're going to go the traditional surrogacy route instead if we choose her."

He stared at me. "She fits? With us? Oh my god. I don't know if that's amazing or terrifying."

"Right? Jury's still out."

"That's—okay. Whatever. Yes, it's expensive as fuck, and yes, there's always a chance it doesn't work. But you know what happens then? You get upset about it for a little bit, but then you pick yourself up and start again. There are always options, okay? Always. We'll figure it out, one way or another. And hey, Anna said you could rent her womb if necessary."

"She did not."

He shrugged. "Well, maybe not in so many words, but we both know she'd do it. And if not even then, there's always adoption. Like, Russian kids or something."

"He wants me to do it," I admitted.

Creed's eyes widened a little at that. "To be the donor? Dude, that's—"

"I told Otter he was out of his mind, especially given the crazy that's apparently genetic in our family. But he said that there's already JJ, and he wants it to come from me. So it'd be a part of me."

"Can't they mix both of you?"

"Some places do that, but the clinic we're using doesn't. It's more expensive that way too."

"Dude," Creed breathed. "That's awesome."

"You don't think it's a bad idea?"

"Fuck no. It's the best idea ever. Holy shit, Bear, a little fucking you? That's...." He blinked. "Okay, I can see why you're scared now."

I couldn't help it; I laughed at that, loud and long. "You dick."

He hugged me then. It was strong and familiar, and we didn't say much about the way we both sniffled a little bit. "You've got this, Bear," he whispered in my ear. "Trust me, okay? You've got this. I promise you. And I'll be there when there is shit and vomit everywhere to remind you it's worth it. It's so fucking worth it."

"Are they crying?" Anna asked, sounding bewildered.

Creed and I both jumped apart, coughing in a manly way and discreetly wiping our eyes.

Anna and Otter were standing in the entrance to the kitchen, staring at us.

"We're not crying," Creed said. "We were having bro-time, which you just interrupted. That was rude of you, and I will accept your apology when you're ready to give it."

"We're in love with a pair of idiots," Anna told Otter.

But Otter was smiling at me, that crooked smile that he wore so well. "Yeah," he said softly. "We are, aren't we?"

THAT NOVEMBER we watched on the computer screen as Dominic walked into Ty's room in New Hampshire. Ty told him he'd started to figure things out and he thought he could stand on his own now.

It was all very romantic, or so I was told.

I was too busy trying to think of a way to effectively intimidate Dom, even though he was twice my size.

THREE DAYS later, we picked Megan Ridley to be our surrogate.

She grinned at us and said, "Super. Let's get the eggs and bacon inside me cooking. Happy holidays, everyone!"

We gaped at her.

ON THE morning of December 16, 2015, Anna Thompson went into labor.

"No, Bear, you cannot stay in here and watch," she said through gritted teeth in her hospital room.

"But how will I know what it looks like to be dilated!" I protested as Otter started to drag me toward the door.

"I'll take pictures," Creed called after us before he yelped in pain. I didn't see what Anna had done to cause that, but I figured it was nothing good.

Ten hours later, their son was born.

Allan Jude Thompson. Seven pounds, four ounces.

"AJ for short," Creed said a little hysterically when he came into the waiting room. "Since Anna couldn't keep him in until Christmas, I got to pick the name, even after she vetoed Creed Junior. He's so awesome, he's healthy and awesome, and he looks like a hairless mole! I'm pretty sure Anna broke my hand, but Jesus Christ, AJ is here and he's real. He's fucking real. Dude, Bear, I'm a daddy. Again."

He cried a little then.

I think maybe we all did.

LIFE IS funny sometimes.

It can knock you flat.

It can take away everything you love.

One moment everything is fine, and then it turns on a dime, and you're standing on a beach, a phone pressed tightly against your ear, and there's a voice saying I'm afraid I don't know anything about a Theresa Paquinn and Derrick, that's not why I called and According to the EMTs, he was T-boned on the driver's side of his vehicle by a van that ran a stop sign. And everything can go to hell so fast that you have whiplash from it when you're holding a Kid in your lap and watching as an old woman who means so much more than you ever told her takes her last breath. Because sometimes, these things are inevitable. They happen for no rhyme or reason, and as you're reeling, as you're struggling against the earthquakes, against the goddamn ocean that wants to swallow you into the deep, you think to yourself that everything would be okay if you just breathed.

But then there are those other moments. Those moments when the breath is knocked from your body in the best and most frightening of ways.

Otter's phone rang on a Saturday afternoon in early January. I was sitting in the kitchen, a blanket on my lap, sipping tea while reading over essays, some of which were making me want to bang my head on the table.

The holidays were behind us, and the Kid was back at Dartmouth, making plans for himself. He'd told me that when he was ready to let me know what he was going to do, he'd let me know. And for the first time in a long time, I was trusting him with himself.

So I wasn't really paying attention when Otter's phone went off on the kitchen counter. He rubbed a hand over my head as he passed me by, and I made a little noise to acknowledge him, but nothing more.

I didn't even look up when he sucked in a little breath before answering his phone.

"Hello?" he said, and I wondered if Davey Brewer had ever heard of spell-check, because I was dying. "Hey. Hi. Are you—yeah. He's here. What do you—hold on. Bear?"

I looked up at him. His face was white, and his hands were shaking a little. "What is it?" I asked, heart suddenly thundering in my chest, because life, man. Life fucking turns on a dime. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to put you on speaker, okay?" Otter said into the phone, and I didn't think I'd ever seen his eyes so wide. He pulled the phone away from his ear and punched a button on the screen. He set it down on the counter and held his hand out for me.

I was at his side in a second, gripping him tightly.

I looked down at the phone.

The screen said MEGAN.

Oh, Bear, it whispered. Here we go again. Just when you thought—

"Can you hear us?" Otter asked, voice tremulous.

"Yes!" a bright and cheery voice said. "Hi, Bear!"

"Hi, Megan," I managed to say. "What's going on?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Except for one little thing. And seriously, you guys, this is such a breach of protocol because this should be coming from the clinic, but you know what? I just tried calling the specialist and got voicemail, so when you hear from her, you totally need to act surprised, okay? I don't want to end up on some banned surrogate list, because you know they exist. So you have to act surprised."

"About what?" Otter said. "Are you—" His voice broke as he squeezed my hand.

"I hope you're ready," Megan Ridley said. "Because I took a pregnancy test this morning. And then I took a second one. And then, just because I could, I took a third one, and guess what? I'm pregnant. Bear. Otter. You guys are having a baby. It worked."

Life turns. It turns and turns and turns.

But sometimes, it turns for the better.

# PRESENT

What matters is to live in the present, live now, for every moment is now.

—Sai Baba

# 6. Where Bear Attends the Most Awkward Homecoming Ever

"SHE'S DEAD," Isabelle McKenna says. "Mom. She's dead and I have nowhere else to go and Ty said if I needed help to find him and I need help! I need help so bad." Her chest hitches, and it's that, that little action, a little girl on the verge of tears standing in front of me, looking up at me like I'll have all the answers that causes my knees to buckle.

And for the first time in my life, my little sister launches herself into my arms. The weight of her reminds me so much of Ty that I can barely breathe around the lump in my throat. She sobs bitterly against my chest. The blood roars in my ears.

You and me. That'll never change, Papa Bear.

But it will, won't it?

It already is.

"Twins," Otter says from somewhere behind us. He sounds just stupid with awe, and through the haze, I am barely grasping what he's saying. "Jesus Christ. We're having twins?"

WELL.

Okay, then.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck—

THE DOORBELL rings again a couple of hours later and startles the shit out of Otter and me from where we are staring blankly in the kitchen, my little sister sleeping in Tyson's bed somewhere above us, freshly washed and fed. Her eyes had closed the moment her head hit the pillow, Otter and I standing above her, unsure of what the hell else to do aside from closing the door behind us and walking back down the stairs to the kitchen, where we stood now, both of us uttering a word or two but unable to follow it up with anything coherent. There are things we should be saying, things we should be doing, but for the life of me, I can't find the words to actually say any of it.

So when the doorbell rings, we both jump, laughing weakly at ourselves, but then almost knock each other over as we run for the door.

Otter wins, only because he accidentally knocks me against the wall near the living room.

He even looks vaguely apologetic as he opens the door.

Megan Ridley stands on the porch of the Green Monstrosity, smiling a little nervously at the sight of us. "Hey, guys," she says, and I swear her stomach is twice as big as it'd been when we saw her two weeks before.

And we probably don't help her nerves by standing there, blocking the doorway, staring directly at her belly.

"Did I break you both?" she asks, laughing a little.

"Um," Otter says. "No."

"Maybe," I blurt out. "Just—are you sure?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, so a little broken. Okay, I can deal with that. Are you going to let me in? The color of your house is hurting my feelings, and it's hot out. Like, I have boob sweat right now, okay? And I just drove an hour to get here to make sure you two weren't freaking out, given the sounds you were making on the phone. But seriously, you have lived here how long and you've never thought about changing the color? I may have to keep both of the babies."

We gape at her.

Her eyes widen. "Oh my god, that was just a joke. I'm not going to keep them. I swear! These twins are yours. I'm just an incubator."

"Twins," Otter says faintly.

"I have powerful sperm," I announce to no one in particular. "Super sperm. I am so damn fertile. Why did I never know that about myself?"

"Okay," Megan says slowly. "Let's move this inside. I wasn't kidding about the boob sweat." And with that, she shoves her way between us, both of us recoiling with a hiss as we accidentally brush against her stomach. "Oh boy. This is going to be hysterical. I wish I hadn't left my phone in the car so I could record this."

Otter shuts the door, and we both trail after her as she starts prodding and poking at everything she can get her hands on.

I try to remember my manners. "Can I take your coat?" I ask.

"She's not wearing a coat," Otter whispers fiercely. "It's summer."

"Well, I don't know what else to say! It was either that or offer her salmon, because I read it's good for pregnant women, but we don't have any salmon. And whose fault is that, hmm? Oh, I don't know, maybe yours? You were just at the store yesterday. You couldn't have picked some up to prepare for situations just like this?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to buy salmon! You made the damn shopping list for this party, not me! And who the hell prepares for situations like this? Name one other person you know who has gotten a phone call that their unborn child has magically turned into two unborn children."

"Jesus, Otter, it's not magical. It's science. Even I know that."

"It was a figure of speech!"

"Magical babies is a figure of speech? That doesn't even make sense. Who do you think you are? Me? Because I would have gotten the salmon!"

"Oh, that's okay," Megan says easily. "The smell of fish is not doing anything for me right now. Believe me, you don't want to see projectile vomiting. It's... disgustingly athletic. And I'm mostly past the morning sickness, so I'd like to keep it that way. I wouldn't say no to some yogurt right now. Maybe some walnuts, if you have them. And what party are you having? I like balloons. You guys have a lot of balloons." She squints adorably up at the banner stretched out across the living room. "Welcome Home, Tyson! Oh! That's right. He's coming home today. Oh shoot. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just thought—"

I hadn't even seen Otter disappear, but suddenly he's standing next to me with a handful of walnuts and a container of Greek yogurt. "Here," he says dumbly, thrusting them out at her.

She cocks her head at him. "Thank you." She holds out her hand and doesn't even flinch when he drops the walnuts onto it, some of them sticking to Otter's palm. She takes the yogurt from him with her other hand and frowns down at it. "No spoon?"

"You forgot the spoon?" I ask, horrified. "How dare you! She is giving us two magical babies and you can't even get her a spoon!"

Otter pales again. "I forgot. I can't believe I forgot the spoon. We're having twins, and I just grabbed nuts and yogurt and didn't even bring a spoon. I'm going to be a terrible father."

"Okay," Megan says. "It's fine. I have fingers. And a handful of walnuts. This is good for now. Why don't we all just take a seat? My ankles are sore, and that couch looks comfortable."

"I can rub your ankles!" I say. "Like, massage them and stuff. I learned how!"

"On the internet," Otter tells her. "He looked it up on the internet. He's learning how to use it."

"You two are so cute," she says with a grunt as she sinks down on the couch.

We trail after her helplessly. Once she's seated, we stand above her. She sighs and nods toward the other couch. "Sit. Hovering isn't going to help."

We sit immediately on either side of her, crowding in as close as we can.

She sighs. "Other couch, guys. Boob sweat."

We scramble to the other couch, and I feel a savage satisfaction as Otter trips on the rug. Serves him right for knocking me into the wall when going for the door earlier, the bastard.

We stare at her as we sit down.

She daintily dips her finger into the yogurt and then into her mouth before she groans. "God, that's so good. Like, so good. It's weird, you know? I hate yogurt, except for when I'm pregnant. Babies make your body do the strangest things."

"Babies," Otter says weakly.

"As in plural," I whisper.

"Plural," she agrees, munching on a walnut. "This didn't happen the first pregnancy. That would have been hysterical, though. That couple was a little more... high-strung, than the two of you."

"I really don't believe that," Otter says, side-eyeing me for some reason.

I ignore him. "How is this possible?"

She shrugs. "It happens. Or so my OB told me. It's not exactly common, but then the sonogram can't pick up everything right away, especially when one wants to hide behind the other. But the good news is both babies are healthy, and everything looks exactly how it should be. So there is really nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about," I repeat slowly. "We thought we were having one kid, and now you're pregnant with twins, and there's nothing to worry about."

She grins through a mouthful of yogurt. "You know when you go to the store and it's buy one, get one free? Same deal. Except it's babies. You're getting twice what you paid for!"

"That... oddly made sense," Otter says. "And I—"

"Oh, and do you want to know the sex of the other baby? You knew the first was a boy."

Our jaws both drop.

She grimaces. "Darn. I am so breaking protocol. You really can't tell the surrogacy center about this. I'll be blacklisted for life. I figure I can get pregnant three or four more times. My boyfriend likes me pregnant."

"Your boyfriend has a pregnancy kink?" I demand, outraged. "Those are my children in there."

She shrugs. "Hey, I don't judge. And neither should you. It's our thing. I'm sure you and Otter have kinks too."

"We don't," I retort. "We're very vanilla."

"I wouldn't go that far," Otter says. "I mean, we do that one thing with the—why the hell are we talking about this. You know what sex the new one is?"

The new one. Jesus Christ.

She nods, chewing on her bottom lip.

Otter and I look at each other for a long time. We hadn't planned on finding out, wanting to be surprised, but Megan, bless her heart, had accidentally let slip that we were having a boy a couple of weeks ago. It wasn't a bad thing, especially with the look on Otter's face at hearing that. And she is right here in front of us, all pregnant and everything, and we could just—

Two things happen at once.

A thump comes from upstairs.

The doorbell rings.

Megan looks up toward the ceiling. "Someone else here?"

"Yes," I say without thinking. "My estranged mother died and my little sister who I've never met before showed up on our doorstep wanting to live with us."

"And that's my parents," Otter says, craning his neck to look out the front window. "Early, as usual. Oh, by the way, can you do us a favor? We haven't told anyone you exist yet, so just... don't exist."

Megan gapes at us as we stand at the same time.

I don't even want to know what she's thinking.

"Mom, Dad," Otter says as he opens the front door. "You're early. Again."

"Oh, pish posh," Alice Thompson says breezily as she pushes her way inside. "A lady is never early. She arrives precisely when she is meant to." She kisses me on the cheek as she passes me by. She thrusts the box she's carrying into my arms. It's heavier than I thought it would be, and I almost drop it. It's loaded with a Crock-Pot filled with meatballs, and other dishes.

"We just wanted to make sure we were here before Tyson got home," Jerry Thompson said, sounding apologetic. "And those meatballs need time to cook, anyway. They're meatless. Meatless meatballs." He shakes his head. "What will they think of next?"

"You let her cook?" Otter hisses as his mother sashays toward the kitchen. "You know what happens when she does that."

Jerry snorts. "Son, if you think she needs my permission to do anything, you're not paying attention."

We follow them helplessly to the kitchen.

"Bear," Alice says. "Set the box on the counter, okay? I need to get started—hello. Who might you be?"

Megan is standing at the fridge, sucking yogurt off her finger. "Sorry," she says, sounding chagrinned. "But I really needed to get more of this. You guys sure know how to buy yogurt."

And some primal part of me feels extremely satisfied at providing for the woman carrying my brood.

I cough violently, trying to clear that thought from my head.

"It's okay," Otter says, sounding nervous. "It's—"

"I'm Megan." She sticks her hand out toward Alice, a little bit of yogurt still left on her finger. "Megan Ridley."

Alice doesn't even flinch when she takes her hand. "Alice Thompson. This is my husband, Jerry. And you, my dear, are pregnant."

Her eyes widen a little as she glances at Otter and me before looking back at Alice. "Uh, yes? Yes. I am... so pregnant."

Another thump comes from upstairs.

We all look up at the ceiling.

The doorbell rings.

"That's just my little sister, who I met for the first time today," I told Alice and Jerry hastily. "Excuse us. We have to get the door."

"That's your what?" Alice calls after us.

"I sneezed and stuff came out onto my hand," JJ says as soon as we open the door. He holds his hand up, and sure enough, there is stuff on it.

"Dude, you are so gross," Creed says, sounding proud, a Baby Bjorn attached to his chest, AJ's eyes wide and bright. He looks like a little Creed, and I'm sure Anna just loves it.

"JJ," Anna scolds. "Give me your hand so I can clean it."

"But I don't want you to clean it," he says. "I want to keep it."

"Sorry," Creed says, though he's grinning. "Kids, right?"

"Kids," I squeak. "As in plural. Otter, I think I'm about to die."

"You're not dying," Otter says, though he doesn't sound very sure. "I promise."

Anna narrows her eyes at us as she fights JJ to wipe the remnants of his sneeze off his hand. "What's going on?"

"Today is weird," I say, sounding slightly manic. "Like, you don't even know how weird. I'm pretty sure I'm dying."

"He's not dying," Otter insists. "He wouldn't dare leave me now."

AJ screeches, waving his chubby fists in the air.

"Is that my grandchildren I hear?" Jerry says from somewhere behind us.

"Grandpa!" JJ shrieks, pulling away from Anna and knocking against our legs as he pushes between us. "Mom wouldn't let me keep my sneeze ghost!"

"I don't even know what that means," Jerry says cheerfully. "But your grandma made cookies. We should go see if we can steal one."

"As long as they aren't oatmeal raisin," JJ says. "Because those are the worst."

"They are Tyson's favorite, and this is his surprise party," Jerry reminds him.

"His parties are gross," JJ says. "We always have to eat food that looks like my sneeze ghosts."

"Ah, things make much more sense."

"You guys both look like you're freaking out," Creed says as Otter shuts the door behind him. He opens his mouth to speak again, but before he does, he covers AJ's ears. Satisfied, he says, "Is it some weird sex thing? Did Mom and Dad walk in on you guys doing something super gay? Like decorating and rimming at the same time?"

Anna sighs. "I don't think that's a thing they do."

"What?" Creed says. "Of course it is. It's not that hard. Oh joy, this two-hundred-dollar throw pillow looks so good on the chaise lounge that I'm currently bent over while you lick my butthole. See? Even I can do it." He frowns. "The impression, that is. I can't actually decorate. And when we tried rimming, you—"

"This is probably not the time to discuss any of this," Anna says, voice sticky sweet.

"Right," Creed says. "I could totally use a beer."

"It's two thirty."

"Hey, I took the day off today so we could be here. And tomorrow is Saturday. There has never been a more appropriate time for day drinking."

We follow them into the kitchen.

JJ is shoving cookies into his face, a pile of raisins on the counter.

Jerry is doing the same thing.

Megan's eating walnuts, not looking concerned that she's been cornered by Alice, whose eyebrows are high on her forehead.

"Mom," Creed says. "Dad. Spawn of my loins." JJ waves at him. "And pregnant lady who I do not know."

"Hi!" Megan says. "I'm Megan."

Anna's eyes widen a little before she turns to look at me and Otter. "Is she...? You didn't—is that—"

Another thump comes from overhead.

The doorbell rings.

We all look at the ceiling.

"Mom dead," I say, pulling Otter out of the kitchen. "Never-before-seen little sister."

"What?" Creed and Anna yelp at the same time.

We hear JJ sneeze before he shouts, "Sneeze ghost! And you brought oatmeal. Dad, look."

Stephanie and Ian Grant stand on the porch of the Green Monstrosity, carrying four bottles of wine.

"I love you both so much," I tell them fervently. "Like, so hard. You don't even know."

"See?" Ian says to his wife. "That's how you greet a guest. People these days don't know how to have class anymore. We love you too, Bear."

Stephanie eyes us both curiously. "Why are you both so sweaty? Is everything all right?"

"I don't even know anymore," Otter says honestly. "I'm convinced this is nothing but a fever dream."

"You do look awfully pale," Stephanie says, reaching up to feel Otter's forehead. "Are you sure you're not coming down with something?"

"Holy shit!" I hear Creed shout from somewhere behind us. "Dude, you look exactly like the Kid and Bear did when they were little. You're like... you're like a girl Bear and Ty."

"Oh no," I moan before I grab a bottle of wine out of Ian's hand and turn back toward the kitchen.

Isabelle McKenna is standing at the edge of the kitchen, eyeing everyone warily. She's wearing one of Ty's old shirts (DROPPING FRESH BEETS) and a pair of cutoff sweats that we'd cinched at her waist. Her eyes are a little puffy, and her hair is in disarray. She looks a little relieved when she sees me, and that causes my heart to stutter in my chest.

Creed looks a little shocked. "Dude," he says. "She looks like—"

"I know," I say, setting the wine bottle on the counter. "Someone open that and pour me a glass now."

"Day drinking," Creed says to Anna. "If Bear gets to do it, then I should be able to."

"You okay?" I ask my little sister, unsure of what I should be doing. I reach out and awkwardly pat her on the shoulder. "There, there."

She rolls her eyes. "Gosh, I'm reassured now. Thanks so much for that. Who are all these people?"

"Oh, um. I guess... they're your family?"

She looks a little taken aback by that. "My what?"

"Wow, so I didn't think we would do this now, but here we are." I take a deep breath. "Family, this is Isabelle McKenna. My little sister. Izzie, this is... everyone."

They all wave at her in unison.

"Creepy," she breathes.

"Do you like meatballs that aren't actually meat?" Alice asks her. "Because I made more than I probably should have."

And for some reason, that piques her curiosity. "Why are they still called meatballs, then?"

Alice frowns at the Crock-Pot. "I honestly have no idea. I mean, they're mushrooms made to look like meatballs, so I guess they're mushroom balls?"

"Are you all vegetarians?" Izzie asks, sounding horrified.

"Oh god no," Creed says. "That's just the Kid. But Mom has got it in her head that whenever he eats with us, we all have to eat the same crap—I mean, the delicious food my mother prepares."

"Nice save," Jerry whispers.

"I'm not a vegetable-arian," JJ says. "That's stupid. I like bacon."

Creed high-fives his son before he grimaces.

"Sneeze ghost," JJ says gleefully.

"Why has no one poured me a glass of wine?" I ask dangerously.

At least three people scramble to make it happen.

"It's a lot," Otter says, squatting down in front of Izzie. "I know. Especially after everything that's happened. And I promise you we'll figure everything out. Do you want to go back upstairs? If you do, that's okay. One of us can go with you. Or you can stay down here with us. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. And I promise I won't leave your side."

She doesn't look away from Otter, like she's sussing him out, gauging his sincerity. "I know I—" She lowers her voice before she continues. "—cried earlier, but I am already thirteen now. I'm not a child. I can take care of myself."

"Sure," Otter says easily. "And I know you do a good job of it. But whatever you want, you just let me know, and I'll make it happen, okay?"

She nods slowly. "Okay."

"Cool," he says. "Do you want—"

"Thirteen, huh?" Megan says, coming to stand next to Otter. "You're very pretty."

"I just woke up from a nap," she mutters, looking down, tugging on the shirt like she's suddenly self-conscious.

"Your braids are a little off," Megan says. "Tell you what. If it's okay with everyone, I can redo them for you. And maybe you can help me do mine, if that's all right with you. I'm moving a little slowly these days."

Izzie cocks her head at Megan. "How far along are you?"

"Twenty-two weeks."

"Oh, Bear, I am going to murder you," Anna growls from behind us.

"What?" Creed asks. "Why? What'd he do now? And who's the pregnant chick? Ow, why did you just kick me? I am holding your son. You need to get me my lawyer so I can sue you for spousal abuse."

"I'm your lawyer," she reminds him. "And you can't sue me for abuse."

"Huh," he says with a frown. "That seems like a conflict of interest."

"Is that all right with you?" Megan asks me.

"If that's what Izzie wants," I say, looking at my sister. "And hey, your clothes should be about finished in the dryer if you want to change. But no rush."

"Great," Megan says, clapping her hands. "We'll have a little girl-time. Maybe take a break from the crowd for a minute."

And Izzie doesn't hesitate as she follows Megan out of the room. She does look back over her shoulder at Otter and me, but then she's gone down the hall.

"Wine!" I demand.

Two glasses are thrust into my hands.

I suck them both down in the space of two minutes.

I set the glasses down on the counter.

Otter puts his arm around my shoulders.

Everyone is staring at us.

Except for JJ. He's found grapes from somewhere and is tossing them into the air, trying to catch them in his mouth, cackling while doing so.

Remembering my manners, I say, "Thank you all for coming to Tyson's welcome-home surprise party."

"Really," Anna says dryly. "That's what you're choosing to go with right now."

My skin feels like it's vibrating. Because yes, that is what I'm choosing to go with right now, because if I try and do anything else, if I try and explain just what the hell is going on, I'm pretty sure I will freak the fuck out.

I smile. They all flinch just a little. "I don't even know what you mean. We're all here just being... here. Everything is fine. Everyone is calm. We're all fine. Everything is just... fine."

"Translate for your husband," Creed tells Otter. "Because he sounds like a pod person, and I haven't been convinced that's not the case."

"He's fine," Otter says in that same monotone. "Everything is fine."

"Pod people," Creed whispers.

"You're all acting like someone died," JJ announces.

"That's because someone did," Anna tells him.

"Oh," JJ says. "That sucks. Dad, how many grapes do you think I could fit into my mouth at one time?"

"Sixteen," Creed says distractedly. "Dude, Bear. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say. "You don't need to worry about me."

"Bear," Alice says gently. "I know you didn't have the best—or any—relationship, but you're allowed to be upset."

"I know that," I say. "But I don't have time for it right now. The Kid is going to be—oh shit, the Kid. What the fuck am I going to say to the Kid?"

Otter puts his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs brushing along my neck. "Bear, listen to me, you gotta calm down, okay? We're fine. I promise you, we're fine—"

"Fine? Fine? Otter, what the hell about any of this is fine? We woke up this morning thinking how things were going to be, and now everything is different. Do you get that? Nothing is the same! Nothing. Every time I've answered the door today, things have gotten worse. Do you know what that does to people? No one should have to answer the door five times in one day and have things get worse. My biggest issue of the day was whether or not our unborn child was going to have a tail and be a serial killer, which, why haven't you disproved that? Why have you not offered me solid evidence that's not going to happen? And now we're having twins? Otter, what if both of them have tails? What are we going to do? We can't sell them to a traveling circus, because that's wrong. And I don't even know if there are traveling circuses anymore! But we only have three more months to try and find one if that's what we want to do, because there are at least six hundred people in my kitchen right now, and every one of them could become victims to our unborn serial killer twins with tails. And the laws of horror movies say that the pretty one goes first, and you know that would be me! I mean, you're hot and everything, and so are Creed and Anna, but I'm the pretty one, Otter. Our children will come for me first, and they'll stand in the hallway wearing old-timey clothes and bow ties and their tails will be twitching and then I'll be murdered. And what about Izzie? What's she going to do then? You would be a single parent to three kids, because you know we're going to do everything we can to keep her. I don't fucking care what we have to do, and no, I'm not fucking sad that my mother is dead, because fuck her. Fuck Julie McKenna for everything. Because we were fine. We were fine. And now I have to tell my little brother that the woman who didn't give two shits about him is dead, and that he is going to be an uncle to traveling-circus children, and we only have one crib! One crib. We're having twins. We have to get two of everything now. Why do I have to have such potent sperm? Out of all the things that could have happened to me, why do I have to be pretty and have powerful spunk?"

"Did everyone follow that?" Otter asks, never once looking away from me.

"I... think so?" Alice says slowly. "Megan... she's... she's your surrogate." She sounds like she's just awed by the thought.

"Yes," Otter says. "She is. And she's now twenty-two weeks pregnant. With twins. Something we just found out about today. The twins part. Not the pregnancy part. It was supposed to be a surprise, but. Well. Bear's had a very trying day, so I don't blame him."

"Right," Creed says. "But what about the part with circuses and serial killers—ow, babe, you really should stop kicking my shins. You know I bruise easy."

"Then stop talking about the circus," Anna says.

"Bear started it—ha, you missed me!"

A phone chimes.

Otter sighs and pulls it from his pocket, still keeping one hand on me, as if the touch alone was enough to keep me from falling apart. And I really think it is. He's always done that for me. He's always put up with my shit, no matter how fucking stupid I sounded.

"I love them," I tell him, needing him to know. "We don't even know them yet, but I love them. I want to keep them. With you. I don't want to sell them at all. Even if they try and murder me."

"Because you're the pretty one," Otter says, pulling me forward and kissing my forehead. "We'll keep them. I think we're probably past the return-by date, anyway."

"Did Otter just make a dad joke?" Creed mutters. "Because I swear to god that was a dad joke. And that totally makes sense now."

"I'm so proud," Jerry says to no one in particular. "I have so many of those to share."

"You never shared them with me," Creed says.

Otter glances down at his phone as I lay my head on his shoulder. He tenses slightly before sighing. "Shit," he mutters.

God, what now?

He holds the phone up in front of my face.

There's a text message on the display from Dom.

We're about ten minutes out.

"Shit," I breathe.

# 7. Where Bear Tells Tyson Everything

I'M WAITING on the porch when a truck pulls up in front of the Green Monstrosity towing a large camper trailer behind it. The windows are tinted, but I know who's inside, and I'm simultaneously wanting to run toward them and away at the same time.

The truck switches off, and there's a moment when nothing happens.

Then the passenger door opens and he's running toward me, a grin on his face.

My heart stutters a little in my chest, and I take a step forward, and then another, and then another. He's up the steps and colliding with me only a moment later, his hands wrapped around me, and he's laughing, okay? He's laughing, and it's a sound I haven't heard in a very long time, happy and carefree. When he left here, when he put Seafare at his back, he still wasn't the person I remembered. He was getting there, and I knew he'd do it, even then, but he still wasn't... there.

But here he is, and he's laughing, that high-pitched noise he makes when he's really excited or finds something really funny. I grip him tightly, and his hands find the back of my hair and he's babbling in my ear like he'd done when he was just a little guy, talking about the things he's seen, like the world's largest ball of twine and something called Carhenge, and how they were in the middle of nowhere New Mexico and they saw a meteor shower, the brightest one he'd ever seen, and it's been amazing.

I don't let him go for the longest time.

He seems to be okay with that.

But it can't stay like this, no matter how much I want it to, and I know it's going to hurt. I know it will, because even though I said I was fine, I don't know that I am. And I curse her in my head for fucking with us one last time. For doing something to us yet again, even if she's gone.

There's another hand on my shoulder, and I know who it is, because I would always know.

He understands me almost as much as my brother does.

I let Tyson Thompson go, and he's taking a step back, dark eyes bright. His skin is flushed, and he's grinning at me. "Hey," he says.

"Hey, yourself," I say back.

And then I'm shoved out of the way so he can hug Otter too.

Dominic Miller stands at the bottom of the stairs, a soft smile on his face. A little version of him stands beside him, holding on to his big hand.

"Bear," Dom says in that gravelly voice of his.

I walk down the steps and hug him too. He seems surprised but leans down a little to hug me back. Ben ignores us both.

"He's going to need you, I think," I mutter, no matter how much it pains me to say so. "Shit hit the fan."

Dom tenses. "How?" He lifts his chin from my shoulder, and I know he's looking up at Ty, who is talking excitedly with Otter.

"She's dead."

He doesn't even ask who. "How?"

"Heart attack."

"Isabelle?"

"Inside."

He grunts and pulls away. "I'll call Stacey. Have her pick up Ben."

"I'm sorry."

He arches an eyebrow at me. "For?"

"Bringing this on you. Again."

He shakes his head. "I'd do almost anything for him. You know that."

And yeah, I do. It's taken me a long time to accept that, a long time to trust Dom and his place in Ty's life. And maybe that's been unfair on my part, but I couldn't help it. For the longest time, Ty was the center of everything, and it hurt to see that someone else could care for him better than I could. Things changed, and they're changing again.

"You're a good guy," I tell him.

He squints at me. "How many glasses of wine have you had?"

"Okay, Officer," I growl. "Only two."

"Uh-huh. Everyone inside?"

"Yeah."

He nods before bending down to pick up Ben and settle him in the crook of his elbow. Ben yawns and lays his head down on his dad's shoulder, watching me without speaking.

"Hey, Ben," I say, smiling quietly.

Ben doesn't say anything, but then I don't expect him to. I haven't seen him in a couple of months, and it always takes him time to get used to everyone again.

Dom's up the stairs, pausing next to Ty. He leans down and whispers something in his ear. Ty listens, but his expression doesn't change. He's still smiling, and he nods when Dom straightens back up. He kisses Dom's jaw, just once, and Dom rubs his hand over the back of his head.

And then Dom's inside, the door closing behind him.

"We just going to stand on the porch?" Ty asks. "Or are we going to go inside and have me act surprised for the party I'm not supposed to know we're having."

I smile weakly. "How'd you know?"

"The cars in the driveway," he says as if I'm stupid. "And it's almost my birthday, and I'm coming home for the first time in almost six months." His eyes widen a little. "Is there a jumping castle in the backyard? Because if there is, you two cannot do anything gross in it. I didn't just drive across the country to watch you two mack all over each other."

"Mack," I say, my distaste evident. "Kids these days. Mack."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, what are we waiting for? Look, here's the surprised face I'll make." His jaw drops, and he looks terribly surprised. "For me? You really, really should have."

And he's happy. God, he's so fucking happy.

I hate her now more than I ever have.

"We gotta talk, Ty," Otter says. "Some stuff came up. But after that, yeah. We can go inside and act surprised."

Ty's smile fades just a little. "What happened now? Is everyone okay?" He looks over his shoulder toward the house, as if he can see through the door. His hands are curling into fists at his sides. He's not breathing heavy, but it could get there. So, so easily.

But maybe it won't. I have to remind myself that he's not as fragile as he once was. Neither of us are. We are stronger than most people ever gave us credit for. Sure, we shattered sometimes, but we always found ways to put ourselves back together. I have to trust him to be okay, because he's shown he can stand on his own. There'd been late-night phone calls—though they'd been rare—while he'd been gone. When he needed to hear my voice. Or Otter's voice. Or to just talk something through. But his panic attacks, while not cured because they probably wouldn't ever be, are sparse things now. He takes care of himself. He knows how to breathe.

"It's okay," I say, because in the end, I hope it will be. These are nothing but the bumps in the road. "Everyone here in Seafare is just fine. No one is hurt or sick or anything like that."

He nods tightly. "But then why do you—" He shakes his head, laughing a little bitterly. "It's still something, though. Because it always is."

"Some of these things can be good," Otter tells him. "Though it might take some time to figure out how to see them that way."

He looks at Otter for a long moment before he turns back to me. "It's her, isn't it? She's done something again. Is Izzie—oh god, please tell me Izzie's okay. She's just a little girl, Bear. Please tell me she's—"

"She's fine," I say, overriding him. "Izzie is fine."

He narrows his eyes. "How do you know?"

"Because she's here."

He makes a hurt sound, and there's actual fear on his face. "Is—Mom... is she here—"

"No," I say from the bottom of the stairs. "She's not here. And she won't be. She won't ever be. She can't touch you or me or Izzie ever again."

He nods. His face crumples just a little. He takes a stuttering breath. And then he says, "Is she dead?"

Oh, it whispers. This. This. We've been here before, haven't we? Do you remember that, Bear? He was so tiny the last time he asked you that question. He was sitting on your lap and looking at you with those wide eyes of his. And he asked you if she was dead, and you choked on it, didn't you? You just choked. And he'd asked you what was going to happen to him, didn't he? That he was just a little guy, that he wasn't as big as you, and what was going to happen to him? Do you remember that? I do.

Of course I remember.

I remember everything.

Otter had been there too, and his big hands had gone to the Kid's face, and he'd told him that he knew it was scary but that Tyson would always have someone there to take care of him. Anna. And Creed. Their parents. And Otter too, though he'd end up breaking that promise for a little while. But I haven't blamed Otter for that for a very long time.

So I say, "Yeah, Ty," because it's the only thing I can say. And I've said it out loud before multiple times in the previous hours, but this is the first time it's actually felt real. Not when Izzie was in my arms, not when our family gathered in the kitchen. But here.

This moment.

It's real.

And I'm relieved. God help me, but I'm relieved.

Because after this moment, she will never hurt us again.

I should have had more faith in Tyson.

Because he doesn't break apart like I thought he would. His face scrunches up, and he's breathing harshly in through his nose and out through his mouth like he's fighting whatever it is that claws at his chest and throat and restricts his air. He's fighting against it right in front of me, and though I want to charge up those stairs and shelter him from everything, I don't. I wait, because I have to trust him. With everything we're facing ahead, I have to trust him.

His eyes are wet when they focus on me again. "Okay," he says. "What do we do next?"

SURPRISE, EVERYONE says when we go into the house.

They try. They really do.

Surprise, surprise, surprise.

He smiles at them. He hugs them. But he's distracted.

Izzie's in the living room. She's dressed in her clothes, now washed and clean. She's on her knees in front of Megan—and shit, I'd forgotten about her, and oh my fucking god I have two fucking children on the way—while her hair is being braided with deft fingers.

But the moment she sees Ty, she's up on her feet, wincing a little as Megan accidentally pulls on her hair. She all but launches herself across the floor and onto Tyson, eyes squeezed shut, hands wrapped tightly around his shoulders, knees digging into his sides. She's trembling, and Ty's hand is in her hair. He's whispering in her ear that he's got her, and it's okay, kid, you're okay now, see? You did good by coming here, you did good by coming to find me.

She only nods furiously, refusing to let him go.

He hasn't talked to her in close to a year.

He'd only been with her fifteen minutes max.

But here they are like they've known each other all their lives.

I don't know how I feel about that.

"Stacey's on her way," Dom murmurs from next to me, Ben in his arms. "How'd it go?"

"As good as it could have," Otter says quietly.

I shake my head. "Better than that. He's... calmer. Than he was before. Even at Christmas, there was still that edge to him. But he's... different."

Dominic snorts. "I wouldn't go that far. I just spent a week in the car with him. He still talks as much as he always has. He's jittery and can't focus on one topic before jumping onto another."

"But you follow him," I say.

"Always," Dom says, sounding fond. "He's like that little ant. Helmholtz Watson. It's inevitable, you know."

I don't know exactly what he means, but I nod anyway. "It's... good. I think. He's good."

"She looks like you. The both of you."

I sigh. "I know. Like, there's absolutely no question she's a McKenna. We all have different fathers, but... I don't know. It's weird."

He chuckles quietly. "I don't think it's a bad thing. Say what you will about Julie McKenna, but she made some pretty people."

"Ha," I say to Otter. "I told you I'm the pretty one."

"And you never hear me disagreeing with that," Otter says.

And then things get a little weird.

Ty sets Izzie down, and she wipes her eyes furiously. She's obviously embarrassed, glancing at the rest of us gawking at her, flushing brightly and staring down at her feet. Ty rubs the top of her head, and she's tense but allows it for some reason. After I'd found her on the porch of the Green Monstrosity—after that initial hug—she'd been wary of Otter and me. Not because of anything we'd done. No, she'd looked exactly like I remember myself looking anytime I saw my reflection after she left. She looked exactly like the Kid did almost the entire time we were in New Hampshire. She'd made herself hard and stony, not letting anyone see weakness.

And here she is, having cried for the second time in the space of a few hours.

I wouldn't be surprised if she acted like a little shit for the rest of the day.

I wouldn't blame her if she does.

But all that gets pushed to the side when Ty says, "Who're you?"

And Megan Ridley says, "Hi. Hello, you must be Tyson. I've heard so much about you."

Ty takes Izzie by the arm and pulls her behind him, like he's shielding her from Megan, and it's ridiculous, it really is, because Megan is literal sunshine. She's bright and funny and radiant, and she's smiling at him, though it's starting to falter a little.

"Did you bring her here?" Ty asks, voice a little harsh. "How are you related to her? You don't get to hurt her, you hear me? You don't get to—"

"Tyson," Otter snaps.

Voices die in the kitchen as everyone starts to listen in.

The Kid looks back at us, eyes narrowed. "Who is she?"

I'm shocked to the point of speechlessness, so Otter says, "She has nothing to do with Izzie. And you should consider watching your tone with her. You've never been rude like this, so don't think of starting now."

This is the absolute worst possible time to be getting turned on. But Otter parenting is apparently a kink of mine, so there's really nothing I can do about that. I want him to whisper dad jokes in my ear.

"Bear?" Ty asks me.

"Right," I say roughly, forcing myself to look at the Kid rather than climb my husband like a tree. I need to be serious right now and not think about Otter grounding our future children because they'd talked back to us, and then later, I'd ground the fuck out of him—

"Oh god," Ty groans. "He's doing that thing. Bear, gross. Stop it."

"What thing?" Izzie asks. "Why is his face all red?"

Dom takes a step away from me, Ben's head on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," I say with a glower, even though I can feel the smugness just radiating from Otter.

"There are children present," Ty says. "God, man, have you no shame?"

"Is this a sex thing?" Izzie asks. "Because if it is, I never want that to happen to me. It looks terrible."

"That's our baby momma," I blurt out, trying to get the attention off me. "I knocked her up real good with my superhuman sperm."

Otter sighs next to me, like he's extraordinarily put out. He can be such a drama queen sometimes.

The Kid's eyes bulge. "She's your what?"

"Surprise," I say, doing jazz hands for reasons I don't quite understand.

"Is this what it's normally like here?" Izzie asks him. "Because if it is, I know what I want to do my thesis on when I get to college." At least she isn't crying anymore.

"You did what?" Ty demands, like he's starting to get a little angry.

"I didn't actually sleep with her," I say, trying to defuse the situation. "She's our surrogate."

His face stutters a little bit. "Your surrogate. Since when?"

"I'm twenty-two weeks along," Megan says cheerfully, like she's completely incapable of reading a room. Which, to be fair, she probably is. I told Otter after we'd met with her for the second time that I thought she lived in a bubble where everything was perfect and wonderful all the time and that I assumed she skipped everywhere she went.

"Yeah," Otter had said. "I think she'll do too."

Because he'd known exactly what I was trying to say. She's just... happy, one of those people with the very rare quality of never letting anything get them down. It should be annoying, but it works for her. Add in the fact that she's essentially giving us everything we could have asked for, and Otter and I practically worship the ground she walks on. I've never seen her upset or angry about anything.

And even now, in the face of an awkwardly tense moment, she's smiling and earnest, like she doesn't care (or possibly get) that this might end up being one gigantic clusterfuck of a situation.

"Six months," the Kid repeats. "You've known about this for almost six months. And when were you planning on telling me?"

"Today," Otter says calmly. "We were planning on telling everyone today. No one knew, Kid, aside from Megan, Bear, and me."

"And you thought it'd be a good idea to invite her here now?" the Kid asks incredulously. "With everything that's happening?"

"Tyson," Dom warns. "You might want to take a step back and cool off."

"Actually," I say, grinding my teeth together. "Megan, can you do me a favor and take Izzie into the kitchen? I think JJ didn't eat all the cookies, and I'm pretty sure Izzie would want one. Dom, can you help them out?"

Dom looks like he's going to argue, but Otter shakes his head at him, and he sighs, hoisting Ben a little higher. "Mustelidae," Ben mutters in that flat voice of his. "Ursidae."

"That's right," Dom says quietly, kissing his son on the forehead. "That's Mustelidae and Ursidae."

Otter pushes past the Kid and helps Megan to her feet. She smiles gratefully at him. "It's only going to get better from here," she says. "Ankles swollen, stretch marks, the whole nine yards. You guys are gonna love it."

"We'll talk in a little bit," Otter says. "And I apologize for Tyson's rudeness. He knows better than that."

"It's okay," Megan says, patting Otter's arm. "It's a lot, I know. Twins will do that to anyone. I mean, look how you guys reacted."

"Twins?" the Kid says, voice high-pitched.

"Oops," Megan says. "That was my bad."

"I need a pen and paper," Izzie says, staring at Megan. "I have to start taking research notes. I mean, I already have a vague idea how I'm going to argue my thesis, but it's best if I start preparing now."

"You can use my tablet," Otter tells her. "It should be in the kitchen next to the pile of mail."

She gapes at him. "You have a tablet? I've never gotten to use one before. We couldn't afford—" She blanches and averts her eyes. "I've just never gotten to use one before."

"You can use it all you want," Otter reassures her. "Ask Creed for the password. It's already set up on the Wi-Fi too. Just don't be looking up anything you shouldn't."

She rolls her eyes, looking so much like the Kid that my heart breaks a little. "Please. I have better things to do than to look up pornography."

I choke a little at that.

Megan holds out her hand toward Izzie, but for a moment, the Kid looks like he's not going to let her go. Then Dom clears his throat pointedly, and Ty grumbles a little under his breath but drops Izzie's hand.

"We could look up some baby stuff," Megan tells her as she pulls her toward the kitchen.

"Oh my god," I hear Izzie say. "You are such a girl."

"You're going to listen to them, okay?" Dom tells Ty. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

Tyson ignores him, choosing instead to scowl at his feet.

"Tyson," Dom says sharply.

He sighs and looks up. "Yeah, I hear you."

Dom nods. "I expect you to be calm and levelheaded about this, you get me? This isn't about you, so don't try and make it that way."

The Kid nods tightly.

Dom lingers for a moment longer before heading toward the kitchen, where conversation has resumed. They were speaking loudly, like they were trying to give us as much privacy as possible. I appreciated it, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Otter's watching me, waiting for me to start. I know he's going to follow my lead, and I appreciate the hell out of him for that. I'm angry, and rightly so, but I don't want to open my mouth until I can be sure I won't say anything I can't take back. I may still talk too much, and ninety-five percent of what comes out of my mouth is still bullshit, but I'm not that same person I was the days when we lived in that shitty apartment with the splintered steps. When I'd worked at the grocery store, worrying about how we were going to pay rent or if the piece of crap car I'd had would start or if I would open the door one day and she'd be standing there, saying that she was sorry and she was ready to come back and could I get her a couple of fingers of Jack? Two ice cubes, because that's how she liked it. And were there any smokes left? They'd probably be stale, but she'd still smoke them. It'd be fine.

And you worried, it whispers. Didn't you? You worried that you'd fuck him up more than he already was. Because even back then, even before she left, you knew he wasn't normal. And what were you going to do about it? Oh, that's right! You were going to leave him with her. Do you remember that, Bear? You had plans. You were going to go off to college with your bright eyes and your big dreams, and you were going to leave him behind. Would you have felt bad about it? Maybe. But that relief you would have felt would have eclipsed it. Right? And when you'd come back to visit, you'd feel bad, you really, really would, but then you'd remember that you got to leave again, and you'd feel better. How different things could have been!

I couldn't do this here. The room felt too warm, the murmur of the voices in the kitchen too loud.

"Bear?" Otter asks, and he sounds a little worried.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Let's go out back."

He nods and reaches out to take my hand. I squeeze it gratefully, letting it ground me. It's familiar, this, and I take it for all that it is.

There's a sliding door out the living room that leads to a side yard that wraps around to the back. There used to be a chain-link fence that surrounded the house, a cheap thing that shook and rattled when it was windy. Otter had gotten rid of it a long time ago, replacing it with a six-foot-tall wooden fence. Our neighbors had tried to give us shit, but Otter had glared at them, crossing his arms over his chest. They hadn't said much after that.

There's a deck in the back that Otter, Ty, Dom, and I built one long, hot summer when the Kid was thirteen years old. We hadn't known exactly what we were doing, and it was determined rather early on that I should never hold a hammer for any reason, but it'd turned out better than we had hoped. There were even steps that led down to stepping stones in the grass. One night, not so very long ago, Otter and I were in bed on our sides, facing each other, heads on the same pillow. We'd been whispering back and forth, and I'd been trying to get him to tell me what was on his mind because there was something, when he finally admitted that he couldn't wait until our kid was big enough so he could build a playground in the backyard for him. Maybe a tree house. And a tire swing hanging underneath. "You think that'd be okay?" he'd asked me almost shyly. "You think they'd like that?"

"Yeah," I'd whispered hoarsely, wondering again how I'd gotten so fucking lucky. "Yeah, Otter. That sounds fine. They'll love it."

But that's for later.

Now there are balloons tied along the railings to the deck and streamers fluttering in the breeze that tastes of salt. Seagulls are calling from somewhere, the sky above covered in thin clouds, pale blue poking through in bits and pieces.

There's a large table set up on the deck and another one on the grass below. The ends of the tablecloths sway back and forth, and another banner for Tyson is hung on the back of the Green Monstrosity.

"Welcome home," I say, unable to keep from sounding bitter.

The guilty look on the Kid's face should make me feel better, but it doesn't. "You did this all for me?" he asks, hands trailing along the deck railing, and it's like he's a kid again, a vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training Kid again, staring in awe at a jumping castle, tugging on my fingers and asking if this was all for him, if everyone was here for him.

"We did," Otter says, and I can see everyone moving around the kitchen through the glass doors off the deck. They're pointedly ignoring us, though I see them all taking turns sneaking a peek out at us. Izzie's sitting on the counter, feet dangling, tongue pressed between her teeth in concentration as her fingers fly over the tablet. "You were coming home. Of course we'd do this for you."

His shoulders slump, just a little. "I—I just...."

And maybe I'm angrier than I think I am, because I say, "I've done everything for you," and it comes out flat and cool.

He winces a little, picking at one of the streamers. "I know."

"Do you? Because sometimes I don't know that you do. Every decision I've made, every choice that has been put before me, I've always thought about you, even if it had nothing to do with you. You were always there. And that was okay for a long, long time. Because we made a promise to each other that it was always going to be you and me."

He shakes his head. "Maybe not the best promise to make."

"Maybe. Because it can't always be just you and me. We would have never survived that way. And it wouldn't have been fair to you. Or to me."

"I get that," he says, and his voice has an edge to that. "I know you think I'm just a kid, but I get that, Bear."

"Do you? Because here we are, and for one of the first times in my life, I've made a major decision for myself and for Otter, and yet within seconds, you started giving me shit for it."

"Maybe if you hadn't kept it from me," he says, and yeah, maybe he's got a point, but that's not what this is about. I know him too well to take his bullshit.

"So what if we did?" Otter says.

The Kid jerks his head up sharply, looking incredulous. "So what? Are you being serious right now?"

"It doesn't involve you," Otter says. "Or rather, it's not about you. You knew we were going to do this. We made that clear to you last year. And you told us that you were happy for us. That you were okay with it. So what changed?"

"Oh, I don't know, Otter. Maybe it's the fact that I come home and my mother's dead and my little sister is here and you're fucking pregnant with twins."

"I'm not pregnant," Otter reassures him. "Megan is. I thought that was obvious."

The Kid sputters at him, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing maniacally.

"You're not funny," the Kid says. "I'm serious."

"Hi, Serious. I'm Otter."

I laugh but cover it up by coughing up a lung.

I can see the Kid's lips quirking just a little, but he's trying to hold on to his anger. "Is this going to be a thing for you now? Dad jokes? Because if it is, I'm moving back to New Hampshire. I swear to god."

"Yeah," Otter says, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know why I keep doing that."

"It's the hormones," I tell them both. "Otter tells dad jokes, and I have to buy things with elephants on them. Megan is infecting us all."

The Kid sighs. "I'm an asshole."

"A little."

"I just... it's—ugh. I just don't like it when things change."

"Kicking and screaming into the future as always," Otter says.

"I just wish you'd told me."

"I get that," I say. "But what we wanted was for you to focus on yourself, which was the whole reason for you going to New Hampshire to begin with. You made that choice, and we respected that—"

"Bullshit you did. You let the air out of one of the tires on the SUV the night before I left and said I'd just have to stay."

"—respected your choice, because we knew it was the right thing for you. And think about how you're acting now, okay? Because yes, you are being an asshole, but at least you're here and being an asshole to our faces instead of across the country. I can deal with it here. I can see you. I can yell at you. I don't have to wonder what's going on while I was here and you were there. We didn't tell you because again, we were thinking of you. Even when we were making a decision for ourselves, we were still thinking of you. If anything, you're the one being unfair here. This is supposed to be good. This is what we want."

"And it's not going to change everything," Otter says.

The Kid snorts. "Yeah, I don't believe that."

"Okay," Otter says. "Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But you? Us? That's not going to change. You mean exactly the same. Nothing is going to take away from that. No one ever could."

The Kid rolls his eyes, like he thinks Otter's full of shit, but I can see it, on his face and in the way he's holding himself. When you spend half your life monitoring every little expression, every little tic because you're worried that something bad could happen, you recognize things for what they are. Because Otter has nailed it exactly. Things are changing. And that's what the Kid is worried about.

"You're fucking stupid," I tell him, instead of saying something nicer.

Otter says, "Bear—"

"Excuse me?" Ty asks, eyebrows climbing.

"No. That's what this is about. You're being fucking stupid. We're not leaving you behind, you idiot. We're not going to love you any fucking less just because we're having a kid—"

"Two kids," Otter reminds me.

"Two kids," I say and try desperately not to let that overwhelm me. "This is your home too, and it always will be."

"And Izzie?" he asks, deflecting like an expert. "What about her?"

"What about her?"

"Is this her home too?"

I blink. "Well. Yeah. It's...." I squint over at Otter. "Are we having three children now?"

Otter grins crookedly. "Just getting that now, are you?"

"I don't.... Are you fucking shitting me?"

"Oh boy," the Kid says. "Here we go."

"You know what?" I huff a breath out my nose. "No. Not even going to worry about that right now, because if I start to think about the fact that there is a little girl in our house with nowhere else to go, then I will probably start to freak out even more than I already am. So. No. Not even concerned. I'm fine. I'm fine."

They don't look like they believe me.

I hate them both. "I am. So yes. Izzie will stay here, and we'll figure it out. There's a woman inside that I've knocked up with my super jizz—"

"Do you have to keep saying it like that?" Otter asks with a wince. "Because you really don't have to keep saying it like that."

"And we're having twins now, so yes. This is your home, and our home, and Izzie's home, and home to Thing One and Thing Two—"

"Absolutely not going to call them that," Otter says. "So let's stop it now."

"—and it'll be fine."

The Kid nods. "Except."

I shake my head. "No. No except. You take your except and you shove it."

"Except this is a three-bedroom house," Otter says, picking up on what the Kid was going for. "And we've already made a nursery."

"That better not have been my room," the Kid says with a scowl. "I had so many important things in there."

"Bullshit you did," I say. "You don't need a PETA handbook from 2002. Or that poster of Anderson Cooper I caught you kissing when you were twelve."

"You swore we'd never talk about that again!"

"I lied!"

"I was practicing."

"For who?"

"Dom," he says smugly. "And look at where that got me."

"This is your fault," I tell Otter.

"How is it my fault?"

"You bought him that poster! If you hadn't, he'd probably still be a virgin!"

"Um, no," the Kid says. "Corey saw to that."

"I am going to murder him."

"He's not going to murder him," Otter says. "He's all talk. Most of the time."

"I bet there are plenty of places to hide a body in the desert," I say. "Like oodles of places. And then I'd—wait, how is Corey, by the way?"

The Kid shrugs. "Good. We thought we were going to see each other over spring break, but that weird guy Paul he's friends with was getting married, so he stayed there for that. Maybe I'll go see him before I have to go back to school in the fall."

I blank a little on the name. "Paul? Isn't he the one you don't want me to meet for reasons you won't explain to me?"

"It's for the safety of the world," Ty says solemnly. "Trust me. It's better for all of us."

"That doesn't make sense. Why would—what the hell are we even talking about? What was the point of this?"

"The Kid was being an asshole," Otter says dutifully. "And we're having twins. And Izzie. And not enough room in the house."

"I'll keep you," I say, just because Otter sometimes needs to be reassured. And then—"Is it weird that I'm not sad right now? Because I don't know if I am."

The Kid knows. "About her."

"Yeah. Are you?"

He hesitates before shaking his head. "I—don't know. I don't know that I've processed it yet." He scrubs a hand over his face. "When did you find out about it? And when did Izzie get here?"

"Today. This morning."

"And when did you find out you were having twins?"

"At the same time."

He sighs. "Of course that's how it went. Everything all at once. I think... we're allowed. Not to be sad. Or maybe we will be, once all the shock wears off. And we'll be allowed that too. With her, I think we're allowed to feel however we want to. And no matter how we feel, it'll be the right thing. She was our mother, but she wasn't our mom. That was—" And his voice breaks a little. He clears his throat. "That was someone else. So no, Bear. It's not weird. I think it's okay."

"We'll have to deal with it," I tell him quietly. "I don't know where her... body is. Or what happened to get Izzie here." The thought that she had hitched rides all the way from Idaho scares me more than I care to admit. "But if you can't—if you can't do that, then you can just be here with Izzie while I deal with the rest."

"While we deal with the rest," Otter says, and his hand is in mine.

"Yeah," I say. "We. But I've—we've got some phone calls to make. If we...."

"You have to keep her," the Kid says suddenly. "Bear, you have to. You can't let her go. You can't let her be taken away. That's not fair. To her. To anyone. She has to stay here. I know it's a lot, that you already have—Jesus, you already have twins on the way, but you can't let her go. Promise me. And if you can't, then I'll—I'll do something about it. I'm an adult now. I can call Erica Sharp and figure something out. Get a job. And an apartment."

"Tyson."

"What?"

"Shut up. She's not going anywhere. She's here, and we're not going to let her go." I looked up at Otter. "Right?"

And because he's Otter Thompson, he says, "Right," without any hesitation at all. "But that still doesn't mean we have more room."

I shrug. "We can get bunk beds for the Kid's room. She can have the top, and he can sleep on the bottom."

"I am not sleeping on a bunk bed," the Kid says with a scowl. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Fine. The pullout couch."

"You said that was only for people you hated who stayed over at our house!" the Kid barks.

I throw my hands up. "Fine. Then where the hell are you going to sleep?"

"He could totally move in with Dominic!" a muffled voice says, sounding suspiciously like Creed.

We turn slowly toward the house.

Our entire family is pressed up against the glass doors, watching us. Izzie's standing on the island behind them, looking over their heads. Megan's off to the side, hand on her belly.

And not a single one of them looks guilty.

Some of them even wave.

Stacey's there too, and she's grinning up at Dom, jostling him a little. Dom himself looks like he's blushing, something so rare, I've only seen it a handful of times.

"He has already taken most of your stuff to his house," Otter says thoughtfully.

"He's what?" the Kid squeaks.

"And come to think of it, wasn't Ty's stuff supposed to be delivered yesterday from New Hampshire?"

How the hell had we forgotten about that? Yeah, we'd been distracted, but—

Creed makes everyone take a step back so he can open the sliding door, leaving only the screen to separate us. "Yeah," he says. "About that. Dom might have accidentally changed the address so it goes to his house."

"Accidentally," the Kid says, sounding like he's about to be apoplectic.

"Oh, I am so glad I got here just in time to see this," Stacey says gleefully. "Pregnancy, new children, and my ex-husband sneak-moving his boyfriend into his house. Hell, I may divorce my current husband just so I can marry into this family."

"Most of the men here are gay," Creed says. "It's why I always drink bottled water, so I don't catch it too. Who knows what else they put in the tap water? Fluoride? Check. Gayness? Double-check. You won't catch me that way, government!"

"You can have my husband," Anna tells Stacey.

Ian and Jerry sputter a little.

"You want me to move in with you?" Ty demands through the screen.

Dom shrugs awkwardly, suddenly finding the ceiling a very interesting thing to stare at.

"That means yes in big-guy language," Stacey says. "He thinks he's been subtle about it, but then Bear caught him trying to carry your desk down the stairs by himself a couple of months ago."

"He didn't have to threaten me with a knife," Dom mutters.

"I thought you were a burglar," I snap at him. "I mean, who does that."

"I think it's romantic," Alice says with a sigh.

"Just like out of the movies," Stephanie agrees.

"This is fun," Megan says. "I'm having a lot of fun."

"You're leaving?" Izzie says from the counter, her hands on her hips. She looks more angry than upset.

"It's just right down the road," Dom tells her, glancing over his shoulder. "And you can come over any time you want. I have a spare room, and you can spend the night sometimes."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because I want to hear the two of you having sex. I'm already messed up enough. At least if I stay here, there will be babies soon and Otter and Bear will be too tired to fornicate."

"She's going to fit right in," Creed says, sounding awed.

"Dad," JJ says. "What's fornicating?"

"When two people love each other very much—"

"I'm bored with this," JJ says. "Can I go outside now and pop the balloons? Tyson isn't using them. He told me he doesn't even like balloons."

"Man," Creed says to Anna. "His first time is going to be really awkward."

"You're pressing your five-month-old child's forehead into the screen door," Anna tells him.

"Oops," he says, taking a step back. "It's a good thing babies' heads are notoriously hard and fully developed and not soft at all. Because I would feel really bad, otherwise. Oh look, he's got little lines on his face now! He looks like a waffle."

"I want waffles," JJ demands.

"Oh, dude. Me too. I could totally go for some waffles right now. Tell you what. Once we choke down—I mean enjoy the food Grandma made, we can totally go get some waffles."

"Your food is not that gross," Jerry tells his wife.

"Are you serious?" the Kid asks, and everyone else falls quiet. "Dom, I—"

"It's going to happen," Dom says, sounding a little strangled and like he wished he wasn't doing this in front of an audience. "One day. I know it. Because I really think you're it for me. And if you're not ready, that's okay. I—I hope that you are, but if you're not—"

Tyson Thompson is the smartest person I know. His IQ is off the charts. He graduated from high school at age fifteen. He went to Dartmouth on a full scholarship. He found himself falling into a place many people couldn't find their way back out of. But he did, kicking and snarling and clawing until he made things right again.

And yeah, sure, he had help on the way.

But still.

He's intelligent and sarcastic, and I am so proud of him, even when he acts like an asshole.

That being said, Tyson Thompson is a fucking idiot.

Because instead of landing in the arms of the man he loves, he slams into the screen door that hasn't been opened in his desperation to get to Dom. He squawks as the screen splits, the door bending in its frame and snapping off.

Most had already taken a step back the moment his feet left the ground, with Creed doing this spectacular little spin away as he covers AJ's head with his hand.

The Kid ends up on the ground, halfway in and halfway out of the house, the screen door wrapped around him, the metal frame split and lying on top of him.

Silence.

Then from the ground, the Kid says, "What are the chances we never bring this up ever again?"

"Slim to none," Creed says. "When I am lying on my deathbed, my body collapsing out from under me, eyes milky with cataracts, my teeth falling out of my mouth, I will look up at you and whisper remember that time you were so hard up for Dom that you ran through a screen door. And then I will laugh at you. And then I will die. Welcome home, Kid. Anna, I am having a beer. I just saved our child's life with my dance moves, and I deserve it. Isn't that right, AJ? Yes it is. Your daddy is the absolute best at everything he does. Yes he is. Yes he is."

HE FINDS me later, once the sky has started to color orange and pink above us. There are lamps lit already, and people are talking and laughing. It's weird, really. Because I know part of me should be sad, that I should be mourning something, but I can't bring myself to do it. Not yet.

Otter's inside with Megan. She's heading back to Eugene and has promised to call us next week to make plans. We told her we'd still act surprised when the clinic called us so she won't get in trouble. "I'm a good actor," I'd told her, while Otter had laughed next to me.

And then the Kid is sitting next to me, our bare feet in the grass, toes digging in. It's a little startling, having him here again at my side. I don't know that I've quite reconciled having him back yet. I'd just gotten used to him being gone, however hard it'd been. But he's here now, and it's good. It's real good.

"Where's your shadow?"

"Inside," he says, picking at a blade of grass. "Anna told her that if she's going to be part of this family, she'll need to learn to hold a baby."

"She's okay with that?"

"The baby? No. Absolutely not. She told Anna that babies are disgusting and that if AJ leaks on her, she'll sell him on the black market."

That... sounds like someone who is related to us. Dammit. "And Anna said...."

"She just laughed and said she's obviously related to you and me."

"I wasn't talking about the baby, though."

He looks over at me, our shoulders brushing together. "I don't know how she feels yet. It's... a lot, even for me. So I can't imagine how it's going to be for her."

"I can imagine."

"Are you sure we can do this?"

"Pretty sure. We've done it before."

"Things are different now, though."

"Yeah. But I think it's better now." I take a sip from my nearly empty wineglass. "We aren't like we once were."

"Scared."

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I'm still scared. Of course I am. I woke up this morning thinking I was about to have one child. Now I probably have three."

"It's okay if you—"

"But just because I'm scared doesn't mean I can't handle it. Because we're not like we once were, Kid. We were scared then too, sure, but... we didn't have what we have now. Not in the way we do now. The others, they—okay, they were there, but I wouldn't let them in. Not for you. Not for me. Because I thought it was the only way we'd make it. I couldn't trust anyone but myself, because then I couldn't blame anyone but myself if I failed. It wasn't easy."

"Nothing worth having ever is," he says. And then, "I'm sorry."

"Okay."

"I don't get to come here and act like I did. It's not fair."

"No, you don't. And it wasn't. That was wrong, and I expect more from you. Always."

"I'll apologize to Otter too."

"See that you do."

"You mad at me?"

"I was."

"Okay."

I wrap my arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. He tugs on my fingers that dangle over his chest. He's here with me, finally. After all this time. After everything we've been through, he's here again. He's right in his head again, mostly, and he's here. There's still a bit of anger in me, but it's fading. I could never stay mad at him for very long. It's not something we do. Sure, he can irritate me like nobody else, but he's my brother. He's my family.

"I just...."

I wait.

He sighs, his head on my shoulder. "It's your life."

"It is," I agree.

"You get to make these decisions without me."

"I do."

"I don't like it. Sometimes."

"I know. But it's not about you."

"Yeah," he says. "And that's how it should be. You're kicking me out."

And that's what I think this whole thing was about. Because the Kid is an idiot, but he's not stupid. He can count. The Green Monstrosity has three bedrooms. One has been converted to a nursery that everyone oohed and aahed over earlier. The Kid's room will be Izzie's, however long she wants to use it. Which I was hoping would be for years.

That didn't leave much room for Tyson.

"Not kicking you out," I say. "There's the foldout couch."

He scowls. "Yeah. The one that feels like it's bad-touching you whenever you lay on it."

"I offered you bunk beds," I remind him.

"I'm not a kid."

"Eh. That's really not true."

"Dom wants me to move in with him."

I tense up. He feels it, he has to with my arm around him, but he waits. "I know. He hasn't been... subtle."

"I don't think he knows how. He's like Otter that way. He wants something, so he goes for it."

I sigh. "That can't possibly be healthy that we're both with guys like that. What does that say about us?"

"We have impeccable taste."

"Right. Maybe I'm not ready for you to go."

"And maybe I'm not ready for you and Otter to have kids."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"You already told him you're moving in with him?"

He nods slowly. "It's... it would have happened. Eventually. I was already planning on commuting for the classes I wasn't going to take online. And it's just down the road. I'll be over here all the time. So much so you probably will get sick of me."

I laugh quietly. "I'm already sick of you, and you've only been home a few hours. But Izzie will need it too."

"Bullshit. You love me."

"Yeah. We all have our faults, I guess."

We're quiet for a time, each of us a little lost, I think. Because things are changing, and even though I wanted it—craved it, even—it's still scary.

Then he says, "I wish she'd loved us more."

And my heart breaks at that. Because no one should ever have to go through life finding out what it felt like to have a mother's disdain. I pull him closer. "I know. Sometimes—I don't think she knew how. And that's not on you. Or me. That's on her."

"But—"

"No, Kid. There is nothing you could have done differently. There is nothing you should have done differently. This—all of this, everything that she ever was, that's on her. That's never on you. She didn't have it in her. I don't know why. Maybe she was broken. Maybe she was wired differently. Maybe she just wasn't capable of it. I don't know. But it's not on you."

"She fucked us up."

And that's hard to hear, because it's probably true. "We got past it, though, huh?"

He scoffs. "Did we? Once an addict, always an addict, Papa Bear. And my head's still a little fucked. So is yours."

"Otter says it adds to my charm."

He's trying to stay serious, but I can see the smile curving along the edges of his lips. "He's biased. So is Dom."

"Yeah. We're lucky like that."

The smile fades. "She did this to us."

"Maybe. Or maybe we did it to ourselves. And you know what? Maybe it doesn't matter. We are who we're supposed to be now. Everything that's happened to us, it's—it hasn't been easy. I know that. But we've made it through, and we're whole, Kid. We are. Things are good. Or they will be. It's scary now. I'm scared. But I also know that I want this more than anything else."

"Izzie too?"

I hesitate, but only for a moment. "If that's what she wants."

"She does," he says, sounding convinced. "Even if she doesn't say it, I know she does. She wants to be here, even if we forgot about her."

"We didn't—"

"Didn't we?"

He has a point. "There was nothing we could have done. You know that. Erica told us that. Unless there was evidence of abuse, she—"

"We have scars," the Kid says. "Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there."

I sigh. "We'll do our best, okay? That's all anyone can ask of us."

"I hate her."

He's not talking about Izzie. "You don't," I tell him. "Because you aren't capable of hating anyone. That's not who you are."

He shakes his head furiously. "I am. I can. You don't know that about me, and that's okay, but I do. I hate her, Bear. I hate her for everything she's done to me. To Izzie. To you. We could have—"

"We'll have to take care of her." And I'm not talking about Izzie either. "You know that."

He feels like he's thrumming, like everything under his skin is all electric. "We don't owe her shit."

"No. But it's the right thing to do."

"We—"

"Ty. You know it is. There's no one else."

"She wouldn't have done the same for us. You know that."

"All the more reason for us to do it. Because we're better than that."

"We don't have to be."

"We do. We will. We are."

"I hate it. I hate her."

I don't know what else to say.

"Bear?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm going to be sad now," he says, his voice breaking just a little. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, Kid. That's okay."

He cries then. It's quiet and soft, and it's only a moment later that my neck is wet. The sky is streaking further, and there's the first couple of stars appearing overhead. I watch them as a tear slowly slides its way down my cheek. It's just one, but it's more than I told myself I would ever give over her again. But it's there, and I'm the strong one. I've always tried to be. Because I'm his big brother. For the longest time, I was all he had. It's not like that anymore, and we're being pulled in different directions. It was always going to happen one day—that's the downside of inevitability. But it's here now, and though we both know I'll never let him go, I am going to have to take another step back. He'll be within reach. Always. But it's still another step away.

THE GREEN Monstrosity is quiet. It's late, and everyone has gone home. Ty has gone home too. To Dom's house. He was smiling and laughing by the time he left, and sure, we hugged a little harder than normal before he went, but Ben was on Dom's shoulders, and Ty's hand was in his when they walked down the path toward the front gate. The Kid looked back, just once, and that was it. He was gone.

Izzie's asleep, but only after wrangling a promise from Tyson that he'd come back tomorrow. "Yeah, kid," he'd said to her. "I'll be back. We got stuff to do, you know?"

She'd rolled her eyes. "And then maybe you can get the rest of your stuff out of my room. There's still a PETA poster on the wall. I don't know how you aren't embarrassed by it. I know if I were you, I'd be embarrassed. But I've never been a meatless wonder under the thrall of a terrorist organization that disguises itself by claiming to advocate for the rights of animals."

"There's three of them now," Creed moaned in the background. "Why are they like this? I already got used to Bear and Ty, and now I have to do it again?"

I thought it'd take longer for her to get used to Otter and me by the way she'd stared forlornly at the Kid as he left. But then she'd turned to us and said, "I don't have a lot of stuff. I never needed it. But I like books. I don't have money, but I promise I'll do chores or whatever you ask of me if you could get me some books."

Otter and I had been speechless before we both nodded, stumbling over ourselves in trying to reassure her.

"Like, Twilight books?" I'd asked her before glancing at Otter. "Is that what girls read these days? Twilight?"

"I think so," Otter said. "But aren't they supposed to be terrible?"

"I think most of the stuff for teenage girls is supposed to be terrible."

"We'll buy you Twilight tomorrow," Otter told her.

"Oh my god," she moaned, her face in her hands.

Otter and I high-fived, because we were already so damn good at the parenting thing.

But she must have still been exhausted, because she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. I didn't know—well, I didn't know anything about her, not really, so I fretted for a moment about whether or not to shut the door or leave the hall light on in case she needed it.

I kept the light on and left the door open a crack.

So it's quiet now. The Green Monstrosity is creaking, as it always does, and Otter's finishing up in the kitchen. I'm on the couch, trying to think about everything tomorrow will bring.

I jump when Otter's hand runs through my hair. He's standing behind the couch, and I tilt my head to look back at him.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey, yourself," I say back.

"You look like you're a little lost in your head again." He knows me.

I shrug. "It's... a lot."

"Today?"

"Yeah."

"I know. Tell you what. All of that will still be here tomorrow, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"So let's just say, for tonight, we focus on just the good. And then we can worry about the rest tomorrow."

"I don't know if it really works like that."

He traces the shell of my ear with a finger. "Probably not. But let's do it anyway."

I take a deep breath and let it out slow. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

He cups my face, fingers pressing along my jaw as he leans down and kisses me, his nose scraping my chin. He's warm and tastes like the beer he drank. It's good. Everything about him is good. "Twins," he says against my lips. "We're having twins."

I smile, and even though it makes the kiss awkward, I don't care. "Twins."

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Your super sperm."

I laugh, and he kisses my chin and my cheeks and my forehead. "Thank you," he says again, and it's fiercely whispered against me, like it's a secret. Like it's a prayer. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Life can turn on a dime.

But if you've got someone at your side, someone who holds you up when your knees go weak, someone who kisses you every time like it's the first time, there's a chance you'll make it.

I've got this.

Whatever might come, I've got this.

Because he's by my side.

He's up and over the back of the couch, landing on top of me. I complain, telling him he's too heavy. He laughs against my throat, both of us knowing I'm full of shit. And when he raises himself to rest on his elbows, thumbs tracing over my eyebrows, I tell him I love him because he deserves to hear it as much as possible.

He grins crookedly. "I know. And it's the best thing you've ever given me."

And maybe we made out on the couch after that, because I couldn't not. I dare anyone to not try and mack on his face after hearing him say such things.

Impossible. Trust me on that.

# 8. Where Bear Makes a Promise

JULIE MCKENNA had died five days before Izzie showed up on our doorstep. It was a Sunday, and she'd been at the restaurant where she'd worked as a waitress. Maybe it was the years of smoke and booze, or maybe it was just her time. She'd been carrying a tray of food, and it'd crashed to the floor when she collapsed.

A massive cardiac event, we're told when we track her to the hospital where she'd been taken. She was pronounced dead shortly after arriving. There was nothing that could have been done. The woman is apologetic over the phone, and even though I want to tell her it's nothing, I've already identified myself as her son. It wouldn't be right. She's just doing her job.

Izzie had been out for the summer already when she'd gotten the call at home. She'd been by herself. It was Mom's boss who'd told her. He'd said he was sorry, he was very sorry. Because of course he was. He was calling to tell a little girl her mother was dead. He'd asked if there was someone else he could call, someone who could come and pick her up. Someone who could stay with her.

He didn't know that there wasn't anyone else. Not in Idaho, at least.

No, she'd told him. He didn't need to do that. She'd take care of it.

And she had. The moment she'd gotten off the phone, she'd gone into the kitchen and found the tin that Julie kept a few spare twenties in. She'd loaded her backpack as full as she could while still being able to zip it closed. She'd locked the door to the house and walked three miles to the bus station. She'd said her mom was in the bathroom and that she was buying the ticket for her. She'd bought a ticket to Redmond, Oregon, as far as the money could get her. Then she'd boarded the bus, sitting at the back, clutching her backpack so no one would steal it. She'd brought five granola bars, three apples, and two water bottles.

In Redmond, she'd widened her eyes and stuck out her bottom lip and found a family willing to take her west. She'd ditched them in Mapleton, twelve miles outside of Seafare, after hearing the adults talking about calling the police. She'd walked the rest of the way until she'd stood on the doorstep of the Green Monstrosity, dirt smudged on her face, hair flat on her head, sweat beading on her top lip.

She's with Ty in the backyard when I hang up the phone with the hospital. Otter's sitting at my side at the kitchen table, his hand a heavy weight on my knee. Dom's leaning against the counter in uniform, his shift starting in another hour or so.

"Her body is still in the morgue," I say. "Because they couldn't find anyone to claim it. I don't even think anyone was looking for Izzie."

"I'll make a few phone calls when I get to the station," Dom says. "See if anyone reported her missing."

I smile gratefully at him. "Thanks. It'll help, I think."

"Any other family?"

I shake my head. "Not for us. Nobody that ever stuck around, anyway. And she says that her dad has been gone for years."

"We need to call Erica," Otter says. "Get the ball rolling. And if she can't help us, Anna will find someone that can."

"It's that easy for you?" Dom asks, sounding a little surprised.

I glance at Otter before looking back at Dom. "What is?"

"Izzie," he says. "Her, being here. Especially with—you've got twins coming."

"So?"

He shakes his head. "It's that easy for you." It's not a question this time.

"She's our sister. Of course it is."

He smiles ruefully. "Yeah. You—even after all this time, you still surprise me."

I squint at him. "What did you think we'd do? Put her out on the streets?"

He shakes his head. "'Course not. But you never thought of anything else. She was always going to stay here."

"She's our family," I tell him. "She's ours now."

"You have no idea, do you?" Dom says.

"No." Otter's smiling at me. I think I'm missing something. "He doesn't. It's one of those things. It's always been like that."

I roll my eyes. "If you're done speaking in code, we have shit to do."

They both laugh at me.

THREE DAYS later, Otter and I are an hour outside Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. My window's rolled down, and my arm is outside the window, hand moving up and down with the wind. Izzie's staying with Ty and Dom while we're gone. She didn't want to come. I only asked her once. Ty was the same.

"I'll stay here," he told me, averting his eyes. "Someone needs to keep an eye on her."

"Sure, Kid," I'd responded easily. "If that's what you want."

"Unless, you think—do you need me to go? With you?"

"Nah. I've got Otter. And it's better for her. I think. If you're still here."

"You okay?" Otter asks me now, hand firm on my thigh.

"Yeah," I tell him, because I don't know what else to say.

PEOPLE SAY that they have memories of when they were two or three years old. I don't know if I believe that. I think they want so hard to remember—that stories they're told somehow become ingrained into them as their own—that they convince themselves it's not a story they're remembering but an actual memory.

There are bits and pieces buried deep in my mind. Hazy flashes that are nothing but fuzz where I'm little and she's there, and she's saying Knock it off, Derrick, or You're gonna hurt yourself if you don't get off that chair.

It's clear, though, when I was four. Maybe five.

There were stretches of days when she didn't have a glass in her hand, the amber liquid swishing around, ice clinking together. Days when her eyes were a little brighter and she'd laugh a little louder. Days when she would put her hand on the back of my neck and squeeze, and I'd grin at her through a mouthful of Pop-Tarts, something I rarely got to have.

It was then that I could remember her with a startling clarity. It wasn't haze. It wasn't muted. And if I push, it's the first thing I can remember.

She said, "The rain has stopped. I'm glad. I don't like it when it rains for days and days."

I was eating that Pop-Tart, trying not to inhale it, because I didn't know when we'd get more, as this was the last one. The TV was on, and the screen was a little fuzzy because the rabbit ears were broken. There were cartoons on. I'm sure of that.

"Why don't we go outside?" she asked me.

"Okay," I said, spraying crumbs onto my lap.

"Okay," she said.

We did, later. And we'd walked hand in hand, and I was jumping in the puddles, and gasping dramatically at all the worms on the sidewalk, and pointing out everything I could show her. And even though I was young, even though I can't remember much after that, I knew even then that this was important. Because this was different. She was here—really here—with me. And even though I didn't know it then, it was the most I'd ever get from her. It felt complete. I couldn't put a word to it, I couldn't understand this little light that was burning in my chest, but it felt good. Her hand was in mine and it felt good.

I never felt like that with her again. Not really.

I tell myself there was good in her.

But it doesn't outweigh the rest.

IT'S MORE than I expected.

That's the first thought I have as we sit in the idling SUV, parked next to the curb.

It's more.

Maybe because I know where she'd come from. That shitty fucking apartment, that place where she'd run from, leaving us behind. And while I don't think she'd come directly here, this was her end result. This is where she'd planted her roots. Izzie said they'd been here for a few years.

So yes. It's more.

The house isn't too shabby. There are flowers along the sides. The lawn is wild and unkempt. There is a car in the cracked driveway, rusted and up on a jack. There's a tire missing. There's a tree next to the house, and it's swaying gently.

"We don't have to do this now," Otter says.

I smile tightly. "Might as well. We're not expected at the funeral home until tomorrow. I don't want to stay here longer than we have to."

He looks at the house. "I don't like this place. I don't like what it's doing to you."

"It's not doing anything to—"

He turns to look at me sharply. "Don't. Don't pretend. Not with me. That's not fair."

He's right. It's not right. "I'm angry," I admit. "More than I expected."

"Why?"

"Because the house is nicer than I thought it would be." I groan, leaning back against the headrest. "And that sounds stupid. But there it is."

"You thought it'd be—what. Like the apartment?"

"Yeah. But it's got flowers. Stupid, right?"

He shrugs. "No. It's valid. You're allowed to be angry at that."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks. I feel so much better now."

"Stop being a jerk."

I wince. "Sorry. It's not—it's weird. Being here."

"I told you we don't have to do this," he reminds me. "We can hire someone else to come in and clean it out. She was renting, so it's not like we need to worry about selling the house. We don't need to go in."

"I told Izzie we'd get her stuff."

"Other people can do that, Bear."

"We're here, right? It's—"

"I don't want this to hurt you," he says, and I can see he's frustrated. "It's like she's getting to you still. Again. I don't want that. She's gone. She shouldn't still be able to make you feel this way."

"God," I tell him. "It's fucking stupid how much I love you."

He chuckles, but he's blushing a little. "Ditto."

"Ditto," I scoff at him. "That's nice."

His hand is on my knee, and he's squeezing, and I really shouldn't be thinking the thoughts I am.

"Go get the trailer," I tell him, voice slightly strangled. "I'll go in and see what's there."

"Uh-huh. Because that's what you've got on your mind."

"Stop it. We'll have old-people sex later."

"I wish you would stop calling it that," he mutters. "We're not old."

"Says the forty-one-year-old."

"Gonna spank your ass for that one later," he promises darkly. "You'll be singing a different tune then, I'm sure."

I have to get out of the car before I do something dumb like demand he pull out his cock so I can blow him.

I push open the door and step out, the heat a little stifling. I grab my phone and dig through my laptop bag until I find the key Izzie had slipped me before we left. It feels like it's burning the palm of my hand, and I shove it in my pocket. I close the door and walk around to the other side.

Otter rolls down his window. "I don't like this."

"Noted. But I need this. I think."

"You call me," he says, reaching out to wrap a hand around the back of my neck. He pulls me close, forehead pressing against mine. "You call me if you need me. I'll come right back."

"Sure," I say, wanting nothing more than to get back in the car and go home.

"I'll only be an hour at the most."

"Okay."

He jostles my neck a little before he lets me go.

And then he's gone. I watch as the SUV disappears around the corner.

I breathe.

THERE'S A woman in the front yard next door. She's on her knees, pulling weeds from the flower bed. She hears the creak of the rusted metal gate as I push it open and looks over at me.

"They ain't home," she says. She must think I'm here to sell something, like vacuums or Jesus. "Haven't been home for a few days."

"That's because she's dead," I say.

Well done, it whispers. Don't you dare pull those punches.

Her eyes widen a little. "The little girl?"

I shake my head. "She's fine. She's in Oregon with my—where she belongs."

She sighs and reaches up to wipe the sweat from her brow. A little piece of grass sticks to her forehead. "Family? Didn't think they had much of that."

"Yeah."

"Good," she says. "She deserves it. Didn't have anything like that around here. None of my business, I suppose. How'd she pass, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Heart attack," I say, and it might be the most surreal moment of my life. Being here. Talking like this with a stranger. "A big one."

She nods like that makes sense. "When it's your time, it's your time. Isabelle's a good kid. I hope you take care of her."

I narrow my eyes. "I didn't say that—"

"Boy, you look just like the both of them. Don't you think you're fooling anyone."

I smile a little helplessly at that.

"You gonna do right by her?"

"I think so."

"There you go," she says, as if it's that easy. "It's hot out today. I need to get back to my flowers before I melt. If you want to leave the keys with me when you're done, we have the same landlord. I can make sure he gets them. And take care of that little girl, you hear me? She's a good one. Not saying that her mom wasn't, but she needs more than that woman was ever able to give."

And then she turns around and starts pulling weeds again.

THE HOUSE is hot and smells of stale smoke. It's dark inside, the shades having been pulled shut across the windows, the white plastic slats hanging still in the thick air.

There's a bookshelf off to the right, next to what looks like an entryway to the kitchen. There are photos, so many photos, all of them of Izzie. Every single one. Most of them she's alone, and she's a princess or she's a pirate or she's climbing onto a bus or she's sitting with Santa, little red ribbons in her hair.

And then she's with Julie, our mother, and she's old. She's fucking old. It's been years since I've seen her—that day she'd come to the hospital, tired and worn, Mrs. Paquinn dying and Otter recovering, though we didn't know it yet, a folder in her lap—and ah god, she just aged. And it's here, now, that I remember the last conversation I ever had with her, when she had tried to explain herself, tried to tell me why she'd done the things she'd done, why she was here, now, relinquishing custody of Tyson to me, saying she wouldn't fight, she wouldn't push, agreeing to just disappear forever and ever and I would never have to see her again. None of us would.

And all of the things I'd said to her, all the terrible, terrible things.

It's taking all I have to not reach over and put my hands around your neck and squeeze the ever-fucking life out of you.

See how long you hold on to your daughter when I'm done with you.

You are nothing to us.

I have better things to be doing than talking to a cunt like you.

You didn't win because we don't belong to you. You didn't win because you have no part in who we are. Our family made us. MY brothers made me who I am. They may not all be blood, but it doesn't matter. They're mine. And you will never take them away from me.

Don't come back here. Maybe Ty will want to find you one day. That's his choice. Maybe our sister will want to know us, if you tell her about us. That's her choice. But don't you come back here. You've done enough.

I regretted it. After she'd gone. After I'd had time to breathe when Mrs. P passed away and Otter opened his eyes.

But if I had to do it all over again, I can't say I wouldn't say the same exact things.

It was cathartic. I think I can appreciate that now, all these years later.

I WON'T go into her room.

I refuse.

MOST OF this will go to Goodwill. The truck is supposed to be here tomorrow morning. We don't need anything of hers.

Except for the photos.

Those are Izzie's now. And if she wants to keep them, she can.

If she wants to throw them away, she can do that too.

They don't belong to me.

I'M IN Izzie's room, marveling at how it resembles Tyson's as a kid, when I hear Otter say my name as he opens the front door.

"Back here," I call out to him, digging through the closet, piling clothes and shoes on the bed. Most of it looks like it'd be too small for her now, and my heart hurts at the thought. I'm already making plans to get her whatever she wants. I've already pulled her posters off the wall, rolled them up carefully, and stacked them next to the books on the floor that we're taking with us.

"You okay?" Otter asks as he stands in the doorway.

"I'm fine," I say, not looking back at him.

"Bear."

"What?" I snap.

"All right," he says, holding his hands up like he's trying to placate me. "Trailer's out front."

"Fine. I need you to go into her room. I—I can't do that. I don't want to do that."

"Okay," he says. "I'll do it. Erica Sharp called."

I freeze.

"She's already filed a petition with the courts for temporary guardianship," Otter says. "She wanted to warn us that it's going to be just like with Ty. A social worker will be assigned, and we'll be vetted all over again. But since we're already approved to be foster parents, it's not going to be as intrusive as it was before. She's also going to see what she can do about tracking down Izzie's father. She might need to hire a private investigator if they can't find anything."

At one point in time, we'd decided to hedge our bets in case the surrogacy route proved fruitless and went through the process of being approved to be foster parents. We never actually had any kids come stay with us, but it will probably look better to the state.

"Okay," I say slowly, a little weight lifting from my shoulders. "That's good."

"She wants us to see if we can find any of Izzie's health records while we're here. And we're going to need to get her transcripts from school, but we can do that when we get home. Social Services can probably help us with that too if we need it. We'll probably need some kind of documentation from the courts in order to get the transcripts."

"Okay."

"And a will, if possible."

I snort. "Yeah, because Julie would have had enough foresight for that."

"You never know, Bear," Otter says quietly. "People can surprise you, even when you don't expect them to." And then he's gone, footsteps muffled against the carpet.

I wish I could believe him.

GOODWILL COMES and goes the next morning.

The house is mostly empty.

I wonder at the life of this woman, now nothing but selected memories packed into the back of a trailer.

"DO YOU want to see her?" Mr. Sampson of Sampson & Sons asks me.

I gape at him. It's a question I didn't expect.

"It's okay if you don't," he says, probably used to reactions like mine. "Whatever will help you during this trying time. It's what we're here for. The choice is yours. People often see it as part of the grieving process."

I wonder if he's fucking insane. Of course I don't want to see her. It's the absolute last thing I want to do. I don't need—

Validation? it asks. Because what if she's not really dead? What if this whole thing is a mistake? What if one day, and one day soon, there's a knock on the door, and she's there? What if she's there and she's coming to take Izzie away from you? What if she comes back and ruins everything all over again? What would you do then, Bear?

"I don't think that's—" Otter starts.

"Yes," I say. "Yes, I want to see her. Now, please. Take me to her now."

"Shit," Otter sighs, but he doesn't let go of my hand.

IT'S HER.

She's gone.

Her skin is pale, and she's covered with a heavy sheet, and Mr. Sampson is saying that if we have something we'd like her to be buried in, we could provide that. It's horrifying, because he says they can do her makeup, that she'll look nice if we wanted to have an open casket for the funeral and—

Luckily for me, there's a trash can that I just make it to before the scant breakfast I choked down comes right back up. Otter's hand is at my back, rubbing slow circles as my stomach turns, as my throat clenches until there is nothing left.

It's her, and she's gone, and she can never hurt us ever again.

I don't look back as Otter leads me from the cold, cold room.

"WE'D LIKE to talk about cremation," Otter says.

"Of course," Mr. Sampson says as if it's nothing. "I can suggest a crematory that will accommodate you. The turnaround time is usually three to five days. Will that be sufficient?"

"The ashes can be shipped?" I ask, my mouth still bitter.

Mr. Sampson finally cracks. His eyes widen, but he recovers. "Of course."

"Good. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

"THE KEYS," I tell the neighbor as she answers the door. "You said—"

She holds out her hand, and I give them to her. "Is it empty?"

"Yes. If the landlord finds anything else, he can keep it. Throw it away. Whatever. We're done. We won't be coming back."

She nods. "I'll make sure he gets these."

I mumble my thanks and turn, heading toward the road where Otter waits, trailer loaded, ready to put this place behind us.

"She said something about her son once," the woman calls out behind me.

Goddammit.

I stop, but I don't turn around.

"I think she was drunk." The woman laughs dryly. "Well, I know she was. She liked her Jack, didn't she?"

Yes. She did.

"Anyway, she was out on the front porch, and I thought I'd be neighborly, given that she was new and all. But I could smell it on her even as I introduced myself. She was smoking, and everyone knows secondhand smoke is just as bad as if you put that filter in your own mouth and suck, so I told myself I wouldn't stay long. And she was polite, but only just, and I knew we'd never be friends. Just one of those things, I guess. She asked if I wanted to share a drink in celebration. I declined, but I asked what she was celebrating. She said it was her son's birthday. Funny name, she called him. Said it was Bear's birthday, and she was toasting him, even though he wasn't there to see it. I asked her why this son of hers wasn't there. And you know what she did? She smiled at me and said that it was because she wasn't brave enough. She cried after that. I waited until she was done before I told her that it was never too late."

My fingernails are digging into the palms of my hands. Otter's looking worried, like he's getting ready to jump out and rush over any second now.

"You know what she said to that?" the woman asks me. "She said that sometimes, bravery isn't enough. I didn't believe her, of course, but I believed that she believed it. And since I didn't know her from Adam, who was I to argue? I wished her a good evening and saw myself home. Never really talked to her after that. It was as if that was the last time she knew how to be a person. Every time I saw her after that, she was rude and indifferent. It got to the point where I didn't even wave hello anymore. The girl, though. The girl was nice. She's going to be okay?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because I think she needs someone to love her. Don't know that she got enough of that here. Well. Enough jawing. I expect you've got a trip ahead of you. Don't worry about things here. I'll make sure the keys get to where they need to be."

I hear her shut the door behind her.

Otter sits idling on the corner, and I can tell he's starting to get agitated, that at any moment he's going to burst out of the SUV and charge over to me, demanding to know if I am all right. He tends to be overprotective like that, and I think being here is probably affecting him almost as much as it is me.

I hesitate, only for a moment, looking over at the house that I don't think ever really became a home. It looks shabbier now that I know what was inside. Dull and lifeless. I can see through the front window, and it's hollowed out and empty.

My mother was not a good woman.

Her decisions hurt all of us.

I'm not as angry as I used to be, though it's still there, a low simmer that I'm not sure will ever go away. For all her tears, for all the times she might have cried over the choices she made, she still made them. Regret is a fucking terrible thing, but she wasn't there when the Kid needed the bathtub, when the earthquakes got to be too much. When I sat him on my lap and explained to him that she wasn't coming back. When he was just a little guy and too smart for his own good, but still not understanding what that meant.

He grew up. He stumbled, sure. We all did. But he grew up, and he's found his way home again. The road may have been long and winding, but he's here. We all are.

We survived her.

We would survive this.

I breathe and breathe and breathe.

Otter's there, because of course he is.

His hands are on me, rubbing up and down my arms, like he's trying to see if I've been injured even though he knows I'm not. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," I say back.

"You okay?"

I look up at him, at that face that's so familiar and so loved. He's concerned for me, brow furrowed, the lines around his eyes pronounced. How different things could have been. She didn't give him to me, but I can't help but think just how far the road would have taken me away from him if she hadn't made the choices she did.

"No," I tell him honestly. "But I think I will be."

"Of course you will," he says, lips quirking slightly. "We've got a lot to look forward to."

"We do, don't we?"

"Wanna go home?"

I take his hand in mine and don't look at the empty house again. "Yeah."

He leads me away.

She'll always be with you, it whispers in the back of my head. Whether you want her to be or not.

IT'S AN eight-hour drive back to Seafare.

We think about stopping overnight in Portland but decide against it as the call of home is that much stronger.

The radio is quiet in the background, and we talk and talk and talk about what's going to happen to us.

"What do you think?" he asks me outside of Hood River.

"About?" I ask, and I'm drowsy, his hand in my lap, palm up, and I'm tracing his fingers.

"About what we're having. The other one. Do you want to know?"

I'm a little fuzzy, so it takes a moment for me to get what he's talking about. "Oh. I—you know, I thought I would, now that we're having two, but I—I don't know. I still feel like I want it to be a surprise. We know one, but the other can be a surprise."

He nods slowly. "Me too. I don't want to know until the day of."

"You sure?"

"Think so. Won't matter to me either way."

I roll my eyes. "Only because we already know there's a boy."

He grins crookedly. "Nah. And you'll never get me to admit it."

"Just our luck, it'll end up being triplets."

A pained look crosses his face. "You just had to say that, didn't you."

"Hell, maybe there will be quadruplets—"

He laughs. It's a wonderful sound. "Maybe next time."

"Uh, let's just get through these two first, and then we'll talk." I don't want to talk about after or next time. I don't know if I can go through all of this again.

"Bear."

I shrug, looking down at his hand.

He laughs incredulously. "Bear. Hey. Look at me."

"You're driving."

"Bear."

I raise my head again.

He glances over at me, making sure I'm watching him. "It's okay. Of course it is. I would have been fine with how things were before. We didn't have to do any of this—"

"Don't."

He looks confused. "What are you—"

"You get to ask for things," I tell him, a little angry on his behalf. "You do. This isn't just about me. Or Tyson. You don't have to sacrifice things all the time, Otter. You get to ask for things. You deserve to. It may take me a while, but I'll give you anything I can. So yes, this is something you wanted, and this is something I wanted with you, so yes. Yes. We had to. We get to."

His voice is rough when he says, "I only ever wanted to be with you. That would have been enough."

"You don't get to just have enough. Not while I'm around. And since I apparently have super sperm, I'll give you more than enough."

He pulls a face. "And... moment ruined."

"I can't help it if I'm extremely potent."

"Moment ruined even further."

"Better be careful, or I might end up getting you pregnant."

He snorts. "So I can tell you that I'm fat with my love for you?"

"Hey! That was a goddamn good story! In fact, I'm considering continuing it one day."

"You made me a pregnant were-otter."

"Our kids will need new bedtime stories," I remind him.

"That's good that you already have plans to traumatize them."

"Traumatize? I told it to the Kid when he was little, and look how he turned—and that really doesn't help prove my point at all, does it?" I hate it when I prove the points of others.

"Eh. Not quite."

We're quiet for a little while after that, talk radio murmuring and the miles melting away.

Then, "I don't care."

"About?" he asks.

"If they're both boys. Or if one is a girl. Or if they're somewhere in between. We're gonna love them, you know? We're gonna love them a lot, I think."

"Yeah," Otter says, glancing over at me and winking, like he doesn't even know what that does to my heart. "A lot a lot."

"What about you?"

"Any combination is fine with me."

"Because you've got your boy."

"Won't ever say it."

"We have so much shit to do."

"Yeah."

"We have to duplicate everything."

"Yep."

"And we have to come up with names too."

"There is that."

I look at his profile. This man. This wonderful, wonderful man. "I can't wait to do this with you. You're going to be the best dad. These kids are going to be so damn lucky to have you."

He grunts like he's been punched in the stomach and immediately signals to pull off on the shoulder of the small two-lane highway we're on. There's no one else around.

He puts the vehicle in park, and I'm about to ask what the hell he's doing when he unbuckles my seat belt and pulls me over. He's kissing me, and it's warm and wet and oh so fierce, his big hand on the back of my head, holding me in place. It doesn't matter that we've done this for years. It doesn't matter that I know every inch of him. He still sets my skin on fire, my heart stumbling in my chest. He's whispering against my mouth, telling me he loves me, he loves me, and I'm laughing.

It's good. I never thought it could be this good.

Eventually, we drive on.

THEY'RE WAITING for us when we get home, standing side by side on the porch of the Green Monstrosity. It's odd, really, to see her there. Not because she's so new, but because of how she looks like she belongs.

Izzie's holding Ty's hand, and her dark eyes are wide, and she's nervous about something. Ty's talking to her quietly, words I can't make out, but I know he's trying to soothe her. I don't know if it's working.

"We can't go back after this," I tell Otter, watching them on the porch. "You know that, right? Once we get out of the car, this is it. We can't ever go back."

"I know," he says. "So what are we waiting for?"

And he opens the door.

I follow him. Of course I do.

Izzie's chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed a little, as we walk up the path toward the Green Monstrosity. "Did you get all my stuff?"

"Yeah," I say as we stop at the steps. "Everything you asked for."

She nods. "Was it...? I'm sorry. If the house was dirty. I didn't—I tried to never let it get like that."

"It wasn't," Otter says easily. "You did a good job."

I don't know that she quite believes him, but we'll get there. "I can do that here too. If you want."

I shrug. "We all help out. You'll get assigned chores just like everyone else. And since Ty moved in with his lover, you'll take over what he used to do."

"Oh my god," Ty growls. "Why did you have to say it like that?"

"Because I like fucking with you."

"If you want, I can tell you exactly how he's my lover—"

"It's good to be home," Otter says with a sigh.

IT TAKES a couple of days. To get things right. Or at least on the road to it.

She's bossy and demanding and completely amazing. We unpack her life, mixing it with our own, and she's unsure about how she fits. But we tell her again and again and again that this is hers too, all of this. Our house. Us. Ty. Everyone else in our crazy, stupid family. All of us are hers.

She cries when we tell her about what Erica's done for her so far.

Then she punches us each in the arm and says she wasn't crying, that it was just her allergies, but she's okay with staying here with us if we really want her to. "You don't need to beg," she says, sniffling prettily. "I know I'm amazing and you would be lucky to have me."

We just smile at her.

Ty's room becomes her room, and it's not quite the same, but so close it's like the lines are blurred. She's got books, so many damn books, and they're all worn, like she's read them over and over again, dog-eared and wrinkled. She seems to have a soft spot for Wuthering Heights, which the Kid and I tease her mercilessly over. Otter, of course, tells her that I cried while reading The Notebook, because he's an asshole like that, and she laughs so hard that she bends over, hands wrapped around her stomach.

She has her posters that she hangs on the wall, and it's that weird dissonance again, because it's not Einstein, it's Nikola Tesla. It's not Anderson Cooper, it's 1970s Tom Brokaw. ("He was such a babe," she says dreamily as Otter and I stare wide-eyed at each other over her head.) It's all these little things that are almost the same but not.

Ty notices it too but doesn't say much about it.

When we get to the pictures, the ones Julie McKenna had kept on a shoddy bookshelf, Izzie's face tightens a little, and I wait to follow her lead.

She only takes one frame out of the box. It's her and Julie, and they're smiling at the camera, Izzie maybe four or five years old. They're happy, or at least some facsimile of, and it's this one she sets on the nightstand next to the bed. "Is that okay?" she asks me, wringing her hands.

"Yeah, kid," Ty answers for us. "That's okay."

The rest stay in the box. It goes in the attic, and I know that it'll probably stay there for a long time to come. But whenever she wants them, whenever she's ready for them, there they'll be.

Once everything is done, the trailer unloaded and returned, everything she owns firmly in place in the Green Monstrosity, the weight she's carried on her shoulders since she showed up on our porch seems to fall away.

"I'm tired," she mutters, rubbing her eyes.

It's not late, but it's getting there.

She brushes her teeth, gets into her new pajamas that Anna bought her, and is in bed, comforter pulled up to her chin, when I come in to say good night.

"You need anything else?"

She shakes her head.

"You know where we are if you do."

"I know."

I smile at her and say, "Good night, Izzie."

I switch off the light. I'm shutting the door when she says, "Bear?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I... ugh."

"Can you ugh? I'm sure you can if you want to."

"You're not funny."

"So I've been told."

She sighs, like I'm the most irritating person on the planet. "I'm staying here. Right?"

"Right."

"Even though you don't know me."

"We will. Know you. And you'll know us."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"You're my sister. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

She starts sniffling again. "Stupid allergies."

"Yeah," I say.

"I should probably get that checked."

"Probably."

"All that salt in the air, I bet."

"That's gotta be it."

"Bear?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm staying here." It's not a question this time.

I wait.

"You're married to Otter. So you're a Thompson."

I see now where she's going. And I hurt, but it's a good hurt. "I am."

"And Tyson, he's a Thompson."

"He is."

"And Anna and Creed too."

"They are."

"D'you think...?" She clears her throat. "Do you think that maybe I could... if it's not too much trouble...." She coughs.

"You're going to be a Thompson too," I tell her, putting her out of her misery. "We'll see to it. You're stuck with us now, Izzie. Hope you're ready for that. You came here, and now I don't think we can ever let you go."

"Ugh," she says again. "Fine. If you insist."

"I'm afraid I must."

"Whatever. You're standing there like a weirdo while I'm trying to go to sleep."

"Am I? My bad. Anything else?"

"No. Jeez, Bear."

"Good night, then."

And before I shut the door, I hear her whisper, "Thank you."

THREE DAYS after that, a package arrives.

Otter signs for it.

"She's not going where Mrs. Paquinn is," the Kid says with a glare. "You can't do that, Bear. You can't. It's not fair. I won't let you do it. I won't—"

"Never," I tell him. And I mean it.

He takes a shuddering breath.

IT'S EARLY June, but it's cold, the wind carrying a bite to it. We're standing on a small cliff overlooking the gray ocean, the seagulls calling out above. Dom and Otter are waiting for us in the parking lot. Dom's in uniform and has his patrol car. Izzie blushed and giggled when she saw him, and Ty was almost the same. Otter teased them both. Dom rolled his eyes fondly. I'd looked away when he bent down and whispered something into Ty's ear, his lips grazing my little brother's cheek. Whatever was said between them wasn't any of my business.

They're waiting for us, just like they always do.

We're lucky like that, I guess.

The urn is rather plain, a dull silver with a plastic liner on the inside. We're as far away from Mrs. P as we can be while still being in Seafare. I asked Izzie if she wanted us to do something like we'd done for Mrs. P—making a marker that can stand where we leave Julie. She shook her head and said this was enough.

I unscrew the lid to the urn, take out the bag inside, and hand it to Izzie. Ty refuses to touch any part of it. I think the only reason he's even here with us is because Dom told him he'd regret it one day if he wasn't.

Izzie takes it from me, and we wait. Just a little while.

It's strange, really, that an entire person, a lifetime of memories and regret, disappointment and failed dreams, can be broken down into a pile of ash.

It swirls in the air in front of us.

And then it's over.

She's in the wind and gone.

None of us cry.

The Kid's face is pressed against my shoulder and Izzie's arms are wrapped around my waist, but none of us cry.

They leave first, heading back down the hill.

"You can't touch us anymore," I whisper to the wind. "Never again."

And then I turn and follow my family.

Otter says, "All right?" when I reach him.

"Yeah," I say. Because it is. I am.

This is just one ending.

And in three months, something else will begin.

# 9. Where Bear Goes to Lamaze Class

"WHAT DO you mean you don't want a baby shower?" Creed says a couple of weeks later. It's a Saturday, and Anna had to go into the office for the morning, leaving Creed to come and bug me. "They're the best part. You get so much free shit, you wouldn't even believe."

"I know," I say dryly. "I was there at the two for Anna. I was giving you free shit."

He waves a hand at me dismissively, picking a Cheerio off AJ's head as he screeches gleefully from the old high chair they'd brought over to keep at our house for when they visited. "So take my word for it. You need to have one. You get registered at, like, Target or some shit and then invite a bunch of people to the party. That way, they're required to buy you stuff. It really is the best. It's like a birthday party where none of the stuff is for you and it's really disappointing, but you need it anyway."

"Isn't it more for the mother?"

He shrugs. "Probably. But since the mom in this case is your baby factory, you don't need to worry about buying anything for her. I mean, she's getting paid for this, right? And she and her boyfriend have that pregnancy kink, so."

I grimace. "God, I really wish you would stop saying that."

"I know it's hard to think about Megan and her dude boning while carrying your super-sperm babies, but it's the cold, hard reality." He chuckles, shaking his head. "Hard. Get it? Get it."

"Yes, Creed. I get it."

"Yeah you do. It's because I'm hysterical, and you—JJ, get down off the kitchen counter and put down the knife, please."

"But—"

"JJ."

He sighs. "Fine."

I stare at Creed with wide eyes. "How did you do that? You weren't even looking at him. He's behind you."

Creed shrugs. "It's a dad thing. You know how Otter is already making awful dad jokes? It's kind of like that, only better. It's like a superpower. I know everyone says that the woman is all empowered and epic because they carry the kid, but I think us guys don't get enough credit for all the shit we do." He frowned. "But don't tell Anna I said that. Because our couch sucks to sleep on."

"I don't tell dad jokes," Otter grumbles as he comes into the kitchen. He kisses me on the forehead and goes to pour himself more coffee. It's early yet, and we still have to drive to Eugene to meet with Megan and her boyfriend to go to a Lamaze class, something I am convinced is a disaster in the making.

"You texted me yesterday that part of a tree fell on your car," Creed says. "And then you texted me a picture of a leaf on the hood."

"Why?" I moan, putting my head down on the table.

"It was funny," Otter insists.

"That's your husband," Creed says. "Good job not letting that one get away. JJ, if you put that fork in the socket, God is going to be very upset with you and will cancel Voltron."

"He will?" JJ asks, eyes wide.

"Yes. And also probably Netflix."

"But—but that's rude."

"So is the reaction your mother will have if I allow you to electrocute yourself. Stop it." Creed sips his coffee and grins at AJ, who now has Cheerios stuck to his cheeks. "God, I can't wait for school to start again. Make him the teacher's problem."

"Thanks," I say wryly. "Really. Your support is tremendous."

"Right? You're welcome. Speaking of, how's that going to work? Don't you have to start administrative shit in August?"

Otter sits down next to me as I make a face. "Yeah. And I'll be going back and working up until Megan gives birth. I get twelve weeks' paternity leave, but then I'll have to go back."

"I'll be staying home for now," Otter says.

Creed grins. "Stay-at-home dad? Rock on. I can dig it. Annnnd you're frowning, Bear."

"He's not very happy about it," Otter says, patting my hand as I pout. "He wants to have longer, but we can't afford for him to take the school year off, especially if there is no guarantee that he'll pick up another contract next year. I mean, we can afford it, but it's better to plan ahead."

"Oh, dude," Creed breathes. "Trust me. You will be begging to go back by the time those twelve weeks are up. Just wait until your kid accidentally shits on your hands. You will be running back to your job."

"Dad says I was very expressive with my bowels," JJ says, lying on the floor for reasons I don't quite understand.

"We thought he was broken," Creed agrees. "Like, just leaking or something. I told Anna that we should call a plumber, because it'd be cheaper. She didn't think that was very funny."

"Mom says that Dad's humor is a detriment to society," JJ says.

"Yeah," Creed says. "We just love each other a lot."

"It'll be fine," I say. "I'm lucky that I even get those twelve weeks. And Otter will do well."

"And if you have questions, you know you can always ask me," Creed says. "You know I'm an expert by now. I've got this shit locked down—JJ, do not reach down the garbage disposal. You know that Jesus will curse you and all your teeth will fall out if you do. He is always watching you."

"Jesus is so creepy," JJ mutters, but he pulls his hand out of the sink.

"I am not practically married," Ty snaps, coming in from the living room. He's scowling at the laptop he's carrying in his hands. "Just because I live with my boyfriend doesn't mean—"

"Ah, marital bliss," a voice says from the screen.

Tyson growls at it and sets it on the table in front of Otter and me. "You deal with her, because I am not awake enough for this."

Kori Ellis grins at us from the screen, her hair curling around her shoulders, looking remarkably put-together for it only being half past eight in the morning on a Saturday. "Why hello there," she says, leaning toward the camera. "I do believe there are a pair of DILFs on my screen, and I didn't even have to put my credit card number in."

"Hi, Kori." Otter grins a little at the attention.

"What about me?" Creed asks. "They don't even have a kid yet. I already have two."

Kori flutters her eyelashes. "There are three of you there? My oh my. What is a girl to do with all of that? I know. First things first. Otter, take off your shirt and play with your—"

"Hi, Kori!" JJ says, pushing between Otter and me, waving at the computer screen.

"Fantasy ruined," Kori says with a wide smile. "JJ, how nice of you to barge in."

"So gross," Ty mutters as he munches on some granola bar that looks like it was made from chopped-up vegans.

"Please," Kori scoffs. "It's not my fault that your family is all made up of hot dads. Seriously. It makes my loins quiver."

"What does that mean?" JJ asks.

"It means that Kori needs to find herself a special friend instead of telling my son about it," Creed says, eating a Cheerio that had been stuck to AJ's ear.

"Oh, she has, though," the Kid says, sounding rather gleeful at the prospect. "She's just not doing a damn thing about it."

"Really?" Otter says, leaning forward.

And wonder of all wonders, Kori is blushing, like she's been caught. "No," she sputters. "Tyson is just projecting, like he is known to do. There is absolutely nothing happening."

"It's her former professor," Ty says. "Kori's got a lady-boner for him and refuses to admit it."

"That's not what's happening," Kori says with a scowl. "You don't get to—"

"That's pretty much what's happening," another voice says. And then a man is leaning down into the frame over the back of the couch Kori is sitting on. He's heavier, with dark hair and blue eyes, wearing what looks to be biking shorts that are leaving nothing to the imagination.

"Oh no," Tyson breathes from somewhere behind me.

"This is going to be the greatest moment of my life," Kori whispers fervently, eyes wide.

"Hey," the man says. "I'm Paul. Paul Auster."

"Oh," I say. "Ty's told us about you. You just got married, right? Congratulations."

"Thanks. You Tyson's brother? Bear? You guys are having twins?"

"Yeah. That's us."

"Great to meet you, and good for you. Sorry for interrupting. Just wanted you all to know that Kori is full of shit, and she's pining for her teacher."

"Good to meet you too."

"Later," he says, pulling away from the screen. I hear him hollering at something called Wheels for crapping all over Sandy's floor, and how is he supposed to go get sweaty on a stupid bike ride with that smell in his nose?

"He seems nice," I say.

"Oh thank god," Ty says, sighing in relief.

"That was it?" Kori demands. "I have been waiting years for this moment, and that was it?"

"What is she talking about?" I ask Otter.

"I have no idea," Otter says.

"You ruin things," Kori hisses at me. "Tyson! Take me away from their faces. I no longer wish to gaze upon them! Oh, and I'm so happy for you guys. You're going to be awesome dads. Now get out of my sight! Otter, I love you and your biceps."

"We love you too," Otter says. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

"Never," she says, grinning wickedly.

"So wrong," Tyson groans, lifting the laptop up off the table. "Why do you have to do that?"

"Don't forget you're with Izzie today," I call after him as he leaves the kitchen.

"I know. It's why I'm here instead of still in bed with my boyfriend like a normal person!"

"Mouthy little fucker, isn't he?" Creed says fondly.

"Yeah," JJ says. "He is a mouthy little fucker."

Creed sighs. "Okay, what do I have to buy you to make sure you never tell your mom about that?"

"A shark!" JJ shouts.

"This is what you have to look forward to," Creed tells us. "Just so you know, this is going to be your life. Except your kids are going to have some freaky murderous twin language, and you'll wake up in the middle of the night, years down the road, with both of them standing above you holding pairs of scissors in their hands."

"Please don't scare my husband," Otter says.

"Freaky murderous twin language?" I say, voice high-pitched.

"My job here is done," Creed announces. "And don't worry about the baby shower. I'll plan it. It'll be awesome."

"Otter, we have to hide all the scissors!"

Otter lays his head down on the table.

"I'm getting a shark, and he's going to eat everyone!" JJ crows.

"Buyah!" AJ screams as he throws a Cheerio that somehow lands on my cheek.

"I love you guys," Creed says.

"—AND THEN what if they grow up to be murder twins? What if twenty years down the road, we have to testify against them in court after they've killed and eaten sixteen people to feed their carnal twin rage? What then, Otter? You know the courts are going to find some way to blame me. And then they'll make a movie based upon our lives and I'll be played by someone like Anne Hathaway, because you know they'll make me a woman because American audiences are stupid and can't handle a stable, loving homo relationship. Stupid fucking America with your guns and your bibles and your men who jack off to lesbian porn, but god forbid there be two men holding hands!"

"Wow," Otter says. "Just when I think you can't go places I won't expect, you end up talking about guys jacking off to lesbians and Anne Hathaway."

I blink. "That's what you took away from that?"

"Also, why are our children always murderers when you get like this?"

I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean when I get like this?"

"I love you," he says.

"That's cheating," I say, scowling at him. "But I love you too."

"I know. We're here, by the way."

I look up and see we're in the parking lot of a strip mall. "What? How did we get here already? We just left the house."

"An hour ago," Otter says. "You've been going for an hour."

"Huh. Well. I have very serious feelings about our kids."

"I can tell," he says dryly. "And I think you're worrying about nothing. We're not going to have murder twins. Or serial killers with tails."

"Says you," I mutter, folding my arms over my chest.

"That's right. Says me. Now, are you ready to go and learn how to breathe like a pregnant woman?"

Yes, yes I was. We didn't have to be a part of this. In fact, we were told that we could have as little or as much involvement in our surrogate's pregnancy as we wanted. I hadn't expected that and had actually been somewhat horrified at the thought of the couples who didn't get involved at all. We hadn't gone to every doctor's appointment Megan had had, but we'd been at the majority of them. If she needed anything, she knew she could call us, even though we were an hour away. We didn't want her to be giving us such a gift and going through it alone. I worried initially that she'd think we were too involved, but she laughed when I'd told her that, telling us that she wanted us to be by her side just as much as we thought was right. "I'm doing this for you," she said. "It's a gift, you know?"

But today would be the first time we'd be involved in something like a Lamaze class. She'd been going without us, but then she said she thought it'd be good for us to attend a class with other parents too.

Otter and I jumped at the opportunity.

I may have had ulterior motives, though, in that I knew she'd be bringing her boyfriend with her and that we'd be meeting him face to face for the first time. We'd talked with Marty briefly on the phone, but that had been it. I wanted to scope out the man that was sticking it to the woman I'd gotten pregnant with my super sperm.

I told Otter this.

He'd put his face in his hands for a long time.

So yes! We were going to do this. We were going to show the entire world that we would be the most amazing fathers. We were going to—

"—turn this car around right now and go home," I demand as we stare up at the sign for the building we're walking toward.

Otter sighs. "It's supposed to be funny."

"It's a pun, Otter."

"I think it's funny."

"That's because all you do is tell dad jokes now!"

He scowls at me. "I do not."

I point at the sign for the Lamaze clinic.

Lamazing Grace.

Otter giggles.

He fucking giggles.

"Stop it."

"That's pretty genius if you think about it."

"I'm serious."

"Hi, Serious. I'm—"

I slap my hand over his mouth, looking around to make sure no one is listening to us. "Don't you dare. We are in public."

He rolls his eyes, and because he's a jerk, he licks my palm.

"Ugh," I say, pulling my hand away. "You suck."

He waggles his eyebrows at me. "You don't usually have a problem with that."

I gape at him. "Are you hitting on me? In front of a strip mall?"

"I'm your husband. I'm allowed to hit on you anywhere I want."

"Oh, right. Sorry. My bad."

"Look, just ignore the amazing sign—"

"Your definition of amazing is seriously skewed."

"—and we'll do what we came here to do. Bear, if we're going to be in the delivery room with Megan, then we're going to need to know this stuff, remember?"

"Yeah," I say nervously. "About that. What if it gets... bloody, and I kind of... vomit."

He cups my face in his hands. "Then we'll deal with it." He leans forward and kisses me. "Besides, I don't think blood and vomit are going to be the worst bodily fluids in there."

I feel a little queasy. "That's not helping." But we both know he's right. Otter and I had... researched childbirth extensively, even going so far as to watch a few videos online of live births. It was then that I realized women will always be stronger than a man ever could be, given all that they go through. Afterward, I had hugged Anna when I'd seen her next, telling her that I had respect for the power of her genitals and the abilities they had.

She'd punched me in the spleen for that one.

Otter had watched the videos, absolutely fascinated.

I watched with my hands over my eyes, peeking through and seeing things that I could never unsee.

"If you can't, then you can't," Otter says. "And that's okay. We'll figure it out. At the very least, Megan says I can record it, so we can watch it later."

"That might be worse."

"Unless we play it at their high school graduation party in front of all their friends."

I stare at him. "Are you being diabolical?"

"One of us has to be if the other is queasy. It's kind of written into our wedding vows."

I put my forehead on his shoulder and sigh. "I'm sorry I'm being stupid," I mumble. "I'm just... getting anxious. About everything."

"Me too," he says near my ear. "But it's a good thing."

"What if we aren't ready for everything?"

"I don't think anyone can be. I mean, look at Creed and Anna. JJ turned out—okay, maybe that's not the best example."

That gets to me, and I chuckle against his neck. "They did their best."

"And we'll do ours. I just—I'm not worried about us or how we'll deal with it. Bear, we're solid, okay? I know that. There is no one I trust more with this than you. Even though it's big, it's really big, we're going to be ready."

"Then what are you anxious about?" I say, feeling rather warm at his words.

"It's stupid," he mutters, sounding uncharacteristically shy.

I'm utterly charmed by him. "Nah. Not any stupider than what I say."

He shrugs, jostling my head. "I'm just—I want to meet them, you know? I want them to be here so I can hold them and look at them. So I can tell them I'm their daddy and you're their papa, and that we won't let anything hurt them."

I smile, because Otter Thompson is one of the best men I know. "I'm Papa, huh? You're Daddy?"

He sighs, and as I turn my head, I can see his neck is a little red. "You're already Papa Bear," he says quietly. "And I... I like how Daddy sounds. And don't you make that weird. I'm serious."

"Hi, Serious. I'm Papa Bear."

His smile is a wondrous thing. "You're so dumb."

"Right?"

"So that's okay?" He shuffles his feet.

I want to climb him like a goddamn tree. In front of a strip mall, for fuck's sake. "Papa works for me. And you can be Daddy."

"Really?"

"Really," I say, kissing the tip of his nose. "Hell, you can be my daddy anytime—"

"No, Bear. Stop. You stop it right now."

"Oh, Daddy."

"Shut up," he hisses at me.

"Why? Don't you want to be my daddy? That could be—"

"Whoa, babe, you hear that? They're fucking kinky."

"Eep," I say, accidentally knocking my forehead against Otter's chin. "Ow, motherfucker."

"Why is your head so large?" Otter grumbles, rubbing his chin.

"Ha, that's what she said," the voice behind us says again. "Classic."

I turn around, and there standing on the sidewalk is a very pregnant Megan Ridley, along with some guy who looks like he rolled out of bed and into a pile of hemp. Megan's grinning, and the man beside her is squinting at us. He's got a scraggly beard and wild hair sticking out every which way and—

"Are you wearing a tie-dyed headband?" I blurt out.

He rolls his eyes up, like he's trying to look at it. "Ah, yeah, man. Gnarly, right? It's to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Thanks for the compliment. Far out."

I frown. "That wasn't a com—"

"Megan," Otter says, shoving past me like an asshole. "How are you? Everything good?" His hands are on her stomach, and she's laughing quietly. "They're okay, right?"

"They're fine," she says. "I think they're sleeping now. They were kicking up a storm earlier."

"They were?" he says, sounding awed. "Do you... do you think they'll wake up and do it again?"

Even I was feeling a little shocked at the thought. Our kids. Moving. It was either going to be amazing or a retread of the plot of Alien, and I don't know if I'm excited or horrified.

"Maybe," Megan says. "I think I even saw the shape of a foot on my stomach."

Horrified. Definitely horrified.

Otter glances back at me, beaming. "Did you hear that? A foot, Bear. A foot."

I nod tightly, knowing that if I opened my mouth, I ran the risk of vomiting in front of my husband, the woman infected with my super sperm, and this... drifter... that had somehow followed Megan to Lamazing Grace.

Which I still hate with a fiery passion that threatens to consume me.

"He calls you Daddy, huh?" the homeless drifter asks. "That's righteous. No kink shaming here. Love is love, you know? You just gotta believe."

I dig my wallet out of my back pocket and find a couple of dollars. "Here you are, sir," I say, stepping forward and handing him the money. "Buy yourself a sandwich or something."

"Whoa," he says. "Awesome. Thanks, man. You're pretty all right." He rolls the cash up and places it under his headband. He doesn't seem to have... pockets, in the tiny shorts he's wearing. Which leave nothing to the imagination. And it'd be attractive, if I was into pasty chicken legs.

"Bear, what are you doing?" Otter asks with clenched teeth.

"Um, giving this nice homeless man some money so he can eat? Don't be rude, Otter. He looks like he's starving."

Otter groans.

"This is Marty," Megan says, sounding amused. "My boyfriend."

I blink. "What."

"Nice to finally meet you guys," Marty says easily, his grin sunny and bright. "Thanks for getting Megan all swollen with your babies. Twins, even. It's done wonders for our own sex life, you know?"

No.

No, no, no, no—

"STOP STARING at him," Otter growls as we follow them into Lamazing Grace, the doors whooshing open, manufactured air rolling over us.

"I can't help it," I snap back. "His entire existence bothers me. And he's having sex with our children."

A woman gasps as we pass her by.

"He's joking," Otter tells her hastily. "It's not what you think."

She glares at us.

"Don't be rude," I say. "Also, congratulations on your pregnancy. You're positively glowing."

She glares a little less after that.

"That's Marty, though?" I whisper to Otter while Marty and Megan check in at the front desk. "He looks like he probably has a bong named Terry."

"Do you think he's a hippie?" Otter asks. "You know how I feel about hippies."

"God, you're so fucking weird sometimes. Yes, I know how you feel about hippies. I don't know why you feel anything about hippies other than disdain, but that's another thing we can discuss later. He looks like he bought his shorts at Baby Gap."

"Maybe that's an in thing, now," Otter says. "We're old. We don't know what the kids are wearing these days."

"Okay, grandpa."

"I'm serious."

"Hi, Serious, I'm—"

"Bear."

"You did this to me. You're the one that's—hiiiiii, Megan."

"Everything all right?" she asks.

"Of course," Otter says. "We're just discussing... stuff."

"If you're sure," she says. "And listen, I know that Marty can be a little...."

"Stoned?" I supply helpfully.

"Not today," she says. Then her eyes widen. "And never during a pregnancy. We both agree that when we give life to others, our bodies are our temples."

"That... doesn't make me feel better."

"Oh, don't you worry," she says, reaching out and squeezing my arm. "He's really good at what he does."

"I really didn't need to hear that."

She rolls her eyes. "I mean with leading the classes. He's really stepped up to—"

"Hold on, back up."

She takes a step back.

Jesus Christ. "I didn't mean literally. What do you mean by leading the classes?"

Her smile is a little puzzled. And adorable. God, is she adorable. "Marty leads the Lamaze and yoga class we're about to take. When I went through my first surrogacy, he fell in love with the vibe at Lamazing Grace and decided he wanted to become an instructor. Now he leads three classes a week. Isn't that wonderful? He's also training to become a doula. Not many men do that."

Otter immediately slaps a hand over my mouth. "That's great. Can you excuse us for a second?"

"Of course. I'll head into the studio we're using. It's the second door on the right. We start in five minutes. Don't be late. Marty won't give you the Sunshine Point of Arriving on Time if you're late."

I try not to scream against Otter's hand.

"We'll be there," he says, fingers tightening on my face.

"Is Bear all right? He's turning really red."

"He's just so excited to be here," Otter tells her. "Can barely contain himself." He waits until she's turned toward the studio before he drags me away from all the other pregnant couples who have started to gather.

"We need to take Megan and run," I gasp as soon as he drops his hand. "Keep her safe until the babies are born and then we can give her back."

"You need to give him a chance," Otter says sternly. "They wouldn't let him in front of a class full of pregnant women if he didn't know what he was talking about."

"That's not very reassuring."

"We're not going to kidnap Megan and hold her against her will."

"Well, when you say it like that, of course it sounds bad—"

"It's going to be fine," he says. "You know it is. Stop looking for troubles where there are none."

"Okay. But the moment he starts making things weird, we are leaving."

"THANK YOU, everyone, for showing up on time! You have all been awarded one Sunshine Point for Arriving on Time. If, at the end of the class, you've accrued six Sunshine Points, you may turn them in for a hug and a yogurt parfait with chopped walnuts. Oh, who am I kidding, you'll get those anyway, because what do we say here at Lamazing Grace?"

"Hugs are love!" most everyone chants around us.

"Bear, sit down."

"He made it weird."

Otter tugs me back onto the mat.

IT'S NOT—okay, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Sure, Marty is ridiculous, and I couldn't care less about the goddamn Sunshine Points. And hell, the breathing part of it is all right, learning that the whole hee hoooo thing you see on TV and movies is pretty much bullshit. It's all about the deep breaths, the parasympathetic breathing to help relax, to slow each breath, to drop your heart rate and blood pressure. I'd always thought it was just a dumb thing that was meant to be a distraction for women in labor, but it's actually starting to make sense.

And yes, Megan is a pro at it. She's diligent and watchful, listening as if it's her first time she's ever been in the class. She, of course, ends up getting fifteen Sunshine Points by the time she's done. "I'm going to destroy that yogurt parfait," she tells us, eyes dancing.

The other couples in the class seem to be just as into it as Megan is, following along like it's the last thing they'll ever do.

And Marty isn't... so bad. I mean, if you ignore basically everything about him. He's happy doing what he's doing, and he seems to be all right at it.

But it's not any of that, really, that I seem to focus on.

It's Otter. And how serious he's taking all of this.

He's sitting behind Megan, her back to his chest, and breathing in deeply when instructed. He's got his tongue stuck out between his teeth, looking a little like Izzie does when she's really concentrating. He's watching Marty closely, taking every instruction to heart.

He's good at this.

He's really good at this.

Why wouldn't he be? Otter Thompson throws himself into everything. He's never backed down, not really, not when it's counted. And this is something that he wants, something he's been waiting for. It took me a long time to get my head out of my ass, to finally want something just for us, and he was so patient with me. He knew I'd get there one day, and now here we are.

He must feel me staring at him, because he looks over at me and smiles. "Am I doing it right?"

"Yeah," I tell him hoarsely. "You're doing it right."

He frowns a little. "Are you okay?"

"It happens," Megan tells him, tipping her head back. "The daddies get a little emotional. He's having feelings right now."

"And that means you get a Sunshine Point for the Power of Love," Marty singsongs as he skips by me.

Goddamn right I do.

AFTER THE class, Megan is doing exactly what she threatened to do: she's destroying her yogurt parfait while Marty gives out hugs to everyone. Otter and I are sitting at the table across from her, wide-eyed, like we're on an African safari and witnessing a lion taking down a gazelle. I don't know that I can ever eat a yogurt parfait again. Which is probably a good thing, seeing as how Megan would probably tackle me for it.

"So good," she mumbles.

"It certainly looks like it," Otter says politely.

"Would you like some?" she asks, holding the spoon out to us.

"I don't want to lose my hand," I tell her before Otter kicks me underneath the table.

She shrugs and gets back to it.

"My love, my light," Marty says, coming to sit next to Megan. He kisses her on the cheek. "Mmm. Peach flavored. How fascinating it is that you normally hate peaches."

"I ate asparagus and peanut butter for dinner last night," Megan tells us.

"Oh," Otter says. "That's—"

"Disgusting," I say.

"Hormones," Marty says. "The body's chemicals are all out of whack and can lead to some... surprising discoveries. It's pretty radical how the body reacts during a pregnancy. It's a crazy thing to witness up close."

I'm convinced he's making that sexual, and I have to resist the urge to reach over and punch him in the ear.

"Are you guys getting excited?" he asks us as he pulls Megan's feet into his lap, beginning to massage them. "I'm sure you get that question a lot."

"We do," Otter says, scratching the back of his neck. "But—yeah, we are. It's different? I guess. Than we thought it would be."

"How so?"

"Well, we are having two instead of one," I say wryly. "That's a big difference."

"Right," Marty says, and Megan sighs as he pushes his thumb into the arch of her foot. I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable. "I think that was a surprise to all of us. The human body is a gift that keeps on giving. And when you bring your semen into the mix, the results are explosive."

"Wow," I say. "That's.... I don't know what that is."

"Bear says he has super sperm," Otter adds helpfully.

"I should think so," Marty says. "Megan says you don't want to know the sex of the super-secret surprise baby either."

"Super-secret surprise baby," Otter chokes out. "Holy hell."

I glare at Marty. "Do you know?"

"Nope," he says easily. "Just about the boy. Like you guys do."

"My doctor and I are the only ones," Megan says, eyes closed. "I made him leave the room so he wouldn't hear."

"That way, we'll all be surprised," Marty says. "I tried to convince Megan to consider a water birth, but she thought that might be too much for you."

"Water birth?" Otter asks.

"It's magical. The mother spends the final hours of her labor submerged in a birthing pool filled with warm water. Everything comes out and floats, and it's just a beautiful thing to witness."

"That might be too much," I say with a strangled voice.

"We'll save that for our own," Megan says.

"By then, I'll be a certified doula," Marty says. "I'll build the birthing pool myself as a testament to my love for her and as a display of my virility. Then, once she's ready, I will bathe her in the birthing juice that's—"

"Don't scare them," Megan admonishes lightly. "I told you how Bear gets."

Marty squints at me. "He does look pale."

"I'm fine," I say faintly.

Otter puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. "You plan on having your own after this?" he asks, changing the subject like the amazing man that he is.

"Yes," Marty says, rubbing Megan's heel. "In a couple of years, it'll be our turn."

"Why do you do this?" I ask him, suddenly curious. "Both of you?"

"Do what?"

"All of this. The classes. Becoming a doula. Being a surrogate. Dating a surrogate. And wow, I didn't mean that how that sounded. Of course you can date a surrogate. I didn't mean—"

Both he and Megan laugh. "It's all right, Bear," she says. "I get what you're trying to say. And I do this because I want to give couples something they can't get themselves, for whatever reason. Maybe the woman can't conceive. Maybe the couple is gay. Just because they can't have children on their own doesn't mean they don't deserve to be a parent."

"It's pretty gnarly, right?" Marty says, smiling at her. "Pregnancy and birth. The female body goes through so many changes during the months before birth. And we want to be able to give that joy to others." He narrows his eyes as he looks at us. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because we wanted a kid," I say. Because obviously.

"Is that it?"

Otter's arm tightens around me. "Partially," he says. "But it's also—we had a strange family growing up. Things weren't always easy. For us. For others. Mistakes were made. Bad things happened. But we survived. We made it through everything. And there came a point where I wanted to be able to pass on all we learned. To let Bear see that he deserved more. To maybe have a chance to be happier than we'd ever been."

"You thought all of that?" I ask him weakly.

"Well, yeah," he says, looking down at me. "I just want everything with you."

I kiss him because I couldn't not after hearing that.

"Oh my god," Marty breathes from across the table. "You two are glorious."

"I told you they were great," Megan says, sounding smug. "They are the best people I've—oh."

Otter and I break apart, startled.

Megan's frowning, looking down at her stomach. She slowly pulls her feet from Marty's lap, and her brow furrows a little bit.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, panic starting to rise, because no, no, it's not fair if something goes wrong now, it's not fair—

She looks up at him, smiling softly. "Your children are awake. They're kicking. Want to feel?"

"What?" Otter croaks out, and he's shaking.

"Ah, perfect timing," Marty says. "Bear, Otter, come around to this side of the table so we don't have to make Megan move."

For a moment, both of us are still frozen. And then we're scrambling up, almost knocking each other to the floor. We're around the table and on our knees in front of her before I realize what exactly is happening.

Otter reaches up, but then he hesitates, like he's unsure he has permission to touch. Megan rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, placing it on the left side of her stomach. "Just wait a minute," she says. "It'll happen."

We're silent then.

There's a beat, and two, and three, and—

I know the moment he feels it. The moment he feels one of our kids moving in Megan's stomach. It starts with his lip, the bottom of which trembles before his mouth drops open. It moves up his face in a flush before it hits his eyes, which widen to the point where they're almost bulging. A sound comes out of his mouth that sounds almost wounded, and then his gaze finds mine and he says, "Bear."

My hand is on top of his then, my fingers going between his, and there's nothing, there is nothing, there's—

A push, back up against us.

It's stronger than I thought it would be. It startles me, and I almost fall backward, but Otter's got his arm around my waist, holding me up, and it's there again, another push, and I don't know what it is, if it's a foot or a hand or what, but it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt in my life.

There's blood rushing in my ears, but I can still hear Otter murmuring next to me, saying, "Hi, babies, it's your daddy and your papa, and you're here, aren't you? You're here, and we can feel you. We can feel you. Oh my god, we can feel you. We can't wait to meet you. We are so happy you're almost here."

No one says a damn word about how choked he sounds.

We stay there for the longest time.

# 10. Where Bear Gets Advice About His Sex Life

JULY ROLLS in, hot and sticky, a rare heat wave smothering the coast for weeks. It feels like the days are just crawling by, the date scrawled on the calendar (!!!!!SEPTEMBER 18!!!!!) still looking so far away. We keep being told that it'll be here before we know it, but we're getting anxious.

But it's not like we don't have other shit going on. We've managed to convince everyone that we don't want a baby shower, but we've somehow found ourselves registered for shit at Target anyway, with daily deliveries coming of packages of all shapes and sizes filled with diapers and shampoo and toys and something called a Newborn Starter Kit filled with bottles and nipples that have anticolic valves built in. It's overwhelming after a while, all this shit that I would have never even thought of, like sterilizers and diaper hampers and video monitors that I'm pretty sure are more high-tech than I'm capable of dealing with.

Everything is piled up in the nursery to the point where stuff was starting to get stacked on top of each other. We moved the crib we already had to our bedroom, given that we'd want to have it there when they came. We debated back and forth about buying another one, but Anna had told us it'd be enough for the both of them, and that they probably wouldn't want to be separated for now.

And now we're in the middle of July, sitting down on the floor of the nursery, sorting through another wave of gifts we've received. Anna's to my right, the Kid to my left with Dom at his side, and Izzie across from me. JJ and AJ are at their grandparents' house, and Otter and Creed are having some weird bro-time, leaving me to deal with unwrapping some sort of contraption that looks fucking painful.

"What the fuck is this?" I ask, trying to figure out which side is up.

Ty has a lapful of something fuzzy that squeaks, and Dom is in the process of trying to clean up all the pink and blue wrapping paper that covers the floor. Izzie is reading a book on newborn bathing techniques that came with a bathing station, having looked horrified when I asked why we couldn't just wash them in the sink like we had been when we were kids. ("That explains so much about you.") Anna is sitting with her back against the wall, looking amused as she watches me get more and more disconcerted with every package I open.

"Why are there suction cups?" Ty asks, squinting at the thing in my hands.

"It's a breast pump," Dom says.

I drop it as if it has scalded me. "It's a what?"

"Maybe you should have looked at the box before you tore into it," Anna says. "I swear, you're worse than JJ at Christmas."

"I don't have breasts," I say, scandalized. "I can't make milk."

"Says the sink baby," Izzie mutters, blowing a strand of hair from her face.

"Dear Bear," Ty says, reading from the card that came with the pump. "This wasn't on your list, but I assume your wife will need one. And if you still don't have a wife, you are living in sin. Signed, Helen Woolley."

"Fucking Helen," I snarl at the breast pump. "She knows I'm married to Otter. She will rue the day she sent me this contraption. Rue."

"Who is Helen Woolley?" Dom whispers, obviously not wanting to incur my wrath.

"Librarian at the middle school," Ty whispers back. "She was ancient when I went there."

"She thinks she can mess with me and my gay husband? Boy, is she sorely mistaken. I shall have my revenge, Helen Woolley! See that I won't—oh look, it lights up. That's kind of neat. Ooh, it even beeps. Is that to let you know your boob is done or something?"

We all look at Anna.

Except for Izzie, who sighs and rolls her eyes.

"You are so special, Bear," Anna says seriously.

"I have no use for this."

"Okay. So return it. Or give it to Megan and Marty. You said they were planning on having kids of their own, right?"

"You want me to regift the breast pump? That sounds horrible."

"Are you going to use it?"

"Well, no. Do you want it?"

"Regifting," she reminds me. "And I have one."

"But this one lights up and beeps when your boob is done. And what if you have another kid? This is super hard-core."

She snorts. "Right. Another kid. Don't tell Creed because he doesn't know it yet, but it's time for me to Bob Barker the hell out of this situation and spay and neuter my pet."

We gape at her.

She shrugs. "I'll hold his hand while it happens."

"Savage," Izzie mutters, holding out her hand for a high five.

"I'll never understand girls," I sigh.

"You tried," Anna says. "I suppose it's the thought that counts."

I picked up what remained of the box the pump came in and put it back inside. "We will still send a thank-you note to Helen, even though she's a homophobic asshole. Izzie, don't say that word because it's bad. I'm an adult, and therefore I can speak how I wish."

"Are you sure about that?" she asks me without looking up.

"Which part?"

"Exactly."

"Brat."

She's smiling, though, and it's nice to see. She's slowly been coming out of her shell, getting used to her place here with us. It probably helped that the visits so far from the social worker have gone so well, given that Otter and I are old hats at it. Erica Sharp was able to track down Izzie's father, and he didn't seem to give two shits about Izzie. Which was good in the end, because he was doing twenty years in Georgia for armed robbery. We'd thought the news would hurt Izzie, but she'd only sighed in relief and asked if that meant she was able to stay with us for good now. When I told her that looked like it'd be the case, she began to settle, talking to us more rather than just to Ty. It was obvious that she felt more comfortable around him, but she was giving Otter and me a chance. Last week, she'd even come to us and asked for something she'd seen online, some bug-hunting kit she'd found on Amazon. I'd been so taken aback that she'd actually asked for something that I hadn't hesitated in handing her my credit card.

("Wait, a bug-hunting what? Izzie, you better not let those things loose in the house, you hear me?"

"Bear's scared of bugs."

"You shut your mouth, Otter. I am not. I just don't like them when they fly. Or crawl. Or come near me. Or are alive.")

Erica thought we'd get to go before a judge to finalize guardianship sometime early in the new year, which we were all trying to stay cautiously optimistic about. Erica had pulled us aside and told us she thought it was a done deal, but we'd learned to be careful about such things. "This is a good thing, guys," she'd told us. "You'll see. I'm never wrong about situations like this."

We already had everything we needed to get her registered for the new school year next month, something she wasn't exactly thrilled about. Otter and I decided that we'd wait to talk to her about it more until August, but she knew it was coming, whether she wanted it to or not.

I think she let a couple of bugs into the house on purpose for that.

I was concerned for a little while that she'd feel we were shoving her aside with all this baby shit, or that she'd think she inconvenienced us by appearing when she did, especially with the twins on the way. When we sat her down to tell her that she wasn't in the way, that we wanted her here, twins or no twins, she looked at us a little funny before saying that she knew that. "Don't be stupid, Bear," she'd said, rolling her eyes. "You've already done more for me than Mom ever did. I'm not worried about that."

I'd never felt so bad and so good all at the same time. It was an odd feeling.

So we're all right. Mostly. I'm still not happy about Ty's living arrangement, but I don't think Dom has smiled this much since I've known him, so they must be doing okay. I'd told Tyson that he absolutely cannot get married until he finishes college, and he'd given me such a look of horror that I immediately felt better about the entire situation.

Except now I have a breast pump in my lap, and I'm plotting ways to make a ninety-year-old bigot pay for her crimes.

My life is strange.

"Do you really need all this stuff?" Tyson asks, frowning at a giant vat of some kind of cream he'd unwrapped. "Isn't it a little overkill?"

Dom and Anna had matching eye rolls, like they couldn't believe the childless people in the room could be so naïve. I forgot every now and then that Dom went through this exact same thing while we'd been in New Hampshire, and I felt guilty at the fact that we hadn't been there for him like he was here now. There wasn't much I could do about it, but it still doesn't sit with me right.

"Trust me," Anna says. "You'll need all of this and more. Those hundreds of diapers you have stacked against the wall? That'll probably last you a couple of months, if you're lucky. Formula? Gone by Thanksgiving. Wipes? Probably will have to buy more by the time Halloween decorations go up."

The Kid stares at her, aghast. "That's such a racket."

"Newborns cry, poop, eat, and sleep," Izzie says. "And that's it."

"How do you know?" Ty asks.

"I read about it on the internet."

"You're researching newborns?" I ask, oddly touched.

She sighs and puts the book down in her lap. "There are going to be two of them," she says. "And I'm going to be their aunt. Of course I'm researching newborns. I plan on being their favorite out of anyone, so I need to get a head start."

"Aunt Izzie," I say. "You know, I never really thought of that. Weird, right? You're only thirteen years old, and you're going to be an aunt."

"I was a late mistake," Izzie says. "It happens."

I frown at her. "You're not a mistake."

"I know that. Mom didn't."

"Well. Just as long as you know that."

"You don't have to worry about me, Bear. My ego isn't that fragile. I'm not you and Tyson, after all."

"Hey!" my brother and I say at the same time.

"High-five," Anna says, and Izzie grins smugly.

"Little sisters are a pain in my ass," I mutter as I hand Dom more wrapping paper. "And you're going to be the best aunt ever, so don't you worry about it."

She's pleased, I can tell, but she tries to hide it with a scowl. She's not very successful, so she picks up the bath station book again and puts it up close to her face.

Anna winks at me, not fooled in the slightest.

"I think that's everything," Ty says. "At least for today. Who knows how many other things you're gonna get between now and when the babies get here."

"Most of this is coming from Alice and Jerry," I say. "Apparently, they don't know the meaning of moderation."

"They're grandparents," Anna says. "It's sort of in the job description. I guarantee you that JJ has convinced them both that he never gets to have ice cream because his mom and dad are mean, so they're probably buying him pints and pints of Chunky Monkey. I learned my lesson the hard way with that. Grandparents get to give the kids whatever they want, and then they send them home for the parents to deal with the fallout."

"Maybe I should have just skipped to being a grandparent," I say, finally seeing the floor underneath us again. "It sounds easier."

"Nah," Anna says. "I'm not going to lie. It's going to suck for a while. You'll be cranky and get no sleep, but then one day, your kid won't pee on the toilet seat or the floor, and it'll be crazy how proud you are of them. Until they promptly forget the next time and it somehow gets on the wall."

"JJ sounds like he was a handful when he was little," Izzie says, turning the page.

"Yeah," Anna says with a sigh. "This was last week. Apparently, he was pretending his penis was a fire hose because Creed thought it was funny."

"Bet you wish we hadn't broken up, huh?" I ask.

I'm offended by how hard she laughs at that.

And how long it goes on for.

And how she cries a little too.

"That was a bit of an overreaction," I mumble.

That sets her off all over again, so I throw wrapping paper at her face, which leads to Izzie throwing some at me, and then Tyson and Dom randomly start making out and we all yell at them for being so disgusting.

It's nice.

TY AND Izzie are in the backyard, Izzie showing off the bug finding kit. Tyson looked a little green at the thought, but he let himself be pulled outside, but not before he kissed his boyfriend, who had to go get ready to go on duty. He was working the two-to-midnight shift this summer, in hopes that he can get an earlier shift once Ty starts school so they're at least able to see each other in the evenings. I have faith they'll work it out somehow.

Ty had kissed his cheek and whispered that he better come home in one piece, something that I gathered was said every time Dom left for work. I worry about him when he's on duty, of course, but I can't imagine what it must be like for Tyson. But Dom is doing what he's always wanted to do, and no one can begrudge him that.

So it's just Anna and me at the table, our tea cooling in mugs in our hands. It's been a while since it's just the two of us, and I don't know how often we're going to be able to do this once the twins come.

For a long time, Anna and I had this... weirdness... between us. Most of it had to do with Otter's homecoming and everything that happened after. I hadn't handled things the way I should have, and it took a while for us to get back on an even keel. But she stuck by me, even when I didn't think I deserved it, so I must have done something right to have her still want to be by my side after all these years.

Family is funny like that, I guess. Our pasts are woven together so much that I don't know that we could ever be torn apart.

"You and Creed good?" I ask her.

"We're fine, Papa Bear," she says. "He makes me want to pull my hair out nine days out of ten, but then he always makes up for it on the tenth day."

"Three guys in the house, though."

"Right? Karma, I guess."

"For?"

She shrugs. "Something, I'm sure. How are you and Otter?"

I blink. "Fine. Why? Did he say something? Because if he did, he's a fucking liar. How was I supposed to know that pole was there in the parking lot? I didn't mean to back into it."

"Really, Bear? You didn't know that stationary pole was there?"

I scowl at her. "There never used to be a pole right in that spot."

"And no, he hasn't said anything. Not bad, at least. He's just as goofy in love with you as always."

I grin at that. "Pretty awesome, right? No one's spilled the secret that I got the better end of that deal, and it's been years. By the time he's figured it out, the twins will be here, and he won't ever get to leave me. It's the perfect plan."

"Trap him with kids," Anna says, knocking her mug against mine. "That's devious. I like it."

"Eh, I learned from the best."

Her eyes narrow. "If you're talking about me—"

"Nope," I say hastily. "Not at all. Never even crossed my mind. I was talking about these... other people I know with... kids."

"Mmm," she says, sipping her tea daintily. "Good. What have you done just for you two, though?"

"Um. What?"

"When was the last time you had sex?"

"Wow. Just going for it, are we?"

"You're not the beat around the bush type, Bear."

"Well. Maybe I should be the beat around the bush type. That way, I could avoid moments like this."

"We left behind personal boundaries years ago when I went from having sex with you to having sex with the brother of the guy you cheated on me with."

"I'm still not ever going to be used to you saying that. And I didn't cheat."

She rolls her eyes. "Physical, emotional. Same thing."

"You know, one might think that if you keep bringing that up, that you're still not over me."

She snorts tea out her nose.

"That's not very polite," I mutter, handing her a napkin.

She wipes her face, her eyes a little wet. "Oh, you do always know how to make me laugh."

"It wasn't that funny."

"Agree to disagree. Answer the question."

"I don't even remember what we were talking about."

"You, Otter. Sex."

"Right. Can we get distracted again?"

She glares at me.

"Fine," I say with a sigh. "We do make time for each other. I mean, the last time we had sex was... okay. Wait. I know this. Hold on. We did—do hand jobs count? Because I think they count. Since they count, it would have been... I know this. Um."

"Right," she says. "And while you're vacillating, I'm just going to sit here and stare at you until you realize it's been a while."

That can't be right, can it? Sure, we'd been busy preparing for the twins, and Izzie, and just life in general, but it can't have been that long.

But for the life of me, I can't even remember. All I can think about is being exhausted or nervous or both.

"Crap."

"There it is," Anna says.

"Well, Otter is getting old," I say. "Maybe it's harder for him to get it up. And please don't tell him I said that. I don't like sleeping on the couch."

"Right," Anna says with a snort. "Because Otter doesn't end up on the couch with you halfway through the night."

"He doesn't like sleeping without me," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "Even when he's mad at me."

She shakes her head. "I know I don't have to worry about the two of you. You guys are good. You always have been. But you can't forget to take moments away from all of... this. Pretty soon, it's not going to be just you and Otter anymore, Bear. You've got Izzie now, but then there are going to be two more entirely dependent upon you. You have to be sure to set aside time for each other, or it's going to get rough. It will get rough."

I'm starting to form an idea I'm not entirely comfortable with. "You and Creed?"

She sighs. "We had it good the first time. With JJ, we were so damn young that I think it was fear that kept us going. But with AJ, both during and after, I think we... drifted. A little. Away from who we used to be to each other. There was a little while when I didn't think we were going to make it."

"What?" I ask, incredulous. "Why am I just hearing about this now? Creed didn't say anything!"

"I don't know why he didn't. He—"

"Why didn't you?"

"You were going through your own thing. Last summer was a little rough, what with coming home and the Kid and deciding to start your own family. I thought you guys had enough to worry about."

I reach out and put my hand on top of hers. "You know you can come to me with anything, right?"

She smiles quietly. "I know. But we're good, Bear. I promise. We decided to start couples counseling, and we're getting back to each other the way we're supposed to be. I know we'll be fine. We just had to do a little work on ourselves. Which is why I'm bringing it up to you. It's easy to get distracted by everything. You can't let yourself forget about him. And I know that sounds weird, because you're married to him, but—just take my word for it, okay? It might seem cheesy to have scheduled dates or scheduled sex, but trust me. You'll start to look forward to it, because it'll be something just for the two of you."

"I'm glad you and Creed are good," I tell her. "But now I'm about to freak out that Otter and I are going to get divorced because I haven't gone down on him in three months."

She sprays tea all over the table this time.

"You're very classy," I say solemnly, getting up to get a paper towel.

"You did that on purpose," she says, tea dripping down her chin.

"You'll never be able to prove it."

She takes the paper towel from me and wipes off her face and the table. "See if I give you advice ever again."

I roll my eyes. "Please. I can just go online to find out how to put the spark back in my marriage. It's not going to be that hard."

"Yeah, okay. Let me know how that works for you. And record it, just so I can see what happens."

"I'm telling Creed you want to watch a sex tape with me and Otter."

She grins. "Fuck yeah, I would. That'd be hot. Does he have a big dick?"

"Anna!"

"What?"

"That's not—I'm not going to tell you that."

She waits.

"Pretty big," I admit, because I'm weak and feel the need to extoll my husband's virtues. "He's also got those hairy, chunky thighs that I like to ride when I—"

"Yep," she says. "That's enough for the ol' spank bank."

We really do need to set boundaries.

I'M NOT worried.

I'm not.

I mean, so what if Anna and Creed had marital troubles that none of us knew about.

They're fine now.

Many couples go to counseling.

They're fine.

Otter and I are fine.

"How was your day?"

He grunts at me.

"Really?" I say. "That sounds lovely. Tell me more."

He grunts again.

"Great. What else did you and Creed do?"

"Bear?"

"Yes, Otter."

"It's two o'clock in the morning."

"Is it?"

"Yes, Bear."

"Oh. Well. Go to sleep."

He does exactly that.

Our marriage is doomed.

AND SINCE I'm not willing to let him go without a fight, I'm sitting in the dark in the kitchen, the bright screen of my laptop hurting my eyes as I scour the internet for ways to put the spark back into my marriage.

I've found myself on some ridiculous website that apparently offers advice that I can't tell if is real or if is satire. It's hurting my brain, but I can't look away. It has thousands of self-help topics from HOW TO BE NORMAL and HOW TO EXFOLIATE YOUR LIPS and HOW TO TREAT BOTULISM IN DUCKS. I almost get distracted by that last—because how do you treat botulism in ducks?—but I'm on a mission.

I click on the search bar and type in: HOW TO REKINDLE YOUR ROMANCE.

YOU'VE BEEN married for a long time. You wake up with your significant other, you go about your lives, and then come home to each other. You stare at each other from across the dinner table, conversation stifled and awkward, and you notice things that maybe you hadn't noticed before, like the way your SO slurps their soup obnoxiously or chews with their mouth open. You begin to resent them, and soon it spirals down into a murder-for-hire plot that explodes out of control and ends with either one or both of you dead on a pier in the pouring rain.

But what if there was a way to avoid that?

What if there was a way to bring back the spark that drew you together before it ends in a murder/suicide?

By following these easy steps, you and your SO will be more in love than you ever were before, and you will be able to avoid becoming a killer!

Have a three-way! Look, most people believe that the lovemaking is the first thing to go when a marriage is choking itself to death. By bringing in a third party, it could bring a different form of excitement to a relationship. Fellas, don't you want to see your lady love with another woman? Ladies, don't you want to see your fella getting plowed with his face in the mattress? Whether it be a onetime thing or if it evolves into a polyamorous relationship, one out of sixty-four marriage counselors agree that bringing in another party to the bedroom is the perfect way to solve those doldrums.

Do the little things! Honestly, folks, we sometimes forget that not everyone needs a major event to prove your love. Send a text message that says you just saw a dirty city pigeon and it reminded your SO of them. That way, it lets your SO know you were thinking about them, even when apart. Send flowers! Or, if your SO loves treats, send them a tin of cheesy popcorn, because nothing says I love you like orange-stained fingers.

Go on dates! We get tired, don't we? We work long hours, we have to come home and take care of the kids. We make dinner, help with homework, get everyone ready for bed. And by the time we're finished, we're exhausted. But it helps to step away for a little while. To go back to when it was just the two of you, when you didn't have those little bloodsuckers that want nothing more than to tear your sanity down piece by piece until you wonder what would happen if you left them at a fire station and then moved to Nebraska and lived under an assumed name while working in a cornfield. Dates are a good way to avoid having to do all of that. Go to the movies, or go to a quiet dinner. Or better yet, spice it up with a little role-playing! Pretend to be strangers who meet in a hotel bar and are cheating on their spouses with this person they just met. Trust me, you won't regret it when you can't keep your hands off your "one-night stand" while riding the elevator up to your hotel room.

***DON'T ACCIDENTALLY get so caught up in the role-play that you end up going up to the hotel room with the wrong person. Because that would be actually cheating, and cheating is a terrible thing, and anybody who actually cheats deserves to fall into a live volcano and melt in magma.

I slam the laptop shut.

"I'm not doing any of that," I growl in the dark.

# 11. Where Bear and Otter Role-Play at a Hotel Bar

THIS IS the stupidest thing we've ever done.

No. I'm being serious.

This is the fucking stupidest thing we've ever done.

And yet, for some reason, I'm more turned on than I've been in a long time.

And we haven't even done anything yet. He's not even here.

I'm sitting at a bar in a fancy hotel on the boardwalk in Seafare. It's only been a few days since Anna had basically told me that my marriage was falling apart, and I blame her entirely for the situation I've found myself in.

It probably hadn't helped that when I'd told Otter about what I wanted to do, he'd stared at me for a long time without speaking. Then he'd leaned up, kissed me on the forehead, and told me that I really should stop listening to other people talking about our relationship. But then he'd given me a really fucking sloppy blowjob in the kitchen, and when I came on his neck after he jacked me off, he said he was going to role-play the shit out of this. I had stood there, knees weak, slumped against the wall, mind mostly mush, agreeing to whatever he wanted.

Which is why I'm sitting in a dimly lit bar, nursing a glass of wine, nervously waiting for my husband to show up after he'd told me earlier in the day to "Just leave it all up to me, Bear, and play along when I get there."

I'm wearing a crisp pair of gray slacks and a blue button-down shirt, open at the collar, Otter having picked out my outfit. He whispered in my ear that the dress pants made my ass look good, so I put up no argument. When Otter Thompson growls in your ear that he wants to rub his hands over your ass while wearing gray dress pants, you can sure as shit bet you'll put those on as quickly as possible.

It's going on eight o'clock, and I realize we actually need this when I think about how late that is, and that by now, I'm usually at home in my pajamas. I'm only thirty-three years old. Otter is forty-one. We should be out having the times of our lives and—

Okay, that sounds exhausting, and I really would rather be wearing pajamas right now, but Otter started really getting into this idea, so I figure I'm doing it for him. It has nothing to do with my own insecurities.

Or so I tell myself.

Izzie's with Dom and Ty and Ben, and they're supposed to be out getting pizza. Ty and Izzie had made fun of the "old guys" having a date night. I threatened to put them both up for adoption, only to have Izzie's bottom lip start to tremble, her eyes wide, hands shaking. Immediately feeling like shit, I'd started to apologize before she burst out laughing, saying, "You're so gullible, Bear, how embarrassing."

I know the absolute worst people.

"Get you another glass of Riesling?" the bartender asks me as he comes back my way.

"No," I say. "I'm meeting my husband here, and we're going to pretend we don't know each other because of sex reasons, and I want to be sober for that."

He walks away without another word.

"This is why I don't go out more," I mutter.

And then my eyes are covered with a pair of hands.

"Surprise," a voice whispers in my ear, deep and husky.

Oh. So it looks like we've started. I don't know where he's going with this, but since he's willing to play, I'm all in.

"Who is it?" I say, my voice sultry and seductive. Or at least that's what I'm going for. In actuality, I probably sound like a seventy-year-old four-pack-a-day smoker, but I figure this is my first time role-playing, so I've got some room to grow.

"Guess."

Well, shit. I don't know what to say. I'm a middle-school English teacher. I don't necessarily have the greatest imagination. Am I supposed to make up a name? Sure. Why the fuck not? "Is it... Edgar Hoosen?"

The voice laughs. "What? No. Who the hell is Edgar Hoosen?"

The hands fall away, and I turn to see—

"Isaiah?"

Isaiah Serna grins at me. I haven't seen him in years, not since my community college days. He's older (hell, we all are now) but still looks good. His dark hair is shorter now, almost buzzed close to the scalp. He's still got those ridiculously thick eyebrows, and his dark eyes flash at me. His smile has a hint of teeth behind it.

He's dressed nicely, a suit coat over an expensive dress shirt, his skinny tie a little loose at the throat. He's bigger than I remember him being, his arms nicely defined even through the sleeves.

This is not what I was expecting to happen.

"You know," he says, "I was just thinking about you the other day when I came back into Seafare. I wondered what Derrick McKenna could possibly be up to these days. And then I get here tonight, and I see this man sitting at the bar, and he's hot, right? And maybe I'm thinking that I should get myself a drink, maybe cruise this guy a little, scope out the situation. See what was what. Imagine my surprise that I see it's the guy I'd been thinking about only a few days before. Funny how that works out, don't you think?"

"Yes," I say, thrown a little off-kilter. "Like, funny ha ha."

"Sure," he says, taking a step forward so our knees bump together. I'm still seated on the stool, and he's standing in front of me. We're almost eye to eye. "Like, funny ha ha."

"What are you doing here?" I ask, curious. "Last I heard, you'd moved to Seattle."

His smile widens a little bit. "Checking up on me?" he teases.

I roll my eyes. "Good to know nothing's changed."

"I'll take that as a compliment. A friend's wedding is this weekend. In town for that." He glances down at my hands for some reason, his smile curving slightly before he looks back up at me. "And what about you? What brings you out on this fine summer evening?"

How do you tell the guy that used to hit on you quite ferociously that you are role-playing stranger danger with your husband because you didn't want to have a three-way like the internet told you to?

Truth is, you don't.

So I say, "Um."

"That right," he says. "Buy you a drink?"

"That's not—"

"Maker's Mark," he tells the bartender, who has appeared again as if by magic. "No ice. And whatever my friend here is having."

"Look, I'm here to meet—"

"Fate is a fickle thing," Isaiah says, obviously posing against the bar, flexing his arms like I'm going to drop trou right then and there and hold my asscheeks apart. "Can bring two people back together after all this time. Makes you think, doesn't it?"

"Wow," I say. "That was pretty damn smooth. Good job."

He winks at me. "Thanks. So glad to know it's working."

"It's really not, though," I reassure him. "But it's nice to know you're trying."

His smile fades a little. "Huh. That's... disheartening. Do I need to up my game a little? Because I can do that."

"You can? Jesus, that's impressive."

"Is it now?" he says as the bartender sets his drink before him. He lifts the tumbler and takes a long, slow sip, never taking his eyes off of me. "Good to know you think I'm impressive."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you were thinking."

I wince. "Okay, now it's a little creepy."

He laughs. "Oh, man. I forgot how you could be. It's good to know some things don't change."

I don't know if that's a compliment or if I'm being insulted. There's an equal chance for both. I need to change the subject as quickly as possible. Or even better, get him to leave before Otter gets here and sees him standing so close to me and possibly decides that it's okay to commit murder. I don't want to be a single father. "So, how's life?"

"Good, good," he says, a devilish smirk on his face. "I work in advertising up in Seattle."

"How appropriately vague. What do you advertise?"

"This and that," he says, running his finger over the rim of his drink. "I love small talk."

"Great," I say. "I'm a teacher, since you were rude and didn't ask."

He gapes at me a little. "You? You're a teacher?"

I frown. "Ye-es?"

"That is not something I would have expected."

"Why?"

He cocks his head at me. "Because of your whole... being."

"I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment."

"As you should," he says, reaching over and patting the top of my hand, lingering far longer than was proper. "Oh hey, would you look at that. We're in a hotel. And I just happen to have a hotel room. Isn't that ironic?"

"Well, no, that's not what irony means, so."

"God," Isaiah says. "That's hot."

I squint at him. "What."

"I like it when you talk. I always did."

"How much have you had to drink?"

He grins. "Why? Are you trying to get me drunk, Bear? So you can have your way with me?"

I laugh.

He looks at me pointedly.

"Oh my god," I say. "You're being—"

"I'm only in town for a few days," he says, taking a step closer. "And I can't make promises for anything beyond that. But if you say yes, I can promise you these few days will be the best of your life. I hope you don't like wearing clothes."

"Wow," I say faintly. "That... doesn't do a thing for me."

His brow furrows. "I'm serious."

And because my life is terrible, I say, "Hi, Serious, I'm Bear."

He takes a step back. "Did you just... did you just make a dad joke?"

I bang my head on the top of the bar. "I am going to fucking kill him."

"I have to be honest, that made you a little less attractive to me right now. And who are you going to kill? I've got a really good lawyer, just in case. Say the word, and I'll—"

"Otter," I say, lifting my head from the bar. "Otter's going to kill me."

"Otter," Isaiah says slowly, eyes widening. "That guy you were dating that absolutely hated me all those years ago?"

"He didn't hate you," I say. "He just didn't like the fact that you were alive."

He looks a little shocked. "Are you two still together?"

"Well, yeah. We're married. And you know what? Maybe I should get the name of your lawyer, because all the lawyers I know are jerks who get all up in our business. And when you're called to testify, you have to really sell how sad you were when I made a dad joke, because that is the only way that I'll be found innocent. Like, really sell it. Tears, maybe. And then I'll cry too, telling the jury that my husband just changed after he found out we were having twins, and started telling inadvertent dad jokes, and you know what else? I caught him the other day wearing tube socks. With shorts." I pause for a moment, considering. "Okay, and maybe that says something bad about me that I found it to be really fucking hot, but Jesus Christ. What's next? A fanny pack? Is that what's really in our future? It's like he was made for this. He's going to dad all over the place, and why do I find that so attractive? There has to be something wrong with me, right? I mean, what if he goes to PTA meetings and just takes charge? Because we all know that Mrs. Kennington is a bitch who thinks her shit don't stink, and maybe Otter would come in and put her in her place and—whoa. I would totally sex him up in the janitor's closet after that. God, it has to be the hormones, right? I mean, I know I'm not pregnant, but there has to be some kind of transference. Because tube socks and PTA meetings should not be making me feel like this. We're supposed to be role-playing stranger danger tonight, anyway. He's going to be some businessman from out of town, and I'm going to be—well, I said I was going to be the small-town lounge singer, but he said I can't sing, then I said I wanted a divorce, and then he said there was no way in hell I would ever get away from him, then I said that was creepy and you're still wearing tube socks, you big, sexy freak. I mean, you know?"

Isaiah stares at me.

I have another sip of wine.

"I think I dodged a bullet here," he finally says.

"Probably," I agree.

"You're married."

"To Otter."

"Who didn't like me. At all."

"Well, you did your best to try and put my dick in your mouth back then."

He chokes. "That is not—"

I snort.

"Okay. Maybe I did. But to be fair, I did that with a lot of people."

I roll my eyes. "I feel so special."

"You're not wearing your wedding ring."

I look down at my bare finger. There's a tan line there, but the bar is dimly lit, so it's hard to make out. "Right. We're role-playing."

His grin comes back. "Maybe we could role-play a threesome."

"I dare you to say that when he gets here."

He pales a little. "You know what? I think I'm going to go. Bear, it was nice seeing you again. Feel free to look me up if the whole marriage/fatherhood thing doesn't work out for you." With that, he slams the rest of his drink, winks at me, then turns and—

Walks straight into Otter.

It's funny, really. Isaiah is about my height, so he's short for a guy, but he's wide too, maybe a little more than he'd been a decade before.

But he's positively dwarfed by my husband, who does not look amused.

"I know you," Otter growls.

"Eep," Isaiah says.

I'm a little buzzed. It's pretty great. I wonder if they'll fight over me. I hope Otter wins.

Otter's eyebrows draw together. "You're that guy."

"Yep," Isaiah says. "That's me. That guy. I'm also that guy who's leaving, so if you could maybe move your mass a little to the left, I'll get out of your hair."

"Didn't you once try and get in Bear's pants?" Otter asks, crossing his big arms over his considerable chest. He's wearing a suit I've never seen before, and it looks like it's been perfectly cut for his frame, tight in all the right places. The suit is black, and he's wearing a red dress shirt with a black silk tie. I'm going to fuck him until he's cross-eyed.

"I like your shoulders," I tell him, because I feel like he needs to know.

"Thank you," Otter says without looking away from Isaiah. "I'm pretty proud of them."

"You guys are so weird," Isaiah breathes. "Mazel tov and all that."

"What was your name?" Otter asks. "It seems to have slipped my mind."

He's lying, but he's enjoying himself, especially since Isaiah doesn't seem to be having fun, so I leave him to it. I signal the bartender for another glass of wine.

"I don't know that my name is important." Isaiah is starting to sweat. "Seeing as how I was just leaving. And probably not coming back. Ever."

"Probably?" Otter asks, and I remind myself that erections in public are frowned upon.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Isaiah says hastily. "I meant to say never. I'm never coming back."

"I feel like your name is Ricky," Otter says. "You look like a Ricky."

"It's Isaiah," I say helpfully.

"That's right," Otter growls. "Isaiah. You were in Bear's class. You came to the gay bar that one time."

"He wasn't wearing his ring!" Isaiah exclaims. "How was I to know you guys are kinky sumbitches! I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known. You have to believe me. I'm serious!"

"Hi, Serious, I'm—"

"Stop it," I snap at Otter. "Stop it right now. Tube socks. You were wearing tube socks with shorts."

Otter glares at me. "They're just socks."

"You had sandals on. You were wearing socks and sandals at the same time."

"Oh wow," Isaiah says. "You are such a dad."

Otter turns his head slowly back to Isaiah.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," Isaiah says hastily, taking a step back. "You're probably the hottest dad I've ever seen."

"Are you hitting on him?" I demand.

"What? No! Okay, maybe? I mean, you never really said no to the three-way—"

"I dared him to say that to you when you got here," I tell Otter. "I did not expect him to actually do it. He's got balls."

"Not for long he doesn't," Otter says, flexing his arms against his chest. My mouth goes instantly dry.

"Annnnd that's my cue to leave," Isaiah says, slowly taking a step backward. "Bear, it's been... how I normally expect conversations with you to be like. It's good to know nothing changes. I wish you two the happiest of weird married-dad sex. I'm leaving."

"Bye," I say. "Have a nice life or whatever."

"So that's a no, then, to the three-way—"

"Leave," Otter barks.

Isaiah Serna exits the premises rather quickly.

And that's when I realize the bar is absolutely silent. I look around. People are staring at us.

"That wasn't what you thought it was," I say loudly so everyone can hear. "I'm not having an affair, and we're not weird. We're role-playing."

That doesn't seem to make things better.

"Oh, that's right. Just watch the dinner theater. I mean, that's what the gays are good for, right? We're only here for your entertainment. Well, let me tell you something. You can suck my mmph."

There's a hand over my mouth.

I look up at Otter.

He sighs.

I smile behind his hand.

His lips quirk. "Isaiah? Really?"

I shrug.

"You didn't have to take off your wedding ring," he says, dropping his hand.

"It's part of the experience," I remind him. "Speaking of, why are you being familiar with me? You're not doing it right!"

"Aren't we a little past—"

"Otter!"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Ahem. Hello. Is this seat taken?"

I bat my eyelashes at him.

He chokes on a laugh. "Or maybe not. I think I'll go sit elsewhere. You look like you have something in your eye."

I punch him in the arm. "Sit down."

He does, asking the bartender for a beer. "So," he says, sounding amused. "What brings you out to a place like this?"

"I'm a lounge singer," I tell him. "This is where I lounge. And sing."

He groans. "Seriously? I told you that—"

"This is fantasy. That means I get to be whoever I want."

"Fine," he says. "Then I get to do the same."

"Fine." Because the internet said I had to respect my partner's wishes too. Which was stupid because this whole thing was my idea.

The bartender sets the beer in front of Otter. "What's your name?" he asks before taking a sip of his beer.

"Valentino Valentine."

He sprays his beer all over the bar top.

"You're not making a very good first impression," I say with a scowl, grabbing a napkin to wipe up his mess.

"That's the name you came up with?" he hisses at me, wiping his mouth. "You're a lounge singer named Valentino Valentine? What the hell!"

"Hey! I'm good at this."

"This is dumb. Let's just get our hotel room and have sex."

That sounds like the best idea, but I don't want to rush it, because if we do, there's a chance our spark will die and I'll end up being a middle-class divorcee. "No," I say. "We're doing this."

He sighs. "Great."

"What's your name?" I ask.

"John Smith."

"That's... generic. And wasn't that the name of the colonizer who married Pocahontas, even though she was only, like, thirteen, and then took her to England where she later died in misery?"

"He was my father," Otter says. "Also, I'm here in town on business."

"What kind of business?"

"I'm an astronaut."

I bark out an obscenely loud screech of laughter before slapping my hands over my mouth.

He grins at me crookedly. "I don't think I've ever heard you make that noise before. Not that I know what kind of noises you make of course. Yet."

"Wow," I say. "You're pretty terrible at this. What brings you to Seafare?"

"Astronaut convention."

"What."

He arches an eyebrow at me. "You sound like you're judging me, Valentino Valentine."

"Nope," I say quickly. "No judgment. Absolutely no judgment. So, you're just in town for a few days for your... astronaut convention?"

"Yeah," he says easily. "Then I leave for Mars."

God, I love him so fucking much. "That sounds... like a long trip."

"Oh it is," he says, taking another sip of his beer. "Going into cryogenic stasis for a couple of years."

"Huh. That sounds rough."

"It will be," he says. "A long time without feeling another man's touch."

"You poor thing. I would offer to help you with that, but I—I just can't."

He looks confused. "You... can't?"

"No," I say, looking off into the distance as if contemplating all the trials and tribulations of my life. "I promised myself a long time ago that I would never give in to the carnal sins of the flesh ever again."

He coughs roughly. "The carnal what?"

"I was scorned a long time ago," I say, ignoring him. "By a cowboy. In Texas. During a long, hot, hazy summer."

"Oh my god," he says faintly.

"Yes, Tobias and I were—"

"Tobias."

"Yes. Tobias. Can I finish, please?"

"Oh, go ahead," he says. "I can't wait to hear this."

"Anyway. Tobias and I were in love. On his ranch. Outside Laredo. We were young and foolish and thought we could take on the world. Alas, it wasn't meant to be."

"I'm probably going to regret asking," he says dryly, "but why wasn't it meant to be?"

"His father," I say solemnly. "He was an oil baron. And he wanted an heir beyond his son. Something which I couldn't give Tobias. There was an ultimatum. Either Tobias would marry Trixie Marie Allen, or Tobias would be cut off from his inheritance."

"Let me guess," Otter—no, John—says. "Tobias chose Trixie."

"Not right away," I admit. "I thought he was going to resist his father. And he did, at first. But Trixie kept coming 'round, and who was I to measure up to her? She was smart and funny and knew how to work a ranch. I just wanted to sing. Because it was in my soul."

"How terrible," John says, and it looks like he's barely keeping from bursting into laughter. "He chose Trixie?"

I nod. "Our love wasn't strong enough. He was blinded by greed and a buxom blonde with big hair. Who was I to stand in the way of that?" I sigh as I take another drink of wine. "So I left the Lonely Hearts Ranch and traveled west until I found myself here. In this bar. It was fate, maybe. Because they were looking for a singer. And that's all I ever wanted."

"So you stayed," John says.

"Yes. And my heart has been so lonely. Just like the name of the ranch."

His puts his fist to his mouth as he starts coughing again.

"And so you see," I say loudly, overriding him. "I can't trust the touch of a man. Not even an astronaut."

"Well, baby," he says, leaning forward a little. "I'm something better than just a cowboy."

"Are you?"

"Damn right. I'm a space cowboy."

"I am going to have so much sex with you," I breathe.

His eyes widen. "Yeah? That's enough?"

"I didn't want you to think I'm easy."

"Oh, I don't," he says quickly. "Not at all. You're the opposite of easy. You're hard."

"Damn right I am," I say. "I'm so fucking hard."

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "We need to get the fuck out of here."

"If we don't leave now," I warn him, "I'm probably going to end up blowing you right here in front of all these people."

He slams down the rest of the beer before reaching into his wallet and throwing a couple of bills on the bar top. "We're leaving. Get up. Now."

"Hell yeah," I say, finishing my wine. "Let's do this. Fuck Tobias and Trixie."

We turn to leave when the bartender says, "Excuse me?"

We look back at him.

"This is only enough to cover the wine and beer," the bartender says. "The other guy didn't pay for his bourbon."

"Are you fucking serious?" Otter mumbles before pulling out another bill. "God, I really fucking hate that guy."

"YES, HI," John says, voice a little strangled as I can't seem to keep my hands to myself. "We have a reservation?"

The girl at the desk is staring at us. "Do you?"

I lick John's neck.

He squeaks a little. "Yes. Yes we do. It should be under John Smith—fuck. I mean, it's under Oliver Thompson."

"We're married," I tell her. "And on a date before we have babies. But we're pretending."

"That's... I don't know what that is."

"Yeah," I say dreamily. "Me neither. Awesome, right?"

I don't pay attention to them as John hands over a credit card, because I'm convinced his neck would look better if I sucked a mark on it. I am not disappointed. It does.

"Would you stop it," he growls at me. "I'm trying to—"

"Are you sure you're going to Mars?" I ask him seriously. "Because I think you should probably go to Myanus. Crap. I mean Uranus. But still in mine."

"We don't get out very much," John tells the woman behind the desk, who is starting to look a little horrified.

"I can see that," she says slowly. "Now, we have you in a suite, room 407. The elevators are to the left. Do you need help with your luggage?"

"We didn't bring any," I tell her. "Because we aren't planning on wearing clothes the entire time we're—"

He covers my mouth again with his hand. "We're fine," he says.

"Riiight. Well. Your Wi-Fi passcode is—"

"Not necessary," John says. "We won't be using it."

"I'm going to Wi his Fi," I say, but it comes out muffled against his hand. I might have had a little too much wine.

"You're all set," she says, taking a step back. "So. You can go now."

I drag John toward the elevators.

HE HAS me pressed up against the side of the elevator, and his hands are on my ass. He's making this awesome rumbling sound in his throat as he licks the shell of my ear, when I say, "Wait. Wait. Hold on."

He pulls back, his eyes already a little sex-stupid. "Huh?"

"What credit card did you use?"

"What?"

"For the hotel. Which one did you use? The Visa? Because you know we only use that one for emergencies."

"No, I—hold on." He doesn't move away from me but reaches into his suit coat and pulls out his wallet. He opens it and says, "The Mastercard. I put it on the Mastercard."

"Okay. You may continue."

He latches back on to my neck, and I moan because it's fantastic. Then, "Did you start the dishwasher before you left?"

He groans against me. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes! I just don't want to have to walk into a full, dirty load of dishes when we get home. Is that too much to ask?"

"I'm trying to put a full, dirty load into you, if you don't mind."

I gape at him.

He waggles his eyebrows at me.

"Yes," I say. "Do that. Let's do that. Now. Right now."

The elevator dings, and there is a group of little girls standing outside the door with an older woman.

"Mom," one of the girls asks, voice high. "What are those strange men doing? Is the little one choking? Is that why the big one is grabbing him like that?"

"He's a space cowboy," I tell them. "And I'm a lounge singer who—"

The mother glares at us as Otter pulls me out of the elevator. "Oh please!" I yell back at her. "If those are your kids, then you've already done what we're about to do!"

"They're not all mine!" she yells back. "I'm a chaperone."

"Oh. My bad! Believe in Jesus and stay in school, kids!"

"You are going to get us arrested," Otter snarls at me. "Your little brother's boyfriend is going to come here and arrest us."

"That would be the worst thing that's ever happened," I tell him. "So, you should probably fuck me as soon as we get inside in case we don't have a lot of time."

He makes another strangled noise before he swipes the key card against the door. It beeps, a green light flashing, and he shoves the door open before he jerks me inside and slams it behind us.

"Holy shit," we both say at the same time.

Because the room is huge. They weren't kidding when they said we had a suite. The doorway opens up to a large room with two overstuffed couches and a TV that might be bigger than every TV I've owned combined. A few stairs lead down to a lower floor where a king-sized bed sits. There is a row of windows that leads out to a balcony that overlooks the Pacific Ocean, lights twinkling on boats, stars bright overhead.

"Can we afford this?" I demand. "We're about to have twins."

"It's fine," Otter says. "Remember how we get points on the card for this kind of thing?"

"Fuck me," I whisper. "You are such a dad. Why is that suddenly a thing for me?"

He grins over at me, the green and gold in his eyes darkening a little. "Yeah? That's a thing? Daddy space cowboy?" He grimaces. "That came out sounding creepier than I meant it to."

"I'm not going to call you Daddy."

"You kind of already do."

"Not like that. That would make it weird."

"Yeah, because role-playing lounge singer and astronaut leaving for Mars isn't already weird," he says, completely deadpan.

"We have to keep the spark alive! Anna says—"

He frowns. "What a minute. What do you mean Anna says? Is that—of course that's where this came from."

He pushes by me and heads into the living room. He takes off his suit coat and lays it on the back of one of the couches. He turns back to face me, arms going across his chest again. It's really a magnificent sight, except for the fact that he seems a little annoyed.

"What?"

"We're not Anna and Creed," he tells me.

"I know. We're John Smith and Valentino—"

"Stop," he says, cutting me off. "Listen. Just for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," I say weakly.

He shakes his head and huffs out a little breath. "We're not them. Okay? And whatever Anna told you should give you no reason to worry."

"But they...." I sigh and look down at my hands. "She asked me when the last time we had sex was, and I really couldn't remember."

"We've had a lot on our plates," Otter says quietly. "Things have happened very quickly."

"I know that. But it worried me a little."

"It shouldn't," Otter says, dropping his arms. "Just because Anna and Creed hit a rough patch and went to therapy—"

"How did you know that?"

"Creed told me."

"He did? That asshole didn't say a damn thing to me!"

"Because he knew how you'd react," Otter says wryly.

"I wouldn't react—"

"Tobias and Trixie."

"Okay, maybe I would, but that doesn't mean he can't share shit like that with me."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think I was supposed to know. I overheard him making an appointment on the phone and asked him about it. He wasn't trying to keep anything from you, just like I wasn't. It was between them, and it's helped them. They're getting back to where they need to be."

"But—you can't think that—"

"We haven't lost anything, Bear." Otter takes a step toward me. "I want you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that?"

"Yeah," I say, suddenly nervous for reasons I can't quite explain.

"I love you," he says. "And even better than that, I like you. I like most everything about you. There is no one else that I would rather spend my entire life with. We're busy these days, and sometimes we forget to make time for each other, but that's okay, because we can fix that. But we haven't lost our spark. I want you just as much as I did when I kissed you for the very first time. More, even. And I think you feel exactly the same way."

I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.

He's standing in front of me, and he puts two fingers under my chin, raising my head until I'm looking into his eyes. "I am going to love you forever," he says quietly. "Because that's what I want. And if you want to do all of this, all this elaborate whatever, then that's what we'll do. Or if you just want to stay at home and make out on the couch, we can do that too. What you want is important to me, Bear. And you can tell me, always. I know it can be tough sometimes, and you'll probably piss me off, or I'll make you mad, but we're a team, okay? Never forget that. We're a team, and no matter what happens, I'm always going to have your back. For everything."

I blink away the burn. "You're pretty good at that. Words and stuff."

"Words and stuff," he repeats. "Thanks? I think."

"Just—I got a little scared."

"I know you did."

"I didn't mean it."

"I know that too. You just get stuck in your head, sometimes."

"Understatement," I mutter, leaning over and putting my head onto his shoulder. "I just didn't want—I can't lose you."

"You won't," he says, a big hand on the back of my neck, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

"Yeah, Bear. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that."

He laughs, and I can feel it vibrating in his chest. "Good. Now. Should I still be your space cowboy one-night stand, or can I be your husband who loves you very, very much?"

I pretend to think on it. "Which one will get me fucked into the mattress?"

"Eh. Probably space cowboy. But your husband already knows all the best tricks. John Smith sounds like he'd be selfish about it. He learned it from his dad."

"Poor Pocahontas."

"Poor Pocahontas," he agrees, and it hits me now that I have this man, this idiot in front of me who loves me enough to go along with my stupidity. Who allows me to do all these things that make no sense but enjoys the ride anyway. I'm lucky that way, because not everyone will find that. Not everyone will ever get to have what I have. Because it might be foolish to think that we'll have this forever. People change. Feelings change. But I believe him when he says it, and no voice in my head arguing to the contrary will convince me otherwise. We're solid. We're good. And if there comes a day when we're not, we'll fix it.

I lift my head. "We might have to become one of those couples who schedule sex."

He shrugs. "So we schedule sex. As long as we're doing it together, that's fine."

I frown. "That—because we'd be doing sex... apart?"

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean, you ass. Speaking of." He runs his hands down my back and gropes me.

"That was terrible."

"Or was it funny."

"You are such a dad."

"Is this where I ask you if you're my good boy?" he asks, and okay, maybe I shudder a little at that, my hips jerking forward.

His eyes are wide.

So are mine, because what.

And then we're kissing, and it's messy and wet, and his tongue goes on my chin, and our teeth are knocking together because I'm trying to climb him like a goddamn tree. He grunts against my mouth, and he's lifting me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. I'm grinding onto him, and—

"Is your leg okay?" I gasp as he bites my neck.

"S'fine," he says, voice muffled.

"Because you know how it gets before it rains, and I read it was going to rain—"

"I took some Advil. It's fine—"

"Oh my god," I choke out. "You're so old now, we're talking about your leg that hurts when it rains—"

"No," he says, squeezing my ass. "You're the one talking about my leg after I called you my good boy—"

"Ungh," I say, going slack in his arms.

"How the hell did we not know that was a thing?" he demands, carrying me toward the bed. He's down the stairs quickly, and I am trying to unbuckle his belt so I can get my hands inside—

He drops me on the bed.

I glare up at him as I bounce.

He's panting a little.

"Take off your clothes," I snap up at him.

"You take off your clothes," he retorts, but he's unbuttoning his dress shirt frantically, practically choking himself on his tie.

But that's okay, because I'm pretty much doing the same. I'm trying to get my own shirt unbuttoned, and I'm fumbling with it, and Otter groans above me before he leans down and just jerks it open, buttons flying, hitting the wall before they clack on the floor.

I gape up at him.

He looks just as shocked.

"That was so fucking hot," I breathe. "I don't even care that this was my favorite shirt. Get down here and sex me up, Otter Thompson. I swear to god."

His shirt goes one way, his undershirt goes another. His pants are down around his ankles, and he's kicking them off. A shoe flies against the window, bounces off, and lands on the floor. He's wearing these ridiculously tight black briefs underneath, cut high up on the thigh, and I just stare.

He's always been proud of his body, even if he tries to deny it. He's always been big and strong, muscles cut in his chest and stomach, biceps large, legs thick. And he's still that way, mostly. But now, for some reason I can't quite explain, he's better. Yes, his arms are still big and his thighs still chunky, but he's gotten softer in his stomach, and maybe he's got a little spare tire going on. And fuck me, it's hot. His chest is hairy, and there are some grays mixed in, and maybe the hair on his head isn't as thick as it used to be, but he's gorgeous to me, better than he's ever looked. I know he's struggled with it a little, the whole idea of aging, but seeing him as he is now, tall and strong and real, his dick hard in his ridiculous underwear, I can't help but think that this Otter is the best Otter there has ever been.

"Okay?" he asks, arching an eyebrow at me, but I can see he's a little nervous, and it has been a long time since we've been like this, just the two of us, not worrying about what's going on in the Green Monstrosity or what's coming just a couple of months from now. We're not building another set of drawers or buying another mobile. We're not putting more decals on the wall of clouds. We're just him and me. Bear and Otter.

"Better than okay," I tell him. "I just—I'm pretty sure I could blow right now just watching you."

He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he's pleased by that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You look so good."

"You're just saying that."

"Yeah, because that sounds like me."

"A little."

"Well. Not now. Can you sex me now? Please?"

And he grins at me, that crooked smile I know better than almost anything else. He reaches down and slides off my dress shoes one by one, dropping them to the floor. He pulls off my socks, tossing them over his shoulder as I laugh. My feet are ticklish, and he always tries to fuck with me about it. He lifts both my legs up and tugs on the bottom of my dress pants. I raise my hips and let him pull them off. I take off my shirt and toss it over the side of the bed.

And then he's crawling on the bed, arms on either side of me, and he kisses my stomach, my hip, before he leans up and bites my nipples, first the right and then the left, the barest scrapes of his teeth that causes goose bumps to crawl along my chest and arms.

He's above me now, and he's looking down at me, like he's studying my face. I wonder, sometimes, what he thinks about when he sees me, if I make his heart stutter or his breath catch in his chest like he does for me. I think I do.

"Such a good boy," he says quietly, and fuck, I hate how that's an apparent weakness of mine, and the sound that comes out of my mouth then is low and painful.

"You can't keep doing that," I growl at him.

"Oh? I think I can."

"Okay, Daddy."

He grimaces. "That's... wow. That's not good."

And then he's laughing, and I'm laughing, and it's such a grand thing, being almost naked with my best friend who I also happen to be married to. It's so good that we've gotten this far, that after everything, we're here, we're together, and we're living. And it's when his mouth is on me, cheeks hollowing, my eyes rolling back in my head that I send up a little quiet thank you to whoever or whatever might be listening that this is mine, that I get to have this. Because there was a time when that wasn't a sure thing.

It's when he's hiking my legs up around his shoulders after having dug the lube out of his pocket, when he's grunting as he fucks into me, his forehead sweating, whispering my name against my neck, almost bending me in half, that I know how close it could have been. My hands are running down his broad back as I call out his name, and they're on his hips, and then his legs that are curled underneath him, and I trace along the jagged scar there, knowing there's metal underneath. It was close. It was so close.

He's telling me he loves me, that he's always loved me, and his thrusts are becoming more erratic, and there's this fire in my stomach, and it's burning. I start to jerk myself off, but he bats my hand away and does it himself. He fucks into me once, twice more before I'm coming with a shout between us, spunk warm and sticky on his chest and my chest.

The cords in his neck are standing out as he groans, "Bear," and his hips still, pressed firmly against me, his shoulders shaking, breathing, breathing, breathing harshly near my ear.

And then he collapses on top of me, sweaty and sated.

We're both panting, unable to speak, but I'm rubbing his back, and he's kissing my neck again and again.

Finally, he says, "My good boy," and I pinch his sides, and he's laughing again, bright and vibrant and mine.

LATER, WE toss the comforter on the floor, and I'm feeling a little bad for the cleaning staff because it's gross, but it's probably not the worst thing they've ever had to deal with. Otter's gotten a cloth from the bathroom, and it's warm as he's washing my ass. I sigh at the soft touch, and then he throws it on the comforter and collapses at my side, a thick thigh resting on top of my legs, his arm thrown over my stomach. His face is on my pillow, and as I turn my head, our noses brush together. The light is low in the room, but I can make out his face, his heavy-lidded eyes.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey, yourself," I say back.

And that's it, at least for a little while. We're content to just be. It's quiet aside from the air-conditioning switching on and off and the sounds of the waves through the open sliding door. I'm tired but not ready to sleep. I ache, but it's pleasant. My mind is calm for the most part.

Then, "Valentino Valentine? Really, Bear?"

I roll my eyes. "You're just jealous because the best you could come up with was John Smith."

"I don't think jealous is the right word. Try appalled."

"You were a space cowboy. You don't have any room to talk, John."

"That's Commander John to you, I'll have you know."

He laughs as I pull his arm from my chest to my mouth and bite his wrist. I let him go after a moment, and his hand is on my face with a strong grip, turning me toward him. He kisses me, long and sweet, and I sigh against his mouth.

He settles again, his weight heavy and comforting.

"We didn't have to do this," he says. "I would have been fine at home."

"I know."

"But I'm glad we did."

"Yeah?"

He shrugs. "S'nice. Just being with you. You know that."

"Helps to hear."

He frowns. "Don't I tell you that enough?"

"Hey, hey, now. That's not—I didn't mean it like that. It's just—an idea I got in my head, that we hadn't been just us for a long time. And I... I wanted to do something. For me and you. Not for anyone else. It's not anything you did. It's on me, if anything."

"We're not Anna and Creed," he says quietly.

"I know."

"But even if a problem did come up, we'd work through it. Just like we always do."

"I know that too."

"Good."

I hesitate. Then, "Do you think they'll be okay?"

"I think so. They both want it bad enough, and they're working for it. Which means they love each other just as much as they always have. I think they'll be fine. But if they're not, we'll deal with that too."

I groan. "We'll have to be those people that will have to decide who we're going to hang out with and not tell the other one about it. But then they'll find out anyway and make me feel guilty for being a bad friend. They can't divorce, because it'll inconvenience me. Oh, and also their whole family, but whatever."

"Your heart is so big."

"Right? I care too much."

He grabs my wrist and tugs as he starts to roll away from me. I know what he wants, and I find it ridiculously endearing. For how big and intimidating he is, for how strong and protective, there is nothing Oliver Thompson loves more than to be spooned after sex. The fact that he's lasted ten whole minutes is frankly a miracle, but since it's pretty fucking awesome, you don't hear me complaining about it.

It's practiced, this. It's one of those secrets of those who've been together for a long time. I know his body, every scar and freckle. I know the twist of his muscles, the way the hair on his chest and stomach feels underneath my touch. I know the way his hand fits into mine, his fingers thick and blunt and soft from that overpriced lotion he insists on using.

And we fit. We always have, even before we were us. There was something there, something arcing between us like lightning, always crawling along our skin. Maybe we didn't know how to name it, didn't know just how far it could go, but we knew. And we pushed and pulled, clawing our way to each other.

But we fit. Just like we do now. My front to his back, my legs curled up behind his. He's warm, and my dick is pressed against his bare ass, but it's not something yet. It will be, and probably soon (there's only so much naked Otter I can stand before I have to try and get all up on that), but for now, it's soft and quiet and good. My arm is over his hip, fingers trailing in the hairs on his stomach. My face is pressed against the back of his neck, and he smells good. Like sex and sweat and the soap we have at home.

He sighs, wiggling back until he's pressed against me, no space left between us. And then he just melts, like he's exactly where he wants to be and doesn't plan on moving for the foreseeable future. He's predictable, and I love him for it. For this.

"Are you scared?" he asks.

"Yes." Then, "About what?"

"September."

"Ah. Yeah. I guess. More anxious, maybe. And excited. And nervous. Like, not that vomity-nervous that I sometimes get, but a good kind of nervous. Okay, maybe a little vomity-nervous too, but that's probably par for the course. I also get sweaty at really random times. Like, I'm not even thinking about the fact that we're about to be dads, but then I get dad sweats, and then I start thinking about it and get vomity-nervous and—"

"I'm sorry I asked."

"Jerk."

"No, seriously. I just made love to you—"

"Oh dear god."

"—made love to you, and now we're cuddling—"

"I married a fifteen-year-old girl."

"—and now you're talking about getting dad sweats and nervous vomiting. You remember what I said about us not being like Anna and Creed? I lied. We need help. Or rather, you need help."

"That's mean."

"Well. It's how I feel."

"Because I'm here to validate your feelings. That was not in the wedding vows, if you'll recall."

He takes his hand in mine, our fingers intertwining. "That was a good day."

He's such a sap. "Yeah. It was."

"I'm scared too."

"I think that's normal, right?"

He shrugs a little. "Probably. I just want—I need to be good at this."

"Being a daddy?"

He nods.

I tighten my grip around him. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He laughs quietly. "Yeah."

"Just between you and me."

"Okay."

"I don't know that there is anyone who is going to be better at this than you."

He sucks in a sharp breath. "Bear—"

"I mean it. You're going to be so good at it, okay? You've waited for so long for this. You've been so patient with me. And I know you. Okay? I know you better than anyone. You're going to be good. The best, really."

"You too, you know?" he says, voice rough. "The best Papa Bear."

"Knowing my luck, they'll be neurotic messes who think too much and talk without a filter and end up offending everyone within a two-mile radius."

"And will make a mortal enemy out of a seagull."

"Hey! I didn't do anything to that fucking evil rat with wings. It always came after me. And did you know seagulls have a lifespan up to fifteen years? I learned that on the internet while trying to get ideas for tonight. That motherfucker could still be alive, plotting and planning until I'm completely complacent before it exacts its revenge."

"Your life is so weird."

"Right? Lucky you."

"Lucky me," he says with a hum.

I'm dozing a little while later when I hear him whisper, "We're going to be good parents. I know we will."

Right now, here in this moment, everything is fine.

I'm asleep a moment later.

# 12. Where Bear Faces the Reality of Married Life

IT'S MID-AUGUST when he snarls at me, "You think I asked for this? Jesus fucking Christ, Derrick. It's hard enough that we're having twins, but we also have to have your little sister here too. Sometimes it's just too much, okay?"

And I'm staring at him, my skin buzzing like I'm made of bees, my fists clenched at my sides. I'm angry, so goddamn angry. Otter knows it too, and I can see the moment when what he's said hits him, and he pales. The blood drains from his face, his eyes wide. He's on the other side of the kitchen, and for the life of me, I don't know how we've gotten this far. One moment, things are fine. It's a sunny Saturday afternoon, and we're talking in the kitchen, and then he says that he has a meeting next Tuesday in Portland that could lead to a new short-term contract for him. Some magazine wants to hire him to photograph something, and I offhandedly reminded him that we had an appointment with Megan and the obstetrician. He said he'd have to skip it, and I reminded him that he'd skipped the last one because he'd been busy with a different job. And maybe I said, "Don't you think Megan needs the both of us there? After all, she's having our children," and that set him off. He said things, I said things, both of us trying to keep our voices low because Izzie was upstairs, just having finished her lunch. We're supposed to be going school shopping for the both of us, given that I go back the week after next to start all the bullshit admin meetings and prepping for the new year, and Izzie starts the first week of September on a Thursday (which might be the most ridiculous thing in the world).

But according to Otter, it's just too much.

I know he regrets the words. I can see that, the way his mouth is opening and closing, and maybe I can understand it. Maybe I can get why he could say such a thing, because it is hard. We have a lot of plates up in the air, and things seem to be hurtling toward this inevitable conclusion that we started all those months ago.

We all say things we don't mean when we're angry. It happens. It's life.

The problem is a thirteen-year-old girl that lives with us makes a wounded noise from the entrance to the kitchen, neither of us knowing that she'd come back down the stairs at some point.

We both turn toward her. She's standing there, tense, mouth thin. She's such a little guy, fiery and fierce and oh so fucking smart. She's a goddamn handful, but she's ours. She belongs here with us. Not legally, not yet, not completely, but it's getting there. The social worker visits have gone well. She's happy and healthy, and yeah, sometimes she wakes up screaming with nightmares that she can't quite articulate, tiny shoulders shaking, little hands clutching at my back as I hold her helplessly, but they're getting better. They're getting less and less, and she's funny, okay? She's sarcastic and biting, able to go toe to toe with the Kid any day of the week. And there are moments, strange little moments where I think that maybe she's starting to love us as much as we love her.

Otter's right: it hasn't been easy. But nothing worth having ever is. Our entire fucking lives have shown us that, time and time again. It hasn't always been fair, but we've made it this far, and we're so close to having everything we wanted, everything we've worked so hard for.

This won't break us. I won't let it.

But that doesn't mean I'm not pissed the hell off.

"Izzie—" I start, but she's already gone from the kitchen, the stairs creaking as she runs up them. Her bedroom door slams shut, and a moment later, loud jazz music starts to echo through the house because my little sister is weird and doesn't listen to shitty fucking boy band music like all the other girls her age. She's not like them. She's like us, and I almost feel bad about that, knowing just how screwed up Ty and I can be. It's not fair to her that she has to be like us.

"Fuck," Otter says, and I don't know how we've gotten to this point. He's the levelheaded one that doesn't say stupid shit that he doesn't mean. Granted, I don't have the monopoly on that, but it was cruel in a way that I've never heard from him, even if it was unintentional.

I turn back and glare at him.

He's looking down at his feet, his socked feet because he doesn't like being barefoot in the house. And they're his ridiculous tube socks, and I'm angry at them for reasons I can't quite explain, angry at everything about him.

We fight. We do. Everyone does. It happens. But we always fix it. And I have no doubt that we'll fix this, but for the life of me, I can't even think about how it'll be all right. Because there is a little girl upstairs who heard something she shouldn't have. And yes, she is strong and fierce and all the other things I didn't expect but should have, but she is still a little girl, and sometimes, even though I know she doesn't want us to know, she's still insecure about her place here. Like she doesn't quite believe that we want her as much as we do. Like she doesn't think she has a home with us.

That's Julie's fault. I know it is. I've been fucked up a long time because of that woman, the gift that keeps on giving.

But maybe it's also our fault, at least a little. Because as much as we've been trying to give her everything she needs, much of our time and attention has been focused on the twins. Maybe we haven't been the best we could have with her. Maybe we should be doing more.

"That went well," I tell Otter coolly. "Really. Good job."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know that—" Do you, Bear? it whispers. Do you really? "—but she doesn't. For all she knows, you're just like—"

"Don't," he snaps at me. "Don't you compare me to her. I have never been like her."

And because apparently things need to be made worse, I say, "You left once, Otter. Just like she did."

He flinches like I've raised my hand to him, and that's not something I've ever wanted to see. But that's the hard thing about being angry with people you love: you know their heart well enough to be able to rip it still beating from their chests.

"Goddammit," I mutter.

"It's good to know you still think that," he says woodenly. "That you still hold that over my head. Like I haven't given up everything for you and Tyson."

"Given up?" I ask, incredulous. "What exactly have you given up? Please, Otter. Enlighten me. What exactly have you sacrificed? Is there some other life you could be living right now that would make you happier? Tell me. Because I'd sure hate to think that something as little as your family was holding you back."

"That's not fair," he says, and he's revving himself up again. "Sometimes I get the feeling you think you have the monopoly on what a hard life is supposed to be. Yes, Bear, we all know things were shitty for a long time, but we all don't still hold on to it. Why you haven't let things go is beyond me."

Oh, it laughs. Would you listen to that? Gosh, isn't it funny to hear these things after all this time? I wonder what else he really thinks about you? Isn't this fun?

"That's not fair," I mock. "Right. I'm sorry that my history is such an inconvenience for you. I'm sorry that I'm a little fucked up in the head, that the Kid still needs the bathtub sometimes because of the fucking earthquakes. I'm sorry that my mother decided to destroy herself so much so that her body gave out. I'm sorry that my little sister had nowhere else to go, so we had to take her in. But you know what? I can make things easy for you. You know where the front door is. Maybe that life you always wanted is still out there waiting for you. Please, don't let us hold you back. I would hate to think you'd end up resenting us for not allowing you to have everything you wanted." And it sucks, because when I get really mad, when I'm furious, my voice shakes and cracks, the fragile thing that it is. I'm desperately trying to hold on to my anger, but I'm just sad that we're doing this. That we're saying these things. That I'm saying these things.

He hears it too, the way I'm choking on my words, because he's vibrating, jaw clenched. "I can't talk to you when you're like this," he says, which might possibly be the absolute worst thing to say. "I can't be here right now. I'm going to say something I can't take back, and—"

"Like what Izzie just heard you say?"

He's moving then, out of the kitchen, and I follow him, just because I'm trying to decide if I should tackle him or throw something at the back of his head. He's by the front door, and he's sliding his feet into his shoes, grabbing his keys and phone off the table. The sun is bright when he opens the door.

"Fine!" I call after him. "Just go! Oh, and by the way, your socks look stupid because no one wears tube socks with shorts!"

And then he slams the door, like the mature, responsible, soon-to-be father that he is.

I hear his SUV start up and pull out of the driveway, the sound fading as he drives away.

"Stupid fucking asshole," I mutter as I press my forehead against the door. "Stupid fucking Otter and his stupid fucking face."

The jazz music is loud from upstairs, and I'm trying to calm myself so I can go upstairs and tell Izzie that of course Otter didn't mean it. Of course he's coming back. I know this. I know this for a fact, but my hands are shaking just a little, and maybe that awful voice in my head is saying, Yes, of course he will. But what if he doesn't?

I hate that voice more than anything in the world.

I don't know that I'll ever be rid of it.

I take in a long, slow breath. And then another. And then another.

It works. Mostly.

I thought for a long time that the art of breathing was a farce, that it was something Eddie had just filled the Kid's head with, some psychology mumbo jumbo that wouldn't lead to anything. It was just breathing, after all.

But for some reason, it works. By focusing on my breath, air moving in and out of my lungs, the anger and fear ebbs to a slow simmer. It's stupid, really, that it ever even came to this, and I have to remind myself that people fight, they do. It's part of every single relationship, and Otter said we were good. I have to trust him on that.

But that doesn't mean I'm not still worried. About him. And me.

And Izzie.

I sigh as I push myself away from the door. Dizzy Gillespie is wailing on his horn, and it's bright and brassy and completely at odds with the hand clenched around my heart. I know Otter didn't mean what he said, not completely. But the fact that he'd said it at all was enough to probably set us back with her quite a bit.

I'm about to head for the stairs when someone knocks on the door behind me.

For a moment, I think it's Otter, already having come back to grovel. I'm almost relieved at the thought that he didn't get very far before—

It's not Otter.

It's Ty and Dom.

"Where is she?" Ty asks, a scowl on his face. "Is she—" He looks toward the ceiling as Dizzy goes on a complicated run, and pushes past me, feet pounding up the stairs.

"How did you—" I start calling after him, but he's already up the stairs and out of sight.

"She called him," Dom says from behind me. "We were on our way home from having lunch with Stacey and Ben."

"Shit," I mutter, stepping aside to let him in.

He closes the door behind him. "Everything okay?"

I scrub my hand over my face. "She heard something she shouldn't have. Otter and I were fighting, and it just—it shouldn't have been said. We're a little... stressed."

"This happen a lot?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't play cop on me, Dominic Miller. You know it's not like that."

He shrugs but has the decency to look vaguely guilty. "Just have to ask."

"No, it doesn't happen a lot. It doesn't happen at all. But I think we've been building to this for a while. It's not—Jesus. Look. Otter was an asshole. I was an asshole. We're about to have twins. We're tired and cranky, and this got out of control."

"No one touched anybody else?"

I roll my eyes. "Do you really think Otter would ever lay a hand on me?"

"No. Just want to make sure everyone is okay."

"I appreciate that, Dom. I really do. But even if Otter was the type to hit anyone, you can sure as shit bet I'd scratch his fucking eyes out."

Dom snorts. "Maybe I should ask if Otter's okay."

I glare at him. "Not funny."

"Sorry."

I look up toward the ceiling, the music still blaring. "What did she say?"

He shrugs. "Not a lot. Just that she wasn't sure if she was welcome here anymore."

"Goddammit," I groan. "That's not—I need to go up there."

"Just give it a minute, okay? You know Tyson's good with her. He'll make it okay."

"He's probably mad at us too, huh?"

There's a little smile on Dom's face. "You know how he gets."

"Do I ever," I mutter. "I'm probably going to get chewed out."

"Eh. Probably. Better you than me, I guess."

"Rude." I turn toward the kitchen, suddenly needing to do something with my hands.

"Where did Otter go?" Dom asks, trailing after me.

The dishwasher is still open, partially unloaded. I start grabbing plates and stacking them on the counter. "Don't know. And right now, I don't care."

"Sure you don't."

"You're not funny."

"Not trying to be."

"You know, I think I liked it better when you didn't talk as much." I wince as soon as the words come out. "I didn't mean that like it sounded."

"That's good," he says easily. "Because if you did, you sounded like a jerk."

"And we all know I'm not a jerk at all."

"Mostly. You are going to break those plates, slamming them on the counter like that."

"It's fine. Besides, isn't breaking dishes supposed to be cathartic? It always is in the movies."

"Yeah, but then you'd have to clean it up. They don't show you that part in the movies."

I grip the edges of the counter. "He said—he said it's too much sometimes. Having her here. With the twins on the way."

"That—doesn't sound like him."

"No. It doesn't."

"He's usually the calm one."

"Yeah."

"But that doesn't mean he always has to be."

"Great. So both of us will be messes. Fantastic."

"There was this girl."

"Apropos of what now?"

He clears his throat, and I turn to face him. He's sitting down at the table. He's so big, it looks almost comical, like he's at a child's tea party. "A few months back, I got called out to a house. Neighbors had called. Said there'd been screaming at the house next door. They heard it every now and then, but it sounded like it'd been escalating and they were worried. There was a little girl that lived in the house, and they wanted to make sure she was safe."

"I don't know how you do it," I admit.

"What?"

"Be a cop. Seeing some of the things that you do."

"Ty doesn't either. He worries. He understands why, but he doesn't always get the how. But as long as we have the former, I can deal with the latter."

"He told you this?"

Dom laughs quietly. "All the time."

"Do you fight about it?"

"Not really. Not anymore."

"Because of the why?"

"Because of the why."

The why being Dom having witnessed his father murder his mother. It didn't need to be said out loud, and in the end, I don't know that it's my business anyway. Dom's childhood was filled with more horror than I could ever understand, and the fact that he's standing at all, much less that he's as strong as he is, is a testament to who he is. I remember the bitterness in the Kid's voice, the anguish when Dom had told him what he wanted to do with his life. Ty had been so scared for him, the idea of Dom putting himself in harm's way on purpose almost unfathomable. And I don't think that fear ever truly went away, especially with today's climate toward cops in general. Dom, though. Dom was one of the good ones.

"What happened when you got to the house?"

"By then," Dom says, hands folded on top of the table, "another call had come in to 911. A little girl, saying that her mom and dad were fighting, and that her dad had hit her mom. Her mom was bleeding, and she was scared and needed help."

"Jesus Christ."

"She was very brave," Dom says. "And she did the right thing. By the time I pulled up, another officer was already there at the front door. He was knocking, and I could hear a woman crying inside through an open window. It only took a moment before the door opened, and there was the little girl, staying on the phone like she was told to until the police arrived. She was only seven years old, and she was scared, but she was doing everything she was told to do. She was very brave. Her mom already had a nasty bruise on her cheek, and her dad was sitting on the couch, his face in his hands. He didn't try and resist. He came willingly, and you know what I thought then?"

I shake my head.

"I thought about you and Ty. That, while there was no physical abuse, there was abuse just the same. That the both of you had been through as much as you had, and you came out all right in the end. And I told myself that this girl, this brave little girl could eventually do the same. Because she reminded me of the both of you. She asked a lot of questions. What was going to happen to her. To her mom. To her dad. If I ever turned on the sirens just for fun in my patrol car. If I had to eat a lot to stay as big as I was."

"Your grocery bill is terrifying."

He rolls his eyes. "Most of that is Ty's food. Being a vegetarian is expensive."

"Why did you tell me this?"

"Because, Bear, she reminded me of you. And of Ty. But also of Izzie, okay? Because you and Ty had to deal with your mother for as long as you did, but eventually, she left. And while it didn't seem like it at the time, it was the best thing that could have happened to the both of you. You were free from her."

And it hits me then. "Izzie wasn't."

He shakes his head. "She wasn't. For years, Julie McKenna was all she knew. I guarantee you that you'll probably never know the extent of what that woman did to Izzie. Because abuse doesn't have to be physical. You of all people should know that. So her being here might be scary for you and Otter, and it might be overwhelming, especially with all that's going on, but it's got to be worse for her. She's only ever known your mother. She didn't know any of us before she came."

"Otter loves her," I tell him. "As much as Ty and I do."

"I know he does," Dom says. "And people say stuff they don't mean all the time. All you need to do is look at me and Ty to prove that. We should have—it could have been different, I think. But things happen for a reason. The road we took to each other—the road all of us took—wasn't an easy one. But we're here, you know? And we've been here. For a while. Izzie hasn't. She's still new to all of this. She just needs to be reassured of her place sometimes. You guys have a lot going on. Don't forget about her too."

"I haven't always been nice to you."

He looks amused at that. "You had your reasons."

"Maybe. And I can't say I wouldn't be the same if I had to do it all over again."

"I wouldn't expect any different."

"But I don't think I was right. Not always."

He arches an eyebrow at me. "That so?"

"I should have seen it from where you were coming from. I didn't do that. I only thought about Tyson."

"I don't blame you for that."

"Maybe not. But you are a part of this family just as much as he is. And I think I forgot that for a little while."

He nods slowly. "Just don't let Izzie forget that, okay? Because she will, if she's not reminded."

"I'm really glad you followed Tyson home that day."

He grins at me, wide and bright. "Me too."

I'M HALFWAY up the stairs when my phone goes off in my pocket. There's a text from Creed when I pull it out.

He's here. And he feels like shit. Want me to make his life miserable?

No, I type back. Then, Well, maybe a little.

Consider it done. I bought JJ a guitar. He's terrible. I'll make him play for his uncle.

That's harsh. Keep him there for a little bit. I'll text you.

The jazz blasting from Izzie's room has been turned down a bit, and I hope that's a good sign. I knock on the door and wait.

I hear voices inside whispering back and forth, and it's only a moment before the door opens, a furious-looking Tyson standing in front of me, arms crossed over his chest.

"Is that your intimidating pose?" I ask him. "Because it needs a little work. Ask your boyfriend how it should really look."

"Otter's a jerk," he says hotly.

"And you know as well as I do that he didn't mean it."

He deflates a little at that. "Yeah, yeah. But he's still a jerk."

"I probably wasn't helping things."

"Are you guys getting divorced?"

I laugh. "No. What the hell."

"It needed to be asked."

"Did it?"

"I told Izzie that if you did, we'd get two Christmases."

"You really need to stop listening to JJ."

"I'm mad at you. Izzie is too."

"You are not my spokesperson," I hear our sister say from somewhere in the room. "Like I would ever allow someone who doesn't eat meat to speak for me. You are an embarrassment to humanity."

I'm a little relieved to hear that she doesn't sound too upset.

Ty glares over his shoulder. "Right, because advocating murder is better than—"

"Did you know that PETA is responsible for killing almost fifteen hundred animals in 2015? And almost thirty-five thousand since they started being tracked in 1998. I would think if anyone wants to discuss murder, we should start there."

The Kid lets out a strangled noise. "You know I've distanced myself from them! And why are you googling those statistics? You are a little girl. You should be collecting stickers or talking about boys."

"Not all of us are you."

"Hey! I don't do any of that!"

"You're a vegetarian. How am I supposed to know that?"

"Children," I say with a sigh.

"I am not a child," both of them growl at me at the same time. It's really rather disconcerting just how much they sound alike. How much they sound like me.

"Can I speak with Izzie, please?" I ask Ty, who still hasn't moved out of the way.

"Are you going to make her sad?" he retorts.

I smack him upside the head.

"Hey!"

"Don't be stupid," I scold him. "Go downstairs and keep your boyfriend company. You know how he gets when you're away from him for too long."

"That's ridiculously codependent and unhealthy," Izzie mutters.

"Welcome to the family," Ty says before stepping forward. "Stay right there for a minute." He shuts the door behind him and looks back at me. "What the hell."

I sigh. "He didn't mean it. And according to Creed, he's kicking his own ass right now. No one plays the martyr like Otter Thompson."

"No one except for you. Or me." He frowns. "Wow. That is unhealthy."

"Yeah. Maybe we should change that."

"Meh," he says. "I'm set in my ways."

"Creed is making JJ play the guitar for him as punishment."

The Kid makes a face. "No one deserves that. Not even Otter."

"I got this, okay? Go downstairs, keep Dom company. Or better yet. Go home."

"Kicking me out already, Papa Bear? I might get the idea that you don't want me here anymore."

I reach up and put my hand on the back of his neck, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. "I always want you here," I tell him quietly. "You know that."

He hums a little under his breath. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm glad she had you to call. Thank you for coming for her."

He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "I just—I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

"I know."

"And you are too, right?"

"Yeah. Or I will be. He's.... It's getting close."

"The babies."

"Yeah. And one of us was bound to crack first. I just thought it'd be me."

"You're stronger than you think, Papa Bear," he tells me. "I wish you'd remember that."

"He loves her. As much as you or I do. And we'll make sure she knows that."

He hugs me then, and I remember when he was just a little guy, sitting in my lap in the kitchen of the shitty fucking apartment, tugging on my fingers, telling me that everything would be okay. Dom was right. We've come so goddamn far.

"Just call if you need anything, okay?" he says near my ear. "Even if you just need us to take her off your hands for a little bit."

"We will."

He grins at me as he pulls back. He turns and opens the door to Izzie's room, leaning his head in. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself," she says, and I close my eyes because she fits.

"I'm going to head out, okay? Bear's got some stuff to talk to you about. It's going to be okay. You hear me, kid?"

"I'm not a kid."

"They grow up so fast," he says, voice a little fluttery.

"Get out."

"You call me if you need me, okay? Always."

"I know. Now leave so Bear can come in and reassure me like I know he wants to, even though I'm fine."

"You hear that?" Tyson asks, glancing back at me. "She's fine."

"You are so annoying!" she shouts. "God, why do I even put up with you?"

"I love you," he says.

"I know you do. It's disgusting. Shut up and go away."

He laughs. "Will do."

But before he can exit the doorway, she says, "Thank you. You know. For coming here. For me."

And I can see how much that affects him by the way he swallows thickly. "Yeah, kid. Sure." He looks like he wants to say something else, but he shakes his head instead and turns toward the stairs. He doesn't look back.

She's sitting on the four-poster bed that she insisted she didn't need but kept looking at longingly when we took her furniture shopping. Otter had been the one to notice that, and even though the price tag had made me a little cross-eyed, he's a big pushover, and that was that.

She's wearing jeans and a shirt with an image of Nikola Tesla on the front, her version of a celebrity crush. It's weird, but I survived Tyson and his Anderson Cooper phase, so I don't think too much about it. Her hair is braided back, something Otter had done for her this morning. He'd gotten so good at it, and I found it ridiculously endearing, feeling the need to record it every time on my phone. At last count, I had twenty-three videos of just him braiding her hair, both of them with their tongues sticking out between their teeth.

She glances up at me before looking down at her hands.

"Hi."

"Hi," she says, voice soft.

"He didn't mean it."

"I know."

"I know you do," I say. "But I think you deserve to hear it out loud. So. He didn't mean it. And I can promise you that when he's done feeling sorry for himself, he'll come back and tell you exactly that."

She picks at the frayed edges of her jeans. "Okay."

"Can I sit on your bed?"

She rolls her eyes. "You don't have to ask."

"It's your room."

"In your house."

"In our house," I correct her. "And this is your room. So whatever you say goes."

She narrows her eyes.

"Within reason," I add hastily.

"Dammit," she mutters.

"Um. Don't curse. And other parentisms."

She sighs, long and loud.

"Wow, you've got that teenage-angst thing down pat. Good job."

"Sit down if you're going to."

I do, making sure to sit as close to her as I can without touching. She's a little weird about touching. She gets uncomfortable if people hang on to her and doesn't like to be hugged unless she's the one initiating it. Her therapist gave us some medical blah, blah, blah about it, but Izzie said that's just who she is, so we took her at her word. She's getting better at it, but we still respect the boundaries she sets. It's only fair to her.

"This is your house too," I say. "And even if you don't believe that right now, it won't change anything. You'll get there."

"It's called the Green Monstrosity. It's the color of nightmares. Maybe I don't want it to be my house."

I shrug. "So we'll move."

She looks up at me, startled. "What?"

"If you don't want this to be your house, we'll move."

"You would do that," she says, sounding shocked. "For me."

"Otter and I both would. Because you're with us, Izzie. For good. And if this doesn't feel like home, we'll find a place for you that does. It may need to wait a little while, until after the twins come, but we'd do it. And if you didn't want to stay here during that time, that's okay too. Dom and Ty would—"

Her eyes are wide when she says, "No, I don't want to go with them. I want to stay here. I was just kidding. I don't want to leave. Please don't. Please just let me stay here. I don't want to leave you and Otter. You need my help, right? With the babies? I'll do a good job. I promise. You don't need to worry about me. I'll stay quiet and won't complain about anything and I—"

"Izzie."

She looks stricken.

"I need you to listen to me, okay? Can you do that?"

She nods, but she won't look up at me.

"No one, and I mean no one, will ever make you leave. I want you here. Otter wants you here. I promise, okay? If you want to stay here in the Green Monstrosity, then you can do just that. This is our home, and that means you. And we're going to need so much help. In case you haven't noticed, Otter and I really don't know what we're doing."

"You guys are kind of pathetic," she says, sniffling as she wipes her eyes. "I think you'd be lost without me."

"Probably," I agree. "And I need you to hear me on one more thing, okay?"

"I know what you're going to say. I know he didn't mean it."

"Do you?"

She shrugs.

"He didn't mean it. And he'll be home to tell you exactly that in a little bit, just as soon as he's done listening to JJ's guitar concert."

She snaps her head up and looks at me in horror. "No one deserves that kind of punishment."

I shrug. "Eh. I bet he's gritting his teeth right now and telling himself this is his fault. He's—can I tell you something about him?"

"Is it going to be gross and have to do with all your feelings that you have with each other?"

"Wow. When you put it like that—yes. Yes it will."

She sighs. "If you must."

"Back when we were much younger and much stupider—"

"You were stupider than you are now? That's a feat that boggles the mind. How are you alive?"

"I have no idea," I admit. "But just shut up and listen to me for a moment."

"Yikes. I am fragile right now and you tell me to shut up? What if that sets me back?"

"When we were younger and stupider, Otter fell in love with me."

She sighs dreamily. Then, "If you tell anyone I just did that, I will kick your shins."

"Noted. But Otter, being Otter—and also me being essentially illegal since I was sixteen—decided that instead of owning up to his feelings for me, he ran far, far away to the mythical land known as California."

"Wow," she says. "What a wuss."

"Right? But to be fair, I was dating Anna at the time, and—"

"You what?"

"Yeah, we were together for, like, three years. Maybe four."

"And now she's married to your best friend."

"Right."

"And you're married to your best friend's older brother."

"This is true."

She gapes at me. "What kind of messed-up drama is this?"

I grin at her. "Oh, you have no idea. It got a lot worse before it got better. There was... well. Otter and I kissed before he left—"

"You were jailbait," she says, sounding scandalized.

"He just couldn't resist, I guess. And it got weird, and then—well. Mom left and Otter left, and it was just... it wasn't good. For a long time, it wasn't good. It felt like part of me was missing. And it wasn't because of her."

"It was because of him," she whispers.

I nod. "I didn't know it. Not at the time. But yeah. It was him." I smile weakly. "But then he came back, and things got... strange. But it worked out, in the end. And you know what I found out about him?"

"What?"

"When Otter Thompson loves you, it's for life. He doesn't do things halfway. If you've earned his love, that's it. There were... others. Before me. For him. But I don't think he ever truly loved them. Not like he does us. He told himself he was happy, but I don't think he ever truly believed it. He's built differently. Than you. Or me. Or Ty. We're more... reserved. We protect ourselves and our hearts because of everything we've been through. It's harder for us. But it got easier. Because of him. He's—there's not a single thing he wouldn't do for us. For you. And I know you know that, but you need to hear it out loud, okay? When Otter loves you, it's for life. And he loves you, Izzie. As much as he loves me or Ty. Because you're his now. And you're very lucky because of that. You will always have someone who has your back. Someone who will fight for you. Protect you. Make sure you have everything you could ever want. Sometimes—I think even I can forget that. Things... they weren't always easy. And that will still happen every now and then. He's not perfect. I'm definitely not. Obviously. We'll make mistakes. But just know there will not be a time that we won't want you here with us. It may take you a long time to believe it, and that's okay. We'll be here when you do."

She's quiet for a long time after that. I'm not sure if I should say more, but I don't know what else I can say to reassure her. She's watching me, but her expression is giving nothing away. Just when I'm about to open my mouth to say something, she beats me to it.

"Can you hug me now?" she asks in a small voice.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I'm very happy to do that."

And then I've got a lapful of little girl, though maybe she's not so little after all. She's not crying, but I think it's close, because she's trembling in my arms, and her face is in my neck, her breath harsh. I wrap my arms around her and hold on tight. It feels good to have her like this.

It goes on. For a time.

And that's okay.

HE THROUGH kicking his own ass yet?

Nah. But JJ apparently decided that he wants to be a singer too, so I'm pretty sure he'll agree to anything to get out of here.

Oh dear god. Your child.

Right? ISN'T HE THE BEST THING EVER???? Like, he has NO discernible musical talent, but do you think that stops him? NO. HE'S A MOTHERFUCKING THOMPSON.

How's Anna doing with him being a motherfucking Thompson?

She took AJ and went to the store. She didn't pack a bag, so I think she'll come back.

Maybe get rid of the guitar.

LOL. Never. I spent five bucks on that thing.

That... makes so much more sense.

I am the best. Want me to send your lump of self-loathing home?

If he'll come.

Wow. I'm insulted. I told him and he practically RAN out the door. Dude, that is so rude. He didn't even tip JJ. We set the guitar case in front of him and everything!

Thanks, Creed.

You're welcome, Papa Bear. Go easy on him, okay? He's mad enough at himself.

Got it.

Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm going to take my son and his guitar to the boardwalk and see how much people will pay him to stop playing. I'm betting I get at LEAST two dollars.

Father of the year.

And don't you forget it!

I'M SITTING at the kitchen table going through my lesson plans from last year when I hear Otter's SUV pull into the driveway. Izzie's up in her room, googling more statistics to ruin the Kid's life with. I'm surprised when I hear the front door open almost right away, assuming Otter would have sat in the car a little bit more, trying to psych himself up.

His shoulders are slumped when he slinks into the kitchen, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. But his jaw is set, and I know he's steeling himself against whatever I'm going to throw at him.

God, how I love this stupid, stupid man.

"Hey," he says quietly.

"Hey, yourself," I say, glancing up at him before looking back down at the notes on the table. "Heard you had a nice time with JJ."

"I—" He sighs. "I don't know that it was nice."

"That's your nephew," I tell him, trying to keep from laughing. I'm still a little angry, but I'm more relieved that he's here and this didn't stretch on longer than it needed to. Younger me would probably be astounded how mature I've become.

Mostly.

"He is," Otter agrees. "But sometimes, I think a little reality needs to set in."

"I think a lot of us could use a reality check, don't you?"

I can practically feel the full-body wince he does then. "Yeah. I guess."

"Izzie's upstairs if you want to go talk to her."

He nods. "Okay. I'll go talk to her, but I need you to know that—"

"I'm okay," I tell him. "She needs to hear from you first. I can wait."

He doesn't look too happy at that, like I'm sending him away, but he turns toward the stairs. He stops before he leaves the kitchen. He says, "I love you."

"Damn right you do," I say loftily. "I'm the light of your life."

"Jesus," he grumbles as he heads upstairs.

"Love you too!" I yell after him, just because I can.

I DON'T know what they talked about. I could guess, and knowing Otter as well as I do, I'd probably be right. But I think whatever it was should stay between them. I had my say, and Izzie knows where I'm coming from, with her and with him.

They don't come downstairs for close to an hour, and by the time I hear them thumping down the stairs, Izzie is laughing at something Otter's saying, and I hear the low rumble of his voice, warm and sweet. They sound good together like this. Like they always should.

And when they come into the kitchen, Izzie's eyes are a little red, her face a little puffy, and Otter looks exhausted, but they're both smiling. They look like they're back on even ground, and that's all that matters.

Izzie's at the fridge, digging for a bottle of water, asking me if there's still enough time for us to go out school shopping. It's late afternoon, but since I'd already planned for us to be gone most of the day, I'm not too worried about it.

"Sure," I tell her. "You have the list the school sent you?"

"I left it upstairs," she says, coming to stand by my chair, leaning against me just a little bit. I knock our shoulders together, trying not to make a big deal about the casual touching. She's never really done this before, and I don't know what exactly has changed, but I'll take it.

"Why don't you grab it and we'll get going?"

She looks between Otter and myself, eyes narrowing just a little. "Are you guys going to get weird about your feelings right now?"

Otter is still standing at the entryway to the kitchen, like he's unsure about his welcome. There's an ache in my chest at the sight of him trying to smile at me but failing miserably.

"Maybe give us a minute, huh?" I ask her.

"You guys are so strange," she mutters, but she sets her water bottle on the table and walks out of the kitchen, reaching up and punching Otter in the arm as she walks by. "If I don't hear from you in ten minutes, I'm going to assume you're having makeup sex and will be scarred for life."

Otter and I both choke a little at that.

"How do you know what that is?" I demand.

"It's 2016, Bear," she calls as she climbs the stairs. "I know what many things are."

"Jesus Christ," I groan into my hands. "We need to check her browser history and then put parental locks on her computer."

"We can do that."

I peek at him through my fingers. He's shuffling nervously, still standing in the entryway. "You're an idiot."

He nods, like he's been expecting this.

"But so am I."

He nods, and then his eyes widen, and he shakes his head furiously. "No, it's not—you didn't do anything wrong."

I drop my hands onto the table. "Well. Let's not go that far. I'm pretty sure I'm as culpable in all this as you are."

"But I'm the one that—"

"Otter."

He sighs. "Bear."

"I love you."

His lips twitch. "Yeah?"

"Like, so much."

"That's... that's good."

"I think so too. So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to keep on loving you, even when you say stupid things. Because chances are, I'm going to say stupid things, and you're going to love me anyway, right?"

"Right," he says promptly.

"And you're going to take that contract, and I'll go to the appointment with Megan."

He shakes his head. "Already called and had the date moved."

"You did?"

He shrugs. "I'm good at what I do. They want me. They'll wait. And this is more important."

"Wow. That... should not have turned me on as much as it did. Your overinflated sense of self is apparently a kink of mine. Talk dirty to me."

"They bent over backwards to accommodate me," he says, taking a step toward me.

"I'm going to bend over backwards to accommodate you," I say with a leer.

He huffs out a laugh. "That didn't sound as sexy as you think it did."

"Still worked, didn't it?"

"How so?"

"You've got that look on your face."

"And what look is that?"

"The one where you love me so much that you're having all these feelings inside and you're not sure which one to grasp on to first."

"That right?"

"It is," I say smugly.

"Funny, that."

"Say something else that sounds egotistical."

He's standing right next to the table, towering over me, looking more relaxed than he had when he came home. "I'm highly sought after in my field because there's really no one better than me."

"Wow. Okay, I was kidding at first. But I'm actually getting turned on right now."

He rubs a big hand up my arm and shoulder, fingers curling around my neck as his thumb brushes over my cheek. "I'm sorry. For earlier."

"Me too," I say, turning my face to kiss his palm.

"I didn't mean that."

"I know."

"I told her that."

"I know that too."

"She said you'd already talked to her. About me."

"Yeah."

"Said some pretty nice things."

I shrug. "What can I say. I kind of have a crush on you."

"Do you?" he asks, his hand heavy and warm.

"A little."

"That's good. I'm sort of crushing on you too."

I grin up at him. "Maybe we should see if this goes somewhere."

"Maybe," he echoes, and he's watching me like he can't believe I'm real. That I'm here, with him. He gets that look every now and then, and no matter how many times I've seen it, it still knocks the breath from my lungs. "Do you really think all that about me?"

"Fuck yeah, I do. I pretty much think you're the best thing in the world."

He kisses me swiftly, almost knocking me off the chair. I squawk unattractively against his mouth, sure I'm going to fall over, but he's got me, he's holding on tight, and I laugh as he kisses my cheeks and forehead and nose and lips. He's whispering to me, telling me he loves me, that he's gonna love me forever, that he's sorry, that he's never going to leave us. And he's shaking a little, and it hits me then, just how much he'd berated himself for today. I stop his words with my mouth, making sure he feels every single thing that I haven't said.

He gets it, because he gets me.

It goes on and on until Izzie shouts down the stairs, "It's been ten minutes, and from the sounds I can hear from all the way up the stairs, you guys are either scooping juicy watermelon or making out, which, good god, can you please act like adults!"

"Yep," I say, pulling away. "The juicy watermelon thing absolutely killed any erection I might have had. Good game." I smack his ass and stand up. "Izzie! Get your butt downstairs so we can go buy you things you probably don't actually need, but for some reason, the school district says you do, and who am I to argue with that? I'm only a teacher in said school district."

She's grumbling as she stomps down the stairs.

"This isn't over," Otter whispers hotly in my ear. "Later, I'm going to apologize all over you."

"That sounds disgusting," I whisper back. "I'm so in."

He pinches, and I laugh loudly. Izzie frowns at the both of us as she comes into the kitchen, but something rights itself in my chest, and I know, in the end, no matter what, we're going to be okay.

# 13. Where Bear Sees Everything Change

LIFE. IT turns and turns and turns.

And even though you know it's coming, it turns again, and everything changes.

It's Monday, September 12, 2016, and I'm in front of a classroom full of the wondrous future of America, trying to get them to give two shits about authors that have been dead for decades. It's barely twenty minutes into the school day, and I'm thinking about something another teacher had said to me just this morning, that this would probably be the very last Monday I'd work in a long time, given that Megan was due in almost a week. I'd been dazed at the thought, barely able to function because she was right. It'd hit me harder than I expected it to, even though I'd known that, however unconsciously. But it's almost here, and I'm struggling to maintain my focus when my husband bursts into the classroom, looking frantic, being trailed by the lady from the front office and the principal.

I know what this is.

I know it.

But I've been through too much shit in my life. I've had bad thing after bad thing dropped on top of me out of nowhere. People we love have left. Have been hurt. Have died. For all I know, it's just more of the same.

Again and again and again.

So I think I'm forgiven when the first thing I say is "What the fuck has happened now?"

The kids in my class gasp dramatically, because apparently Mr. Thompson knows the goddamn f-word.

The principal groans, putting his face in his hands.

The lady from the front office clutches her pearls, even though she's not even wearing any.

Oliver Thompson says, "I tried to call you on your phone, but you didn't have it on you because you're in class, you're in class, so why would you? Bear. Bear. Megan's in labor. She's on her way to the hospital now. Bear, it's happening. It's here. We're going to be dads."

God, how it turns on a fucking dime.

And it can surprise the hell out of you.

Because in moments like this, moments of great upheaval, I'm the one to lose my shit. I'm the one to babble and freak out and talk and talk and talk about anything and everything. My eyes bulge, and I worry about all the little things that could go wrong.

That doesn't happen.

It doesn't happen, because I can see Otter, the love of my very strange life, beginning to lose his shit.

He's wringing his hands and his shoulders are shaking, his eyes darting all over. He's scared and nervous, and he's saying, "We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta drive to Eugene, and I forgot to bring a toothbrush. Bear, we packed an overnight bag just for this moment, and I forgot my toothbrush. I can't brush my teeth and I don't know what I'm doing. Okay? Bear, I don't know what I'm doing right now."

And wonder of all wonders, a measure of calm falls over me, because yes, life turns, but we've spent years building toward this moment, and it's here. It's finally here.

I say, "Tom, can you take over the class?"

The principal nods. "And I suppose we'll talk about proper language in front of pupils upon your return in three months." He smiles.

The kids are buzzing around us, because they know something is happening, but they don't know what. I ignore them and focus on Otter. His hands are clammy when I take them in mine. "You have to breathe," I tell him evenly. "You got this, okay? We've got this. I promise you."

His smile is a trembling thing, but he breathes. "I'm going to be a good dad, right?"

"Yeah," I say. "You are."

He nods. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Maybe you guys should head out?" the lady from the front office suggests.

I glare at her for ruining the moment. "Thank you, Nancy. What would I do without you."

She sniffs haughtily.

WE LEAVE my car in the faculty parking lot and take Otter's SUV. I grab the keys from his shaking hands, and he gives me a relieved look. Even before we've left the parking lot, both of us are already on the phone.

Otter says, "Mom? It's—she's gone into labor. Can you—oh my god, why are you crying? Mom. Mom. I need you to—I'm fine. I do not sound like I'm hyperventilating! You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have screamed that. I'm—I know. I'm just... this is... I'm going to be a dad. Okay? I need you to—can you get Izzie? And call—well, not everyone. You can't call everyone. Just... mostly everyone."

I say, "Dom? Ty's in class, so I don't want to interrupt him. Megan's gone into labor. We're heading to Eugene now. Can you—what? No, I'm not high. Why would you even ask that? I always sound calm. Okay, that was a lie, but now I do, and your first thought is that I'm high? What is wrong with you?"

Otter says, "Mom! You don't need to make a cake, for fuck's sake! Why the hell would you make a cake? I—I am a grown man. I can use whatever language I want! Um. I mean. Sorry. Sorry. Can I—Dad? Oh my god, I didn't mean to yell at her! My children are being born and I'm freaking out."

I say, "Like, I wouldn't get high, especially when I'm supposed to be at school with the hoodlums. And I definitely wouldn't be high while driving to the hospital! But I can't make any promises about not getting high when I get there, because I—it was a joke. Turn off the cop, Dom, I swear to god! I'm joking!"

Otter says, "You guys are on the pickup list for Izzie. I already told the principal that you'd be there after. Just—Dad. Dad. Stop telling Mom to make a cake. What is wrong with the both of you? I'm going to hang up now, I swear to—oh. He hung up on me."

I say, "You're not going to arrest me, are you? Dom, I was joking. I'm not going to smoke meth and then hold my kids for the first time. I'm not that kind of person. Not—wow. He hung up on me."

"Why are you driving so slow?" Otter says, sounding slightly hysterical. "You are not an eighty-year-old woman!"

"I'm going the speed limit," I growl at him. "I'm trying not to break the law, especially since my brother's boyfriend apparently thinks I'm a crack addict because I sound calm."

"You don't sound very calm to me!"

"Why thank you. I didn't—what the hell is that in the back seat?"

"Watch the road!"

"I am. Are those car seats?"

"Yes," he huffs out. "How the hell else are we supposed to get them home?"

"Right," I say weakly. "Because they're going to be coming home with us."

"Exactly," Otter says, popping his knuckles repeatedly. "They're going to be coming home with us, and we're going to be parents, and it's going to be fine. I mean, yes, we're going to be at their beck and call for the next eighteen years and we'll probably never get a moment of privacy for at least that long, and yes, what if the other one ends up being a girl who wants to date when she turns fifteen, and she brings home boys, and yes, I am going to have to buy a goddamn shotgun and point it at every single dickless wonder who thinks he can touch my little girl with his filthy boy hands, and—"

"Wow," I say. "That escalated quickly. I feel like we've somehow accidentally switched bodies, because you sound exactly like me right now."

"This is all your fault!" Otter cries at me.

"How's that now?"

"It was your goddamn super sperm that made two of them."

"That's because of my masculine virility. I've told you that—"

"Bear!"

"What!"

His eyes are bulging, and he's panting a little, but somehow, he's able to say, "It's too soon. They're not supposed to be here for another week. What if something's wrong?"

And that hurts. To hear the worry in his voice. The doubt. Because Otter should never sound like that. Not ever. "You know as well as I do that's not the case," I tell him quietly. "Twins come early. The fact that she's made it this far is sort of remarkable. We've been told this, okay? We know this. I need you to hear me on this, okay? Are you listening?"

He nods, head jerking up and down.

"It's going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. She's healthy. The twins are healthy. This is all planned out. She's done this before, and she knows her body. It's going to be—"

Otter's phone rings.

"It's Marty," he says, sounding rather breathless.

Fine, right, Bear? it whispers. Everything is going to be fine. Because nothing bad has ever happened to you, isn't that right? Oh, no. Of course not.

"Answer it," I tell him, shoving that damnable voice away. "We need to find out what's going on. Make sure they don't need anything from us."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before connecting the call. It's on speakerphone, and it crackles, voices muffled in the background.

"Marty?" Otter asks.

"—you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life," Marty is saying. "Your skin is glowing, and I know it's mostly sweat, but damn, baby, you look good. All that life growing in you. I can't wait till it comes out and I can put my own in—"

"Nope," I say. "Nope, nope, nope. Marty, I swear to god, if you finish that sentence, I will have your balls on a chopping block, and you will never get to have your own children!"

"It's the daddies!" Marty cries into the phone. "How we doing this fine morning?"

"We're fine," Otter says, though he sounds like anything but, given that he's squeaking.

"Is there a small cat traveling with you?" Marty asks. "Because whatever that was, it sounded like a small cat."

"That was Otter," I say. "He's... excited."

"Oh, you guys are adorable," Marty sighs. "You're going to be the best daddies ever. Well. Until I'm a daddy, and then we can share that title, okay?"

"Marty," another voice says in the background. "Maybe now's not the time to talk about other babies."

"You're absolutely right, my love," Marty says. "We can save that for later."

"Is that Megan?" I ask, baffled. "I thought she was giving birth!"

Marty chuckles. "Oh, my poor, naïve daddies. She's in the early labor phase. Water broke, but she's only dilated a couple of centimeters. This part will probably last a little while. Babies don't just fall out, you know. After that, it's the active labor phase, when her cervix will dilate up to seven centimeters. Can you just imagine. And then it's the transition phase, when the cervix will get all the way up to ten—"

Otter and I are both staring at the phone in horror while it sounds as if it's being shuffled from one person to another. Then, "Bear? Otter? It's Megan. You know. Your surrogate?"

I almost smack my head against the steering wheel. I don't, but it's close. "Hi, Megan."

"You're having babies," Otter breathes, and I almost smack his head against the steering wheel.

"I am!" Megan says cheerfully. "The contractions aren't too bad yet, but they're coming regularly. We're sitting around waiting to get this show on the road. When you get to Sacred Heart, you'll want to head up to the prenatal unit on the fourth floor, okay? They know you're coming and ow ow ow, okay, here is a good one. Ohhh, that has some bite to it."

"Did you just have a baby?" Otter asks frantically. "Did one come out yet?"

"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" I demand.

"Tell them it doesn't look like you'll need an episiotomy," I hear Marty say in the background.

"Oh god, no," Megan says to him. "I would rather wait until they get here so I can see the look on their faces."

"What the hell is an episiotomy?" Otter asks. "Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it?"

"It's not bad," Megan assures him. "Well. Mostly. But it's not used a whole lot anymore, and only in special cases. It's to help avoid vaginal tearing. They make... a bigger opening. By slicing."

"Women are so hard-core," I whisper to Otter.

"But," Megan continues. "The babies are positioned head down, which is how they're supposed to be, so I don't see that being an issue. If there's any repositioning, there will be a C-section most likely instead. I really hope it doesn't go that direction, because I want to do this naturally."

"It's no water birth, but it'll do," Marty says. "Should we talk to them about what can be done with the placenta?"

"Now you've scared them," Megan sighs as Otter and I both choke horribly, because what.

"We'll be there in an hour," I manage to tell her. "Do you need anything?"

"Adult diapers?" Megan asks.

"What?" Otter and I both screech at the same time.

But Megan and Marty just laugh at something we don't quite understand.

IN THE movies, anytime anyone gives birth, there's this great big splash of the water breaking, immediate contractions, and the woman is wheeled into the hospital in a wheelchair, clutching her stomach and breathing like she just ran a marathon. Cut to the next scene, and her feet are in stirrups, and everyone is telling her to push, and maybe she'll get snarky with a really deep voice, demanding a goddamn epidural before she kills someone, and the father of the child will be standing next to her, grimacing as the woman breaks his hand. A few minutes later, the baby comes out, looking sparkling clean with a full head of hair, and the anonymous doctor in scrubs and wearing a mask says, "It's a boy!" or "It's a girl!" and then the dad cries and the mom cries and they hug the baby, who appears to actually be a wrinkled burrito, and they all look amazing and live happily ever after.

That is a fucking lie.

Because nothing can prepare you for the reality.

It's not episiotomies.

It's not gross fluids.

It's not cutting an umbilical cord that looks like Italian sausage.

It's waiting.

For hours.

"You guys look bored," Megan says, sounding amused as she sits up in her hospital bed. Marty's rubbing her back like the dutiful partner he is.

Otter and I are sitting in two chairs whose sole purpose seems to be as uncomfortable as possible, possibly to simulate what the woman is experiencing in prelabor. If that's the case, then it has succeeded immensely, and I hate it. Because we've been here for three hours already.

"We're not bored," Otter reassures her.

"Definitely not," I say.

"I mean, you're giving us children," Otter says.

"That negates everything else," I say.

"They're so bored," Marty whisper-shouts to Megan.

"Isn't it cute how they're trying?" Megan asks him.

"How's your cervix?" Otter asks her.

I smack him on the arm. "You can't just ask someone that, Jesus Christ!"

He looks offended. "I'm pretty sure there is no more polite way to ask that."

"I can find out for you if you'd like," Marty says. "It's part of my training."

"No!" Otter and I both shout as he starts to reach under Megan's hospital gown.

"That's not necessary," I add hastily.

They both grin at me.

"You're fucking with us," I accuse them.

"A little," Megan admits, a look of slight discomfort on her face. "You guys are acting so tense. It's starting to stress me out a little."

"Don't be tense," Marty says. "We need to maintain positive vibes in here. Maybe we should sing a happy song that will make everyone feel better."

"Yeah," I say. "I'm not going to do that."

"Otter?" Marty asks.

Otter looks at me. Then at Marty. Then back at me. "It could make everyone happy."

I glare at him.

"But maybe next time," Otter tells Marty.

"You guys want more already?" Marty asks, eyes wide. "Did you hear that, Megan? They already want more. Far out."

"That's not what I meant!" I hiss at Otter.

He rolls his eyes. "How was I supposed to know that?"

"We haven't even had two yet!"

"So much stress," Megan moans dramatically.

We end up singing.

It's the most terrible thing in the world.

But Megan's smiling with her eyes closed, so I deal.

TWO HOURS later, the obstetrician announces Megan's three centimeters dilated.

"Moving right along," she hums as she smiles at us and exits the room.

"If you jump up and down, will that help?" I ask.

Marty and Megan burst out laughing.

"Really, Bear?" Otter whispers to me. "That's what you come up with?"

"I don't see you offering any solutions!"

"Yeah, nothing is still better than jumping up and down."

"Another song!" Marty cheers.

"God-fucking-dammit," I mutter.

FOUR HOURS later, there's been little progression, and Marty has shoved Otter and me out of the hospital room, telling us to take a walk, because we are killing the vibe. "I'll call you if anything happens," he tells us, the most stern I've ever seen him. Which means he's smiling only a little. "Get out for a while, take a breather. I'll handle things in here. There are a few things I can try to help further things along. Like abdominal lifts. Or sex."

And then he shuts the door in our faces.

"He better not have sex with our babies," I mutter.

"You have got to stop phrasing it like that," Otter says, and he's pulling me down the hall toward the waiting room. "Let me buy you a cup of disgusting vending machine coffee."

"You know the way to my heart."

He grins crookedly at that, squeezing my hand just a little tighter.

It's going on five o'clock, and I'm thinking I need to turn my cell phone back on, just to make sure everything's okay, when we get blasted by a wave of noise as soon as we enter the waiting room.

Otter and I both jump back, because everyone is rushing us. Jerry and Alice Thompson. Stephanie and Ian Grant. Anna. Creed, with AJ strapped to his chest. JJ. Izzie. Dom. And the Kid, all of whom are demanding to know what's going on. Well, maybe not all of them. Because JJ is cackling as he plays some handheld video game, saying, "Take that Overlord Zork, the gemstones of Runia are mine and you shall never have them again! You are my bitch now. Bwahaha!"

Even though I'll never tell Creed and Anna this, I hope our children are nothing like him. He's so odd. I try not to applaud as Anna scolds him for language.

"Are we grandparents?" Alice demands. "Was there a third hiding behind the other two? Because that can happen. Did you have triplet babies!"

I don't know if I should tell her Otter said the same thing or not.

"I don't know if that actually happens," her husband tells her.

"Stephanie and I have decided that we will also be grandparents to your kids," Ian tells Otter. "I hope that's okay. And if it's not, well. It's already been decided."

"Because we deserve it too," Stephanie says, patting her husband's hand. "After everything."

"Dude," Creed says. "You guys look really freaked out right now. This is hilarious. I can't wait for you to—JJ, I swear to god, if you try and order pizza from the courtesy phone one more time, I will drop-kick your video game into the ocean. Do you understand me?"

JJ sets down the phone gingerly. I hadn't even seen him move. "How do you do that?" I ask Creed. "You weren't even looking at him."

"I told you, man. When your kids come out of the chick you knocked up, you get superpowers," Creed says, waggling his eyebrows.

"Goo-rah!" AJ shrieks, fat little fists waving in the air.

"He already somehow ordered an olive and anchovy pizza," Anna says with a sigh. "Twice." She then socks her husband in the shoulder. "And if you ever refer to me as the chick you knocked up again, I will drop-kick you into the ocean."

"You are the light of my life," Creed says. "And also, did you notice how rock hard my bicep is? Didn't even jostle the little guy."

AJ screams again. He's a loud, loud child.

"Is Otter about to fall over?" Izzie whispers to the Kid.

"He does look really pale," Ty whispers back.

"Be nice," Dom says to the both of them, cuffing them on the back of the head. "It's a really stressful time."

"What are you all doing here?" I ask.

They all stare at me blankly for a good long moment.

"You're having children," Alice says slowly. "You do know that, don't you?" She glances at her husband. "I don't think Bear knows where he is. Or who he is. This might be worse than we thought. Someone get a doctor!"

"He's fine," Otter says, swaying just a little. I step closer to him, letting him lean on me. "We just didn't expect you guys here so soon."

"Where else would we be?" Jerry asks. "You guys are about to have your children. Of course we're going to be here."

And maybe there's something to my thought that pregnant-woman hormones are contagious by proximity, because as soon as his father says that, as soon as those earnest words land upon us, my big, strong, ridiculous husband bursts into tears.

Everyone gapes at him except for his father, who steps forward and wraps him in a hug, Otter's head lying on Jerry's shoulder.

"Holy hell," Ty breathes. "Is the world ending?"

"He's just a little overwhelmed," Jerry hums, patting his son's back, chin hooked over his shoulder. "It happens."

Ty looks at me. "Why aren't you crying? If anyone should be crying, it should be you. Everything is being thrown off-kilter! Fix this!"

"Hey! I don't always cry."

"Sarah McLachlan SPCA commercials," Izzie says.

My eyes start burning. "That is so unfair," I snap at her. "I mean, really, Sarah? You just have to play that damn song in the background while focusing on a puppy with eyes as big as cantaloupes? Really?"

"Okay," Ty says, taking a breath. "That feels a little better. Things are slowly righting themselves."

Otter's still clinging to his father, breath hitching, rubbing his face on Jerry's shoulder. Regardless of whether Ty's being a dick about it, it's sort of true. Otter's never like this. It's not that he's never emotional. Of course not. No one wears their heart on their sleeve like Otter Thompson. But I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him cry since I've known him, the last time being when we found out we were pregnant, and the time before that being our wedding day. Years can go by with absolutely nothing, but here he is, crying on his dad, and god, does it make my heart ache.

"Oh no." Ty's staring at me. "Bear's starting to get that look on his face."

"What look?" Izzie asks, studying me curiously.

"The one where he's having a lot of feelings about something and either wants to sob, hug something, or climb Otter like a tree. Maybe even all three at the same time."

Izzie, Creed, and Anna all take a step back at the same time.

"You guys are so dumb," I mutter, rubbing Otter's back.

"I don't even know why this is happening," Otter says, voice cracking. "I'm fine. I'm happy."

"It's because of the pregnancy hormones," I tell him. "They've infected you. Maybe you should listen to me next time." He glares at me, so I add hastily, "Or we can just chalk this up to being a very exciting day. That works too."

"Jerry cried," Alice says, smiling at her husband and son. "With Oliver. Even really before everything started. I was having these horrible contractions, and he's got these tears streaming down his face. I thought I was hurting him, squeezing his hand too tightly."

"But I was just happy," Jerry hums. "And nervous and exhausted and oh so excited. That's all this is."

"Creed cried too," Anna says.

"I can admit it," Creed says. "I'm man enough. I bawled like a little bitch. And then JJ came. We're so lucky that we—JJ, I swear to god, if you even go near that fire alarm, I will cancel Christmas this year and give all your presents to orphans."

"Orphans get everything," JJ grumbles, backing away from the fire alarm.

"Pretty much how it is," Ian says. "It just catches up with you when it starts."

"And then everything starts happening so fast that it's over before you know it," Dom says.

"I'm not crying," I say. "I must be broken."

"Sarah McLachlan thinks you should donate more—"

"Goddammit, Izzie! Why are you like this?"

MARTY AND Megan are walking up and down the hall an hour later, Megan's hand at her stomach. Marty told Otter and me that we have to maintain at least a ten-foot distance because he's trying to get her into her birthing space, whatever the fuck that means.

So instead, we're sitting on the floor, our backs to the wall, watching them from a distance. Marty's got such a hold on her, like she's the most precious thing in the world. She's gripping him tightly, and he's whispering in her ear, and for a moment, I allow myself to think just how amazing Marty is. But only for a moment.

Otter's sitting cross-legged next to me, clutching my hand in his lap. His grip is a little clammy, and it's uncomfortable, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be, so I don't say much on it. I think he's embarrassed, at least a little, about crying in front of everyone like that. I don't know how to tell him that it just made me love him more without probably setting one or both of us off all over again.

"It's weird, right?" he says quietly, breaking the silence.

"Yes," I say promptly. Then, "What is?"

"That we're here. Now. In this position. In this moment. After everything."

"Good weird?"

He smiles a little. "The best weird. It's just...."

I wait, knowing this is important. I don't want to rush him.

He says, "After I... left, back then, I—it wasn't good. For me. I was running from something I don't think I quite understood. I felt—it's not your fault, okay? That's not what I'm trying to say. But I thought if I stayed, it would kill me. Seeing you. As you were. And it was wrong, because you were so young, and I was nothing. To you. I was your best friend's older brother, and who was I to get to have anything from you?"

"You know that's not true. You were never just my best—"

"I know. I've known that for a long time. But back then? It wasn't—you know things were off. Mom and Dad hadn't taken my coming out very well, I was crushing on this kid whose whole world had just imploded, and I just... couldn't." He squeezes my hand. "And there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't think of you. I told myself it was stupid. That it was probably borderline creepy. That I was just wallowing in guilt for breaking a promise to you that I'd always be there."

He shakes his head ruefully. "I thought I could be happy, you know? I went to parties. I met famous people. I met... Jonah. And for a long time, I thought it would be enough. I put that picture I had of you away and told myself I didn't need to look at it."

"The one of me standing at the beach. With the storm coming in." It's hanging in the Green Monstrosity, Otter having set it almost reverently on the wall after we'd first moved in.

"Yeah. That's the one. Because that's how you've always been to me. This great big storm, all flash and rumbling and kinetic energy. And I just—I couldn't do it anymore. I used Jonah's cheating on me as an excuse, I think. Even if it hadn't happened, I was always going to come home."

"And you did."

"And I did," he agrees. "Best decision I've ever made."

"I still have that letter."

He laughs, sounding a little startled. He knows what I'm talking about. "You do? Still?"

I lay my head on his shoulder. "Still. It's in the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed. The paper is yellowed. It's a little ripped, and the edges are curled, but yeah. It's there."

"Huh," he says. "How about that."

"It's part of us."

"I guess it is. Remember when you threw it at me?"

"We were sitting in your car. In the rain."

He rubs his chin against the top of my head. "You were so mad at me, and I was just damn happy to even be near you again. That you saw me. Really saw me. You hated me a little, but I was going to take everything I could."

"I didn't hate you, Otter. Even when I was at my angriest, I never hated you. I don't think I ever could."

He loosens his hold on my hand, bringing his big arm up and around my shoulders, pulling me close. My forehead is pressed against his neck as I watch Marty and Megan walk farther down the hall, Megan laughing at something Marty has whispered in her ear.

"I was happy," he says quietly. "I told myself it was enough, and I think it would have been. You were scared and angry, but it was enough. It would have been enough."

"But it didn't turn out that way."

"No," he says. "It didn't. And I'm okay with that."

"Just okay?" I tease.

"Maybe a little more than okay. You kissed me and let me love you, and even with everything, all of the good and all of the bad, I wouldn't change a single thing about this. All that we've done has led to this, Bear. You know? This has made us who we are."

"And who are we?"

"Do you see that lady down there?"

I do. She's beautiful, and she's giving us the greatest gift.

"We're you and me," he says, pressing a kiss into my hair. "Bear and Otter. There's a Kid in the waiting room that we did a damn good job with. There's a little girl who found her way home to us. There's our family who would do anything to make sure we're happy. And there's that lady, that weird, funny lady who just fits like she's always been a part of us. Marty too."

"Let's not go that far," I grumble.

He chuckles and jostles me a little. "You know they're here to stay, right?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Ty told me something once. About him and Dom. He said he thought they were inevitable. And that got me thinking for a long time. To him, even when he was at his worst, some small part of him thought that he and Dom would always be. I don't know if it works like that always. It did for him... but it's—I don't think that about us."

"You don't?"

I feel him shake his head. "No. Because we've fought tooth and nail for this. We've clawed our way through everything slung at us. I don't think all of this was inevitable. I think we've earned this. We've earned this because we made this. This is who we are, okay? We have built this life, built this family, and in a little while, there are going to be two more that we get, and sometimes I can't even breathe with how thankful I am for that. You've given me this, Bear. This life. This chance. Everything. You've given me everything, and I don't know how I can ever repay you."

But that's not right, is it? Because all I ever did was love him with my whole heart. I would do anything for Otter. I tell him as much, and he laughs wetly. "I know, Papa Bear. And I know you don't see it like I do, but that's how I feel."

"You don't need to repay me for anything. We did this together."

"Yeah," he says. "Okay. Together. We're gonna be dads, huh?"

"Looks like. Probably a little late to back out now."

"And we're gonna be good dads?"

"Yeah. At least better than Creed."

"JJ hasn't electrocuted himself, so I don't know that that's true."

"It's like he has eyes in the back of his head. I don't know how he does it."

Otter laughs at me.

"I'm serious!"

"Hi, Serious. I'm—"

"Oh my god. You are not allowed to do this now. Not at the goddamn hospital. Someone might hear you!"

"I love you," he says suddenly, fiercely. "No matter what happens. No matter where this road takes us. I'm gonna love you forever, Bear."

I roll my eyes. "I know that. I've trapped you with kids now. You aren't ever leaving."

His shoulders shake as he holds me closer.

Megan waves at us from down the hall.

We wave back as we watch them. For a time.

"I love you too," I eventually tell Otter.

"It's pretty great, right?"

And it is. I remember being scared. For a long time, I was scared. Of being alone. Of failing the Kid. Of everyone else leaving us too.

But I'm not scared of that anymore.

Bad things can happen.

Then there are times like this. Times when I have Otter at my side and a hippie holding up his girlfriend that I impregnated in front of us.

Mrs. Paquinn would be laughing her ass off right now.

"We should get some flowers," I tell Otter. "When we get a chance. Take them to Mrs. P. We can—"

Megan's knees buckle.

Marty catches her before she falls.

She's groaning, clutching her stomach.

Otter and I are on our feet and running.

Her skin is slick with sweat, eyes scrunched closed, breathing in deeply through her nose and out through her mouth.

I'm scared again.

I'm fucking terrified.

But Marty's smiling, and he says, "I think it's almost time."

THE LEAD-UP felt like it went on for days.

We did nothing but wait and wait and wait.

And then it happens quickly. So fucking quickly.

There are people rushing around us, shoving us into scrubs, telling us that we need to stand back, keep out of the way. I'm too stunned to remind them that I don't even want to be in here, but Otter's got a solid grip on my hand, and I can't even get my feet to work.

Megan's on the bed, sitting up and hunched over her stomach, and she's grunting, tears on her face. Marty's at her side, whispering in her ear, throwing us a wink every now and then.

And it does go on for hours. I'm told later that altogether, we were in the room for another seven hours. But I barely move, and even though I see things that I probably won't ever get out of my head, I don't leave. I can't leave.

I'm thinking, Please let everything go okay. Because Otter's right. We've earned this. After everything we've been through. We've earned this.

We have lived. We have lost. We have loved with every single beat of our hearts, and we have fucking earned this.

"And here we go," the OB says. "I can see the head. I need you to push, Megan. Can you do that for me? I need you to push."

She cries out but does what the doctor tells her.

"There we go," she says. "You're doing so well. You're doing just fine. Push, Megan."

"You got this, baby," Marty says. "I'm so proud of you."

Otter and I have lost the ability to speak.

In time, Megan gives a great gasp of relief.

The room falls quiet.

And then—

A little cry.

It's weak and shrill and oh so fucking bright, and as soon as I hear it, as soon as the first little noise fills the room, it slams into me, and I take a staggering step back, because that noise, that crazy noise is the most perfect thing I've ever heard in my life.

"A boy," the OB says easily, as if it's not the most life-changing moment in the history of the world. "A beautiful little boy."

"Oh my god," Otter croaks out next to me, and I can see him, his little arms, his little legs, and he's kicking, covered in blood and slime and other things I probably have no desire to know what they are. His little foot is kicking, and he's wailing, and I didn't think it was possible to love someone at first sight, to love a person so completely that it makes your heart split right down the middle.

I know that it's possible now.

They hand our son off to a nurse, who wraps him in a towel, and I want to demand they give him to us right this fucking second, but the doctor says, "You up for round two?" and for a moment, I'm confused. I'm confused, because I don't know what the hell she's talking about.

And then I remember that it's not over.

There's another one.

"Holy fucking shit," I breathe. "We're having twins."

"Did you think I was joking?" Megan asks, sounding as annoyed as I've ever heard her.

"No! I guess I didn't think it was real until this moment. Otter! We're having fucking twins."

"You can't say fucking in front of our children," Otter hisses at me. "What if they hear you?"

"This is their first time," Marty tells the OB. "Aren't they delightful?"

The OB glances back at us, eyes twinkling. "I think they'll do just fine."

And it starts all over again.

It's quicker this time, and I'm trying not to think about the fact that our son paved the way for the second kid, because that's just fucked up, and Otter gapes at me when I whisper that to him, like I've said something offensive, but then we're both distracted by the fact that another child starts screaming, thin and reedy, and then the doctor says three words that cause me to slump against the wall, barely able to stand on my own.

"It's a girl."

THERE ARE moments in life so profound, they forever burn themselves into your mind.

I know this, because I have so many of them.

Coming home from school and reading a letter from a woman who should never have been a mother.

The Kid sitting on my lap, asking what was going to happen to him, that he was such a little guy.

Facing Otter in a darkened hallway, wondering why my heart skipped beats in my chest at the sight of him.

Sitting at a dinner table, getting embarrassed when I thought a sign on a boy named Oliver's door said something different.

A kid coming up to me, saying, "Who are you? I'm Creed. We should be friends forever."

Anna Grant kissing me for the first time, her lips soft and sticky with cherry ChapStick.

Julie telling me to get her a glass of Jack. "Two ice cubes, Derrick. You know how I like it."

Being told I had a sister named Izzie.

Mrs. Paquinn telling me that everything was going to be okay, that her husband, Joseph, God love him, left her too, but she got on all right.

The slow mechanical hiss of a machine that helped Otter to breathe.

Sitting in a car across from a man I loved, not knowing I loved him, throwing his own words back in his face.

Finding empty orange prescription bottles in Ty's room.

Meeting Kori for the first time.

Meeting Corey for the first time.

"His name is Dominic, and he doesn't talk much, but he's my friend now, and he helped me follow the ants, and I've never had a friend on my own, so can he please have lunch with us?"

Staring out the side mirror, watching the Green Monstrosity shrink behind us, wondering when I'd ever see it again.

Creed saying Otter had moved to California.

The last breath Theresa Jean Paquinn ever took.

Anna asking me why she couldn't be enough for me as we stood on the balcony of a shitty fucking apartment.

The first time Otter was beneath me.

The first time I was beneath him.

That smile, that crooked smile that never stops taking my breath away.

The Kid telling me that it'd be okay, that everyone was waiting for us at home.

Otter and I being told that it worked, that we were going to be parents.

A thousand other moments. All the bits and pieces that make up a life.

We have lived. We have lived through so much.

We have made this life our own, this strange family of ours.

Because family isn't always defined by blood.

It's defined by those who make us whole.

Those who make us who we are.

And here, now, is a moment I never thought I'd see. That I never thought I'd get to have.

A nurse says, "Would you like to hold your children?"

And Otter's voice breaks when he says, "Please. Yes. Yes, please."

There's a blue bundle in her arms that she passes to him, oh so gently. There's a little cry that comes from it, and Otter's eyes are wide and wet, and he's looking down at the life in his arms, and he says, "Hi. Hello. Hello there. I am so happy to meet you. I'm your daddy. You are the best thing in this whole wide world. And I promise you, we are going to love you with everything we have."

And then he looks up at me and just smiles.

I think I'm in shock, because I don't know what to do.

Then I hear, "Sir?"

Everything feels hazy as I look in the direction of the voice.

Another nurse is in front of me, and she's got a similar bundle in her arms, except this one is pink.

"Are you ready?" she asks me kindly.

No. No, I'm not. I'm not ready for any of this.

But I don't even care. I want this so goddamn bad.

I manage to make a noise that sounds like yes, my arms coming up mechanically.

Then there's a weight placed in my arms, a heft, and I'm devastated by it, even as the nurse adjusts my forearm a little to support her head. It doesn't feel like anything I've ever held before, and I'm struggling to breathe, heart stumbling in my chest, as I look down and for the first time, I see her.

My daughter.

She's... wrinkled.

Like a hairless pug.

And she's really red.

And her face is scrunched.

But she's got this little hand with little fingers, and it raises up and bumps against my chin, and I don't know that I've ever felt anything like it before. She's got a few dark hairs on her head, matted down under a tiny pink cap, little tufts poking out, and her eyes are squinted shut, and she's making these weird fucking noises like she's broken, but it's... it's—

The first words I ever say to my daughter are, "I'm so glad you're not still covered in gunk. I don't think I could have handled you looking like a Halloween decoration."

Goddammit.

Otter snorts and comes to stand beside me, and he looks over at the kid in my arms, and I look over at the one in his, and he looks the same, this little tiny blob of wrinkled skin, but he's gorgeous, just like his sister.

"I make the best-looking children," I tell Otter, sounding slightly hysterical.

"You did good," he said, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. His face is wet, but it's still spectacular.

"I made these," I tell the nurses, who are watching us, looking amused. "I didn't mean to make two, but I did, and I did it."

They share a knowing look that says, Idiot.

I look down at the little girl in my arms.

"I made you," I tell her. "I made you."

She hits my chin again.

MEGAN IS exhausted, but she's smiling at us, Marty rubbing a cool cloth over her face. "Good?" she asks us, voice a little rough.

"So good," Otter says, not having looked up from his daughter since we've switched. "I just—I don't know how we could ever repay you. You've—"

She rolls her eyes. "I told you guys at the beginning. I love this. For this moment, right here. Right now. This is why I do it. You guys are going to be so good at this."

"You think?" I ask hopefully.

"Yeah, man," Marty says easily. "The best, probably. You guys have got this aura about you, you know? You glow."

"You are so strange," I tell him.

He shrugs. "Probably. But it's true."

"We're keeping you."

He grins. "Yeah? We'd make a pretty good aunt and uncle. I could teach them yoga poses, get their chi sorted when—"

"Don't make me take that back."

He winks at me.

"You want to hold them?" Otter asks Megan.

She shakes her head slowly. "They're not mine. They're yours. Later, sure. But now, before they need to take them to take footprints for the birth certificate and the like, they should be with you. I'll see them after I get some sleep."

I want to protest, seeing as how Megan did all the work, but Marty's shaking his head at me, so we just let it go.

I don't know that I'd have been able to give my son up anyway.

Well. Until Otter and I switch again, that is.

WE WALK hand in hand out to the waiting room. It's early morning, and everyone is in the waiting room, looking refreshed and bright-eyed from being able to stay in a nearby hotel. I'm sure Otter and I look like shit, but we're grinning so wide it hurts.

Ty sees us first. He's up and running, and his arms are around me, holding me tight. He's breathing heavily, and he says, "Yeah? Okay? Is it—"

"Okay," I tell him quietly. "It's all okay."

He sags in my arms, sighing in relief. "They told us you were still back there and—"

"Oh my god," Izzie says, startling me with how much she sounds like us. "Can you please just tell us what they are?"

"Babies," Otter says seriously.

Everyone groans, because why.

I try to open my mouth and tell them, but I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. The Kid backs away, hands on my shoulders, looking a little worried.

"What's wrong?" he asks, looking a little fearful.

I shake my head.

"Bear's a little overwhelmed," Otter says, sounding smug.

All the fathers in the room nod knowingly. All the mothers roll their eyes.

God, I love them.

"You want me to tell them?" Otter asks me, lips scraping against my cheek.

"Yeah," I manage to say.

They all look at him expectantly.

He smiles that crooked smile, the gold-green in his eyes shining. "A boy," he says. "And a girl. Both are good. And strong. And tiny."

There are tears then from most everyone as they explode in noise.

All except for JJ.

JJ is slumped on the chair, fast asleep, mouth open and drooling on his shoulder.

He's such a weird kid.

THEY'RE ALL lined up in front of the nursery, cooing through the glass, telling us that they look exactly like me, which I'm not quite sure if is an insult or not, given that the last time I checked, I was not a hairless pug.

Otter and I, of course, are standing next to them, chests puffed out, preening because we're goddamn fathers and this is our moment.

"You guys did a good job, Papa Bear," Creed says, knocking his shoulder against mine.

"We did, didn't we?" Otter says, that smile never leaving his face.

"Very good," Anna agrees. "Though I'm a little jealous that you have a girl now, whereas I have none."

"I am a boy!" JJ says, doing a dance that makes him look like he's either possessed or has had his spine removed.

"Yah-guh," AJ shouts.

"We could try again," Creed says, waggling his eyebrows. "All of this has made me want to put another baby in you."

"You come near me with that thing with the intention of getting me pregnant again," Anna says sweetly, "and you'll probably lose it."

"I give it six months before she folds," Creed whispers loudly to me.

"We want more," Stephanie says, staring at her daughter. "This isn't enough."

"Oh boy," Anna mutters.

"If you think about it," Alice says, "this is a first for all of us. Having a girl."

"That's right," Jerry says, arm around his wife's waist. "It's been all boys for this family. Except for Izzie here."

"Please don't lump me in with them," Izzie begs.

"This is going to get interesting," Ian says. "Wait until she gets older."

"Her milkshake will probably bring all the boys to the yard," Tyson says solemnly.

"What is wrong with all of you?" I growl at them. "She is a baby. And why can't my son's milkshake bring boys to the yard? God, don't be sexist."

They all gape at me.

I frown. "Wait, I didn't mean it like that—"

"Holy shit!" Dom says, and we all turn slowly to look at him, because he never cusses. Ever.

"What is it?" Ty asks.

"You never even told us their names," Dom says to Otter and me. "None of us even thought to ask."

Everyone focuses on us eagerly.

It's funny, this. Here. Now. Out of everything that's happened, it feels like this moment is both an ending and a beginning.

"You ready for this?" Otter asks, putting his arms around my shoulders.

"More than you know," I tell him, kissing his jaw. "Want to do the honors?"

"Okay," Otter says, looking out at our family. "Everyone, we'd like you to meet—"

# FUTURE

The youth is the hope of our future.

—José Rizal

# 14. The Long and Winding Road

"WHY ARE you freaking out?" Otter asks me, looking amused as he leans against our bedroom doorway. "If anything, I would think it'd be Ty that would—"

"I'm not freaking out," I snap at him, trying to fix this stupid fucking tie that is obviously broken because it's not working.

"You look like you're about to choke yourself."

"I'm about to choke you."

"That... wasn't as threatening as you think it was. It definitely didn't help that I think you're adorable when you get angry."

"Otter, I swear to god that I'm going to—"

He laughs, pushing himself up off the doorway, walking toward me. And since Otter Thompson is in a tailored gray suit, I might stare at his reflection in the mirror just a little, doing my best to keep from drooling. Or, even worse, tearing off both our suits and bending him over the bed and fucking him senseless.

He must see it somehow in my eyes, because he smiles that crooked little smile as he comes to stand behind me, his front pressed firmly against my back. His lips scrape against my ear in a move that has to be nothing but intentional as he reaches around me, knocking my hands away as he starts to fiddle with the tie that I apparently don't know how to work.

"It's going to be okay," he says.

"I know that."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

"What?"

He shrugs. "Just doesn't sound like you know, is all."

"I just want everything to go well."

"It will," he says. "And even if it doesn't, it'll be perfect."

I sigh, looking away from his knowing gaze. "He's nervous. It makes me nervous."

"That's because you guys share a brain."

"I think it's a good nervous, though."

"I know it is. It's how I was."

I look back up at him. "Really?"

He finishes tying my tie. It looks perfect, of course. He brushes off my shoulders. There's nothing there, but he doesn't need an excuse to touch me. "Yeah."

"Which time?"

"Both."

I laugh quietly. "I was a sure bet."

"Both times?"

I shrug. "Sure. I pretty much like everything about you."

He wraps his arms around my waist, hands clasped over my stomach. He hooks his chin over my shoulder, staring at my reflection with a quiet smile. "We did good, didn't we?"

"Yes," I say promptly. Then, "With what?"

"This. Everything. Our lives."

"Yeah. We did good."

And we have. We're a little older, and maybe there are more lines around our eyes and mouths (but I am not losing my hair, no matter what my shit of a little brother says), but look at us now. We've beaten everything stacked against us, and we've made it this far. We're still standing.

A lot of this has to do with this man who's watching me like I could be his whole world. I know that's not true—not when we've got all that we have—but it sure feels like it in this moment.

"Today's a good day," Otter says, kissing my ear, making me squirm just a little. "You're allowed to be happy."

"I'm not going to cry."

Otter snorts. "That's bullshit and we both know it."

"We don't have to—"

A loud crash comes from somewhere in the house.

Otter and I both sigh at the same time. We're very practiced at it.

"What do you think it is this time?" he asks me.

"I'm going to go with 'we're trying to be architects because Uncle Ty said we could be anything and we tried to stack everything we own on top of each other just to see what would happen.'"

"I'm gonna go with 'we're playing surgery because of that one time Uncle Creed forgot to change the channel and we watched the hospital show that was probably not age appropriate.'"

"They're so weird," I mutter, smoothing down my suit jacket as Otter steps back. "And if they've messed up their outfits, we're putting them up for adoption."

"Nah," Otter says easily. "You'd miss them too much."

I roll my eyes, but he knows me too well and sees right through it. "You want to start this one, or should I?"

"Knock yourself out."

"You're just saying that so I'm distracted."

"Probably."

"Manipulative jerk."

"Love you too."

I kiss him quickly, shake my head, and go into Papa Bear mode. I raise my voice so it carries down the hall. "That better not have been something breaking. I'd hate to think what would happen if two little kids weren't capable of having nice things."

Two squeals come from down the hall, followed by hushed whispers.

"They're not even subtle, are they?"

"Well, they are related to you," Otter says. "I don't know that you have a subtle bone in your body." He pauses, considering. "Well, except for when I'm inside of—"

"Unless you plan to do something about it right now, you better not even finish that. Seriously, Otter. What the hell."

He waggles his eyebrows at me.

He's such an asshole. I'm the luckiest man in the world.

He follows me down the hallway to a door covered in My Little Pony stickers and diagrams of the skeletons of a blue whale and a flying lemur.

"Yep," I mutter before I push open the door. "Those are our children, all right."

The room has changed in the last few years. Oh sure, it's still that same pale blue as it was before, with the clouds painted on it. But gone are the stenciled tigers and elephants that had once pranced in a field of green grass and pretty flowers. The sun is still painted in the corner, and the stars still glow on the ceiling at night when the lights are low.

Now the room might as well be split right down the middle. On the left, the bed is made immaculately, books shelved, toys put away in the blue chest that sits on the floor. The walls are covered in the same My Little Pony stickers that were on the door, and it's the only thing that looks slightly out of place, but Noah Thompson loves them more than life itself, and he had begged for us to allow him to put them there, insisting that they would help him sleep because they scared away the monster that lived under his bed. And when your son is staring at you with wide, earnest eyes and talking to you about his precious My Little Pony stickers, it's pretty much a given that you'll give in without even the smallest of arguments. In fact, when he told me that, I went a little overboard and bought him a stuffed pillow of his favorite pony, Princess Celestia, because there was no way a damn monster would ever put its claws on my child.

"You know he's pulling your chain, right?" Otter asked me as Noah squealed, hugging the pillow close to his chest.

"There are monsters," I told Otter as if he was stupid.

"Oh boy," Otter said.

The other half of the room looks like a hurricane struck it, the bed disheveled, toys strewn across the floor. ("They're not toys, Papa! I am not a child.") The walls are covered in carefully clipped photos from National Geographic and, randomly, a photograph of Bach printed online because Lily Thompson is so damn weird like that.

And currently, she is standing above her brother, who is lying on the floor, a pink surgical mask wrapped around her face, a flat red case open on her bed filled with plastic medical equipment meant for kids, something she had gotten last Christmas. She had screamed long and loud when she'd opened it, wrapping paper flying furiously around her, thanking Santa for finally giving her what she wanted, Otter and I blinking blearily as it was only five in the morning.

Lily is wearing the dress Anna and Izzie took her shopping for, having told the both of us that she wanted to go with the girls if she had to wear a dress. "I don't like dresses," she told me in that tone she did so well. "But if I have to wear one, I wanna go with Anna and Izzie."

Which led to Noah loudly proclaiming that he too wanted to go with Anna and Izzie, but not because he wanted to wear a dress. He just always wanted to go wherever his sister was. Lily had rolled her eyes but had gripped his hand tightly, and Otter and I both knew what was going to happen then, whether we liked it or not. Wherever Lily went, Noah was sure to follow.

He was our sensitive, kind, sweet little boy.

She was our no-nonsense, wickedly smart little girl.

It was a little scary at first to see her in a more dominant position. I worried for a long time that she would railroad right over Noah and that he would just let it happen, but she was oh so careful with him, treating him like he was something precious. No one messed with Noah Thompson, not while Lily was present. He was older, but she was his protector. He likes pretty things, and while Otter and I don't give two shits about that, others aren't always going to be so kind.

Just after their fourth birthday last fall, Ty and Dom took them to the park. Ty told me later that Noah had taken one of his ponies, and some little dick with a fucking attitude had tried to give him shit for it, telling him that boys didn't play with ponies. Noah's lip had been wobbling just a little, and Ty had been up on his feet, ready to kick six-year-old ass, but then Lily had put herself between Noah and his bully, growling at the little asshole that Noah could play with whatever he wanted. Her eyes were narrowed and her hands were in little fists at her sides, and the older kid must have seen the same fierceness we'd witnessed over and over again. No one messed with her brother. Ever.

The bully had turned tail and run.

Lily turned and asked if Noah was okay.

"Yeah," he said, sniffling just a little.

She kissed him on the forehead and didn't leave his side after that.

"Are you crying?" Ty asked me when he finished his story.

"I'm not crying," I said, wiping my eyes. "You're crying."

We love them more than we could ever say.

But that doesn't mean they don't exasperate us.

Like now.

Because Noah is in his little suit, lying on the floor, grinning up at us, head resting on Princess Celestine. "Hi!" he says, waving a little hand up at us. "Hi, Daddy! Hi, Papa!"

"Shh," Lily says. "Patients can't talk before surgery. You're asleep because of drugs."

"Shh," Noah tells Otter and me. "I can't talk afore sergys. I'm on drugs!"

Yes. Definitely our children.

"Surgery," Lily corrects him gently. "I need to take out your spleen. It's infected."

Noah smiles up at her adoringly.

"Lily," Otter says. "You can't operate on your brother now. You know we have to go."

Her eyes narrow just a little above her mask. "But he could die."

"I don't wanna die," Noah says cheerfully.

"He doesn't want to die," Lily informs us.

"I think he'll make it through the day," I tell her. "If he's still sick by the time we get home, we can schedule the surgery then."

She sighs like we're the most difficult people in the world. "You never let me do anything."

"I highly doubt that's true," Otter says, crouching down in front of her. He reaches up behind her head and unties her surgical mask. She's frowning a little when it slides from her face. "You know today's a special day."

She nods slowly, dark hair bouncing on her shoulders. She had green ribbons in her hair. Noah (of course) had seen them and loudly demanded that he get ribbons in his hair too. Lily had thought that was only fair, so now they matched even more than they had before, her in her green dress and him with a tiny green tie that had caused a lump in my throat for reasons I didn't quite understand. I've learned over the years that being a parent means being exhausted, elated, frustrated, amused, confused, and on the verge of tears at pretty much every moment of every day.

"And the two of you have a very big responsibility," I say, helping Noah off the floor and brushing the back of his suit, smiling as he giggles and tries to twist away. "Uncle Ty would be very sad if you guys couldn't be there."

"And we wouldn't want that," Otter says, tugging lightly on the ends of Lily's hair, causing her frown to melt away. Regardless of how much a tomboy she is, she's a daddy's girl through and through. She worships the ground Otter walks on. I was jealous of it when it first started showing but accepted it quickly, since Noah seemed to gravitate toward me. It's just how things are.

"And we can go at the same time?" Lily asks. "Uncle Ty said we could."

"Same time," Noah agrees, his thick mop of messy hair falling all over the place. We'd learned early on there was no taming it no matter what we did. I reach down and brush a lock off his forehead. "Please, Papa."

"Well, if Uncle Ty said it," I say slowly, like I'm still considering it, even though we all know I'm full of shit. Because it doesn't matter what we say, if Uncle Ty says it, it's law. Because no matter how much our children love us, no matter if we're their parents, if asked, Lily and Noah would tell you that Uncle Ty is perhaps the greatest person to have ever existed. We're pretty great, and Izzie is awesome (Noah's assessment), but Uncle Ty? He's absolutely the best thing in the world (Lily's assessment).

"He said it," Lily says.

"To both of us," Noah adds fiercely.

"And it's his special day," Lily reminds us. "So we have to do whatever he wants."

"We do?" Otter says. "Well, in that case, we better listen, don't you think?"

Noah and Lily grin up at us, both almost a spitting image of another Kid that I'd known a long time ago, who'd sat in my lap and told me that everything was going to be all right.

I have to blink away the burn in my eyes, and that is not a good indication of how today is going to go.

Shit.

Otter must see it on my face, because he says, "You guys want to go see if Izzie's ready to go?" and they're out the door, hollering down the hallway for their auntie, telling her that Noah's spleen is infected, but surgery would have to come later because we had to go.

Otter's hand comes to the back of my neck, and he presses our foreheads together.

"Okay?" he asks me quietly.

I shrug, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. "It's just—I'm probably going to be a wreck today."

He chuckles. "That's expected."

"I shouldn't be. It's a good thing."

"It is," he agrees. "A very good thing. But it's still a big deal. You're allowed to be sad, as long as you remember to be happy."

"I'm not sad. It's just—it hit me. Now. It's... a lot."

"It is," he says simply.

"I can't believe it's happening, you know? I thought he'd—I don't know. I don't know what I'm thinking right now."

His nose scrapes against my cheek. "This isn't the end, you know? It's just another beginning."

I know that. "I wish she was here."

"Who do—Mrs. Paquinn."

I nod slowly. "She'd like this. Us. Everything that we've become."

His hand tightens on the back of my neck. "I'm sure she's watching. Probably laughing at us right now."

Fitting, that. "Okay."

"Okay?"

I shrug. "Okay."

"You ready for this?"

I don't know if I am, but I say, "Yes," because that's what he needs to hear.

THEY'RE WAITING for us downstairs, all three of them. Noah's wrapped around Izzie's leg, wrinkling her blue dress, but she doesn't appear to give a shit about that. Lily's standing next to Izzie, prim and proper, obviously trying to emulate Izzie's stance but not wanting anyone to know she's doing it.

Izzie's smiling down as Noah babbles at her, telling her that he's got a big job to do today and that he's going to be so good at it that everyone will clap for him when he's done and then he's going to eat so much ice cream and cake because Papa said he could have whatever he wanted today, even though that's an outright lie. I've seen Noah hopped up on sugar before, and it's a terrifying prospect.

And I know Izzie knows that, but she's humoring him anyway. She hears us coming down the stairs and looks up at us, winking once before she looks back down at Noah.

The former Izzie McKenna (having been Izzie Thompson now for over four years) has grown up into a beautiful young woman. Her hair is cut pixie short, and much to my and Ty's chagrin, she has somehow managed to gain an inch or two on us. As of a month ago, she's a high school graduate, and this is our last summer with her before she moves into the dorms at OSU down in Corvallis, something I'm already dreading. She's fierce and fiery and able to go toe to toe with Tyson, and I'm going to miss the hell out of her when it's time for her to leave. But she's excited about it, having been given a partial scholarship where she's going to study biology on the way to becoming an entomologist, much to my extreme horror.

It'd been a long road to get her to become ours legally and in name. Physically and mentally, she became a part of us the moment she showed up at our doorstep (and for Tyson, the moment he'd met her on that sidewalk years ago). Her teenage years hadn't exactly been a walk in the park, but we'd given her the room she needed to grow into her own without feeling like we were stifling her. She'd spent more years on her own than she'd had with a large family, and there were times I knew she felt smothered by all of us. There'd been some rough patches, but that was what it meant to have a family. You took the bad with all of the good.

She whistles at the both of us as we reach the bottom of the stairs. "You guys clean up well, for old guys."

I scowl at her. "I'm not old."

"Late thirties counts as old."

"When are you moving out again?" I mumble as Otter rubs my back.

"August," she says happily. "And don't even try that with me. Otter already told me you're sad about it."

"Traitor," I hiss at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Like it's a secret. You hugged her at her graduation for almost twenty minutes and told her that she didn't have to go if she didn't want to, that she could stay in the Green Monstrosity forever."

"I was being courteous."

"I've never had a grown man cry on my shoulder for that length of time before," Izzie says. "My friends asked me if you had a medical condition."

"Papa cries at everything," Lily says.

"I do not!"

"You cried when Noah used the potty for the first time," Otter reminds me.

"I pee so good," Noah announces to everyone in the room.

"I want a new family," I say, and Lily and Noah immediately protest loudly, telling me I'm not allowed that at all.

Izzie's looking amused, Otter's smiling at me like I'm the best thing to have happened to him, and our kids are hanging on my legs, telling me that they're my family, and I can't get a new one, and there's this burst of light in my chest, warm and bright, and yes, we've had shit thrown at us. We've been knocked down. We've been hurt.

But we've made it. Here. Now.

To this day of all days.

I would do it all over again to get to this moment.

WE PULL up to that little section of beach that only we seem to know about. Except today, the parking lot is full, more cars here than I've ever seen before. There's only a couple of spaces left, and I don't know why I'm so surprised. Ty had said the guest list was a little bigger than he'd been expecting, looking surprised at the thought that there were so many people that he'd wanted to invite. People from his master's program, colleagues, friends from outside of school, half the force, where Dom now works as a detective. Our family, of course, all of us that had made it to this point. A couple of years ago, we'd had a scare with Jerry—Creed and Otter's father—when he'd had a heart attack, but he'd made it through and bemoaned the fact that Alice was never going to allow him to eat anything delicious ever again. Much to the surprise of everyone, he was now a vegetarian, Tyson somehow infecting him with his evil, and he was doing better than he had in years.

The twins are chattering excitedly as Izzie tries to unbuckle them from their booster seats, their little arms flailing as they laugh and squeal and all around make life difficult. Otter and I both turn to look at them, wearing what Izzie calls our dad faces ("They're hysterical"), eyebrows arched, mouths thinned.

The twins quiet immediately, watching both of us and waiting.

We have trained them so well.

"What are the rules for today?" Otter asks.

Lily groans as her brother grins goofily at her. "Do we have to do this now?"

"Yes," I tell her.

"Fine. No going in the water."

"No putting sands in our pockets to take home to have a beach at our house," Noah adds gleefully.

"No trying to catch a seagull to study," Lily says with a frown, like her dads are the most unfair people in the world.

"No telling people I don't pick my nose and eat it anymore," Noah says, clapping his hands.

"The fact that he says that means we're good parents," I tell Otter.

Before I can say anything else, there's a frantic pounding on the passenger window, causing all of us to jump. We all turn and it's—

Corey Ellis, looking stressed, eyes wide, mouthing at me to unlock the goddamn door right this second.

"Where have you guys been?" he demands after I do what he asks. He's ripped open the door and is glaring down at me.

I look up at him, confused. "What are you talking about? We were here all morning setting up. You know that. You were there too."

He blinks. "Right. Well, where have you been now?"

"At home," I tell him slowly. "Which you also knew, seeing as how we all left to go get ready."

"Stop being so reasonable!" he says shrilly. "There is a crisis."

I groan. "What the hell is it now?"

The setup had gone rather smoothly, the tent pitched, chairs placed, balloons tied to posts strung with lights. We'd had a lot of help, so it hadn't taken long, especially with Ty's explicit directions as to how everything should look.

Corey glances into the back seat, seeing the twins watching him intently, waiting for the moment when they get to go hug Uncle Corey, because they hadn't gotten to see him yet. Corey leans forward and whispers in my ear, "He's freaking out."

"About what?"

"Everything."

"Perfect," I mutter. "Because of course he is. There's nothing wrong. We did everything like he asked."

"That's what I told him. And I am an expert at weddings, because I helped throw that one for Paul and Vince years ago. And I am damn good at what I do."

"Where is he?" I ask.

"Down the beach near Mrs. Paquinn," Corey says. "I told him I'd wait for you guys up here and send you down to him when you arrived. I'll help Izzie with the munchkins if you and Otter want to go find him."

"He wants me too?" Otter asks, sounding surprised.

"Yes," Corey says, sounding bemused. "Why wouldn't he? You three are a package deal. Now, get out of the car and let me see my babies."

"We're not babies," Lily tells him. "We're four."

"You're still my babies," Corey says, and Lily just melts.

"You okay with them?" I ask Izzie.

She waves a hand dismissively. "Go. I'll make sure Noah doesn't tell people he doesn't eat boogers anymore."

"Because that's gross and they belong in tissues and not in my mouth," Noah recites dutifully.

Otter and I are out of the car and walking hand in hand away from the stairs that lead to the beach where people are undoubtedly gathering, waiting for the festivities to start. The July sun is bright, and the breeze is filled with salt. Beach grass blows gently as we leave the pavement, taking off our shoes, the sand warm beneath our feet. The waves are crashing below as we crest a hill, and he's there. The Kid, sitting on the beach on a towel next to a cross, looking out onto the water.

Otter squeezes my hand as we start down the hill. Ty must hear us coming, because he looks over at us, shoulders a little tense. He relaxes a little at the sight of us, shaking his head ruefully.

He's handsome in his suit, his tie lying beside him, collar open at his throat, feet bare. The wind is blowing through his hair, and I remember the days when it was just him and me here, the sky above covered in gray clouds, the two of us walking side by side, his little hand in mine as he pointed out a crab and a shell and sea glass that he needed, and please, Papa Bear, could he just take it home with us? It'd look so good in our room, and it was so pretty.

It's hard to believe it's been twenty years since then.

But here we are.

After everything.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey, yourself," he says, looking down, picking on the frayed edge of the towel.

"Okay?" Otter asks.

He shrugs. "Think so."

"Make room, then," I tell him. "I'm wearing a goddamn suit at the beach, of all things, so that towel better have a spot for me too."

It does. For all of us. He stands and spreads it out before he sits back down.

Otter and I sit on either side of him, crowding in close, and he breathes a sigh of relief, like this is all he wants at the moment.

I don't say a word when he takes my hand and starts tugging on my fingers.

Otter and I wait, because it's the right thing to do.

Eventually, Ty says, "I got scared."

"You're allowed to be," Otter says lightly.

Ty nods. "I know. Nervous too. Dom told me everything was going to be okay, but I almost had to get into the bathtub this morning."

That makes my heart clench in my chest, because it's been years since that's occurred. "Almost?" I ask evenly.

He shrugs, looking down at his hand in mine. "It didn't get that far."

"The earthquake."

"Yeah."

"What stopped it?"

"Dom," he says. "He breathed with me. And it was—I don't know. It helped. Then I got to thinking about stuff, and I kind of got stuck in my head a little."

"What about?"

"Everything, I guess. Hey, Bear?"

"Hey, Kid."

"Do you think there's such a thing as good earthquakes? Like if your heart is so full it causes everything to shake?"

"I think so," I say carefully. "I've had moments like that before."

He nods, like that's what he expected to hear. "I guess we'll always be a little crazy, won't we."

Otter snorts. "That's not a bad thing," he says. "Trust me on that. And I know for a fact that Dom feels the same way."

"They're the weird ones," I whisper loudly to Ty. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He laughs, and it's a good sound. A strong sound. He's got this. I know he does.

He says, "I just—I got stuck. I started thinking about everything. These moments, you know? Everything that has brought me here, now. It's strange. I didn't—we shouldn't have made it. We shouldn't have survived. But we did. We made it here." He glances at the worn and weathered cross. "Well. Almost all of us." He shakes his head. "I got stuck and I needed to be by her. For a little bit. She—"

"I told Otter earlier that I wished she was here," I say.

He looks up at me sharply. "You did?"

I nod. "She'd love this. All of this. All of us."

His voice is small when he asks, "You think she'd be proud of me?"

I have to look away, out at the ocean. We'd stood here once and overturned an urn, and the ashes of her had caught in the wind. She'd blown away into the sea. "I know she would," I tell him roughly. "She'd tell you to get your head out of your ass, but that you've become everything she'd thought you'd be."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Kid."

"You too, huh? You know she'd say the same about you."

My smile is a fragile thing. "I know."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "It's not Dom. I'm never worried about him."

"We know that," Otter says. "You wouldn't be here if you were."

"We're inevitable. Him and me."

"We know that too."

"I need you guys," he says suddenly. "You know that, right? Even though I'm getting married, I need you both. I'll probably need you both forever."

He laughs when we both hug him at the same time.

OTTER LEAVES us, saying he'll tell everyone we'll be right behind him. He kisses both of us on the top of our head and wanders down the beach, where we can hear the sound of music and bright laughter. They're waiting for us—for him, really—but we need this, I think.

We're quiet for a time, watching Otter disappear over the hills.

"He's the best," Ty says quietly.

"He really is."

"Is it—it's hard, isn't it?"

"Being married?"

"Yes. No. Okay, yes. All of it."

"A little. But if you love someone enough to marry them, then you do anything you can to make it work. Most of the time, everything is good. Sometimes it's not. But I make sure he knows I love him, and he does the same for me. We're a team."

He looks out at the ocean again. "I don't know if we would have made it. Without him."

He's not wrong, but I don't know if that's precisely giving us enough credit. "Maybe. Or maybe we would have. There's a difference between being alive and actually living. He helped us to live, I think. We weren't doing that. Before."

"We were surviving."

I nod. "And it worked for us. At the time. But it wouldn't have lasted forever. Something had to give."

"You told me once that you knew he was it for you when you were breaking up with him. Because of her."

It hurts to hear, even now. "Yeah."

"I knew Dom was it for me that day in the hallway. When I saw him and Stacey together. I thought I was going to break."

I sigh. "I know, Kid. And look where we are now. It's funny how things work out."

"I'm getting married today."

"You are."

"To my best friend."

"I know."

"And you're going to be there. By my side."

"Always, Kid."

"Okay." He nods, steeling his shoulders a little. "I think I'm ready now."

I grin at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles back at me. "Tyson Miller has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"It does."

He pulls me up, and we stand side by side. I put my arm around him, and he lays his head on my shoulder. It's good to be with him like this before everything. It feels right.

Before we leave, he presses his fingers against his lips and then touches them to the cross in the sand.

DO YOU remember how it all began?

I do.

We were different people then, I think.

But here, now, is not about that beginning.

It's about a different one entirely.

Because as one story ends, another one always begins.

Life turns. It will always turn, and I know there are so many things ahead of us. So many things to look forward to.

I told you once that family is not defined by blood. It's not always who you're born to that you're stuck with. It's what you want it to be, what you make of it. It's the people around you who see you at your worst and are not afraid to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. It's the people who can call you on your bullshit. It's the people who look at you each time they see you like they haven't seen you in years. It's the people who you fight for. It's the people who you'd lay down your life for. It's scary, but it's the greatest thing in the world.

It's not about where you come from. It's about who you are.

This is who I am:

I'm watching my daughter walk down the aisle, throwing flowers in dainty bunches.

My son is at her side, clutching a couple of rings in his hands.

AJ follows behind them, blowing bubbles, but then trying to pop them before they can get too far away from him. He's certainly his father's son, no question about that.

They're all preening like little show dogs as people aww and coo over them as they pass.

Anna and Creed are next, Anna waddling just a little. She's seven months along with what she has dubbed their "oops." It's a boy. Creed couldn't be happier. Anna tried to throw a medical tray at his head when they found out but then had burst into tears with how thrilled she was.

After them are Izzie and JJ, Izzie looking long-suffering as JJ smiles at her dopily, his crush only having increased exponentially in the last three years since it began. JJ says they're going to get married one day. Creed says that sounds awfully close to inbreeding. Izzie says that she would chew JJ up and spit him out. It's a work in progress.

We follow them, my husband and I, walking arm in arm.

Noah waves at us, yelling, "Hi, Daddy! Hi, Papa!" as he stands in front of Creed. Lily looks embarrassed but then waves at us too, not to be outdone by her brother.

Dom laughs as we approach, looking flushed and happier than I've ever seen him before. His suit is tight across his arms and chest, and his hands are clasped in front of him. But I can see the way his eyes dart behind us, knowing who he's waiting for. What it means. His son, Ben, stands at his side. Next to him is Stacey, holding Ben's hand, and Ben is staring at his father adoringly.

Alice and Jerry sit next to Ian and Stephanie in the front row, Jerry and Ian dabbing their eyes while Alice and Stephanie console them. Megan and Marty sit behind them, their two-year-old daughter, Clover (no, I'm not joking; yes, it's the worst name in the world), sitting on her father's lap.

This is who I am, okay?

These people.

It's in the warmth I feel at them standing at my side.

It's the way my son's hand feels in mine.

The way my daughter raises her arms for her daddy to pick her up.

The way JJ sighs dreamily at Izzie.

The way Izzie elbows him in the gut.

It's in the way Creed tells him to keep it in his pants, while Anna sighs and shakes her head.

And it's in the way Dom takes a sharp breath at the sight of my brother walking toward him, like the very idea of breathing has become an impossibility. It's in the way Ty only has eyes for him with each deliberate step he takes. It's in the way Dom cries the moment before he kisses Tyson for the first time as a married couple, the way our family stands and yells and throws confetti, the way they surround us, everyone talking all at once, voices joyous and happy. It's in the way that I think I catch sight of an old woman smiling at us from just down the beach, raising a hand just once, but as soon as I look again, there's no one there.

These are the moments.

For better or worse, this is us.

For all of our wrongs and for all of our rights, this is us.

WE'VE BEEN on this road for a while now, you and I.

And I thank you for that.

But I think there comes a time in every story when the end comes, the pages dwindling, the people happy.

And we are.

I promise you.

We're happy.

There may be days that are harder than others, but that's life. We'll figure it out. We always do.

Thank you. For this. For listening all this time.

Saying goodbye is rough. I think I told you once that goodbye sounds so stupid and final and blah, blah, blah. But I was younger then. I didn't know what I know now.

Roads can diverge.

It's tough but true.

It'll be okay. In the end.

So you'll go one way.

And we'll go another.

Maybe one day we'll meet again.

But even if we don't, remember this:

We have lived.

We have loved.

We have lost.

But we're standing. For all that we are, we're still standing.

I TOLD my brother that I wasn't going to embarrass him in my best man speech. Even though I have so many stories that I could tell all of you. Like that time he wrote a love letter to Anderson Cooper when he was ten, convinced that they were going to get married—okay! Okay. I won't tell them the rest. Stop glaring at me. Jesus Christ. Anyway, I told him I wasn't going to embarrass him, so I suppose I'll stick to that promise. And I also promised to keep this short and sweet, since apparently I'm known to ramble, which I disagree with completely. But I digress.

I—sorry. Didn't think I'd get choked up this quickly. Um. There's something you should know about my brother and me. We—things weren't so good for us. When we were younger. We had... we didn't have the best life. Things happened that don't need to be delved into here, but I... I remember once, he couldn't have been more than seven or eight, when I'd come home from a late shift working at the grocery store. I was tired and sad and hoping the overtime I'd been working would be enough to cover that month's rent. I was too proud to ask for help, telling myself that I could do it on my own. I was stupid, but that's... that's how it was for me.

I came home, and Mrs. Paquinn... she, well. She told me to get some rest, and that Joseph, her husband, God love him, used to work too hard and not sleep enough, and she wouldn't have that for me. She kissed me on the cheek and went next door to her own apartment.

Ty, he was—he was still awake. When I went to our room. And I remember looking at him when he smiled at me, telling me all about his day, and I was so sad because I wanted nothing more than to make sure everything would be okay for him, that he'd be the happiest Kid who ever lived, but I wasn't sure that I could do it. And I don't remember how it happened, but he must have seen something on my face because he stood up on his bed and jumped on me, wrapping his legs around my waist, his hands going into my hair like he always did. He was babbling in my ear, and he told me that everything was going to be okay, because we were together. That we would always be together, and even though we could be sad sometimes, we had to remember that.

And I—I did. I remembered that. When I got sad. I remembered that we were together. And I tell you this because of how remarkable he was, even back then. I would not be here today without him. He is my brother, and I am so happy to be able to see him marry the love of his life. Dom, you've always been a part of us, but now you're my brother too. Thank you, and I know you'll have the happiest of endings.

And Ty—I... we're together. I've never forgotten that, okay? We're together. You and me. I love you, Kid.

Ugh. Now that I've cried in front of all of you people, a toast, if you could all raise your glasses. To the happy couple. May Dom and Tyson know joy for the rest of their days. The road ahead may be long and winding, but as long as you remember to love each other with your whole hearts, I know it'll be a journey worth taking.

# Epilogue: Or, Otter's Perspective, As It Were

# (So Long, My Old Friends)

Twelve Years Later

"YOU GUYS ready?" I call up the stairs.

When I get an affirmative from three separate voices, I walk into the kitchen. Bear's on the phone, sounding a little frantic as he empties the dishwasher.

"Creed, I don't care why JJ thinks eating pot brownies makes him smarter. He is not allowed to give Lily weed for her birthday, no matter what she says. He knows I—well. I didn't say I didn't want it for my birthday. No. I take that back. I am fifty years old. You are not going to peer pressure me into this. I will just get drunk off wine like a normal adult. We have a cop in this family. Do you know how embarrassing that would be to get arrested? Right. Again. How embarrassing it would be to get arrested again. That time wasn't my fault. I would throw those lemon bars at that homophobic PTA mom again if I had to. She had it coming, and her lemon bars were dry. And I know pot is legal here, but do you really think Dom gives two shits about that?"

Sometimes, it's better not to ask.

Other times, you have to bail your husband out of jail while his little brother's husband grins at you smugly.

Life is strange sometimes.

Good, but strange.

"Creed, I'll be over in a bit. I gotta say goodbye to Otter and the kids before I head out. Tell Anna that I—no, Creed. JJ is not allowed to date Izzie. She's—she lives on the other side of the country. JJ lives in your basement. She's not going to—oh my god, we'll talk about this later. Goodbye, Creed."

Bear hangs up the phone, glaring down at the silverware in his hand before he drops it into the open drawer.

We're older now. The both of us. The lines around his eyes are pronounced, and he's got streaks of gray in his hair that Ty gives him so much grief over. He doesn't move as quickly as he used to, and I still think he's too thin, but he's still got that fire in his eyes, his mind still moving almost quicker than I can keep up with.

To me, he's perfect.

He always has been.

"Trouble in paradise?" I ask lightly.

He looks up at me and scowls. "Your nephew asked if he could give Lily pot for her birthday. Pot, Otter. Marijuana. Because apparently she asked for it."

"This isn't going to go well, is it?"

"You're damn right it's not," Bear says, eyes flashing. "There's going to be some words. You can bet your ass on that."

"Or," I tell him, "You can go do your guy's day with Creed, and I'll do lunch with the kids and get as much info on it as possible and then promise not to say anything but then tell you everything as soon as we get home."

He grins at me, and even now, after all these years, my heart trips a little at the sight. "God, I love you," he says. "So devious. We're pretty much the best parents who ever existed."

I roll my eyes as I step forward, placing my hands on the counter on either side of him, boxing him in. He tilts his head back to look up at me, a mischievous look on his face. He leans up and kisses my jaw once. Then again.

"I have a better idea," he says, chest bumping mine. "We tell the kids to get the hell out of the house, and then you take me upstairs, and we get naked."

I kiss him fiercely, because I can, his tongue brushing against mine.

"I read that your libido is supposed to be one of the first things to go when you get older," a disgusted voice says from behind us. "I wish that was the case in this house. Old people should not be allowed to eat each other's faces in front of impressionable youths."

Bear and I both sigh at the same time into each other's mouths.

We've had a lot of practice doing that.

"You hear that?" Bear says, murmuring against my lips. "We're old people."

"And apparently eating each other's faces," I whisper back. "Maybe we need to have the sex talk with them again, because I don't know if we did it right."

"Lily?" another voice says. "What are you staring at—are they making out again? My eyes! God, someone get the spray bottle so we can soak them! It's like they're in heat all the time!"

Instead of stepping away from Bear, I curl my arm around his shoulders and pull him to my side before turning around.

Lily and Noah stand in the kitchen entryway, looking scandalized, as only sixteen-year-olds are able to do. They're bigger now, obviously, and almost spitting images of how Ty and Bear looked at that age. Lily is still bright and brash and sarcastic. She tends to step on people in a rush to get things done, but she's learning to apologize for it. She's an amazing young woman who is going to change the world someday.

Noah is still our sweet, sensitive boy with a heart of gold. He tends to be a little nervous at times, and shy. His mouth runs away with him before he has a chance to think of what he actually wants to say, but he's endearing, even when he fidgets. It's impossible for him to stand still at any given moment. Even now, his finger is tapping against his leg, foot bouncing just a little.

They're also staring at us with such judgment that I can't help but snort at them.

"Old people can get funky too," Bear says.

They both groan in unison.

"Jesus, Papa," Lily says. "You are so lame."

"So lame," Noah says, because he agrees with whatever Lily says. He didn't have the easiest time when he was younger. Given that he was small and soft-spoken, it made him an easy target for bullies that thought he'd be a pushover, especially for a few months when they were both in fifth grade. What they didn't expect was to have to deal with our fiery daughter, who always found a way to protect him, even when their friends and interests led them in separate directions. They drifted a little from each other for a while, but somehow, they always found one another again. They were a team, and no one fucked with Noah Thompson, not when Lily was involved.

Bear, of course, had threatened to destroy anyone who ever dreamed of touching his kids. I remember the day the parents of the instigators had all met in the principal's office, how they had come in with chips on their shoulders, sure their precious little shits could do no wrong, but had left practically quaking in fear at the sight of my husband. I'd stood behind him, arms across my chest, scowling at each of them in turn, but Bear? Bear had lit into them, listing off each encounter with precision, providing signed documents from kids and teachers who'd witnessed kids picking on Noah for being nothing more than himself.

People didn't really pick on Noah much after that.

And that was good, because I was pretty sure Bear had already plotted out how to get away with murder. I couldn't say that with a hundred percent accuracy, but I wouldn't put it past him.

"We're lame," I tell Bear.

"So lame," he says mockingly as he kisses me again, much to the disgust of the twins.

"Did you hear that Mikey's parents got divorced?" Lily asks Noah. "He's so lucky."

Noah squints at her, then looks at us, a frown on his face. "You guys can't get divorced. I don't think I'd like that very much."

"Lily," Bear scolds. "Stop upsetting your brother."

"I'm not upsetting him! I merely stated a fact, and he drew his own conclusions from it."

"We're not getting divorced," I say to Noah. "Bear wouldn't know what to do without me."

Bear shoves me away. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I'd do just fine. Probably. Mostly. I'd last at least a week before I'd let you come crawling back."

"Oh god," Lily moans. "Dad's got that sappy look on his face again."

"That means he loves Papa," Noah says, grinning at me.

"That it does," I agree.

"Who loves Papa?" a smaller voice asks before he pushes his way between Lily and Noah, gazing up with interest at everyone in the room.

Caleb Thompson. Our little fighter.

Dom had found him first in a shithole of a hovel outside of Seafare. There'd been a call to do a welfare check on a kid who hadn't been to school in over a week. Dom had already been in the neighborhood and had stopped by, even though it hadn't exactly been in his job description anymore as a detective.

Caleb's parents had both overdosed on heroin. The mother was dead, having choked to death on her own vomit. The father had had a heart attack and was barely hanging on. Caleb was in a closet, hugging a dirty stuffed bear. He told Dom that he'd run out of crackers, even though he'd tried to save as many as he could as he didn't know when his mom and dad would wake up.

His fifth birthday had been three days earlier.

Otter and I were still registered as foster parents.

Dom called us later that day, asking if we could meet with him at the station.

We were led to an interrogation room where we found them both, Caleb in his arms, face hidden in the big man's neck, stuffed bear clutched against his chest. He was a tiny thing, looking like he needed to be fed immediately. He had pale skin and dirty blonde hair. His eyes were the brightest green but looked dulled in the harsh light overhead.

"I need you," Dom had told us, looking a little haunted. "I need you to help me."

Caleb's father had died the next day.

They looked for family. They were required to, of course. And, as often happened in cases like this, they found nothing.

Caleb came to stay with us at the Green Monstrosity.

And he never left.

It took a long time, but now, five years later, he was ours just as much as Lily and Noah were. They'd taken to him quickly, circling around him, holding him close. He'd been wary of the both of them at first, but that had passed sooner than we'd thought. Lily had given him piggyback rides. Noah had made him cookies. He loved them completely.

It'd taken him longer to warm up to Bear and me, but when he was eight, he'd become a Thompson and looked up at us and asked in that quiet voice of his if he could call us Daddy and Papa like Lily and Noah did.

"Yes," Bear had told him, voice cracking. "We'd like that very much."

Once we decided we wanted to keep him as our own (Dom saying that he knew from the start we'd never let Caleb go once we saw him), we realized we wouldn't have enough room for three growing kids, especially if they didn't share a bedroom.

So we sold the Green Monstrosity and moved to a house a few streets over that had more room for all of us.

It was... harder than we thought it would be. Leaving that house. The family that had bought it from us seemed to love it as much as we had ("Look at that color! It's like getting punched in the face with rotten limes!"), but turning over the keys to someone else felt like the end of a life I never expected to have.

Bear had made fun of me for being overly sentimental.

I got my revenge by telling him that the Green Monstrosity was the place where I figured out I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

He'd gaped at me.

Then promptly burst into tears, calling me an asshole who didn't play fair.

The new house was a normal house, red brick on the outside and plain white walls on the inside. We'd made it our own, of course, settling in and filling its corners with the bits and pieces of our lives. Lily and Noah had immediately claimed their rooms the day we'd gotten the keys. Caleb had moved a little more slowly, walking around, trailing his hands along the walls. We'd followed him around, waiting for the verdict. Finally he'd looked up at both of us and smiled, saying, "It's very nice. Thank you."

We knew then that everything was going to be okay.

It was a long road, but now he was healthy and whole, and even though we'd never seriously planned on having any more after Lily and Noah, he made me feel more complete than I'd ever felt before.

He belonged. Like he was made for us.

"Everyone loves Papa," Bear says gleefully. "Because I'm the most lovable—"

"Neurotic," Lily coughs.

"—lovable person in the room," Bear finishes with a glare. "Now. I have to go so I can make it on time to yell at JJ because apparently my daughter is stupid enough to think we wouldn't hear back about what she asked him for."

Lily pales. "That rat bastard."

"Don't talk like that," Caleb says, ever the little purist. "It's not nice."

But while I'm interested in Lily's reaction, my gaze drifts over to Noah, who has started to fidget even more than usual.

Huh. Maybe Lily wasn't the only culprit involved.

He sees me staring at him and squeaks a little before looking away.

Interesting.

Bear hasn't seen it, because he's grabbing his wallet and keys off the counter. He glances down at his phone before he looks back up at me. "You have the bail money in case I accidentally drop your nephew off a cliff?"

"Yes, dear," I say dryly. "Anything for you."

"Damn right," he mutters before he kisses me again.

All three of our kids gag.

He walks up to them, leaning down and kissing Noah on the forehead, somehow missing the way Noah's gaze darts away. He moves on to Caleb, who reaches up and demands a hug. Lily is last. "We'll talk about this more later," he tells her quietly. "You're not in trouble, but I just need to keep you safe, okay?"

She shrugs.

"Okay," he says, because he can see right through her act. He kisses her cheek. "You guys have fun at your lunch with Dad. I'll see you when I get home."

He glances back at me, winks, and leaves.

WE'RE AT a diner, table stacked in front of us with greasy food that would make Ty's head explode, when the truth accidentally comes out. I don't even have to push at it, which makes it all that much sweeter. Being a parent is amazing when you can actively see the guilt working its way through your kids, knowing it's only a matter of time before someone breaks and spills everything.

What I'm not expecting is the reasons behind it.

I'm dragging a french fry through the ketchup on my plate, about to remind Caleb that yes, napkins are a thing that have been invented and he doesn't need to try and stick his entire face in his milkshake glass, when Noah says, "Um. Dad?"

I look up at him.

He and Lily are sitting ramrod straight, side by side across the table. They never quite got to the point of Bear's freaky twin language, but they do seem to share a brain most of the time. We've done our best to give them the best lives we could, and while we've made mistakes, I like to think we've got some pretty levelheaded kids. They tend to feed off each other every now and then, with Lily usually playing the role of the instigator, but for the most part, they're good kids, the both of them. They do well in school. They've got good friends. Lily's stunning, though she really couldn't give two shits about looks. Noah's handsome in a gangly, still-growing-into-his-limbs sort of way.

I pick up my napkin and wipe it across my mouth, sitting back against the booth, and wait.

Lily and Noah glance at each other, having a silent conversation solely with their eyebrows, something Bear and Ty have perfected over the years. It looks like Lily's arguing against something, and somehow, Noah seems to be resisting.

This should be good.

Lily's shoulders slump.

Noah's eyes are a little wide as he turns back to me.

I arch an eyebrow at the both of them.

Caleb has chocolate ice cream on his forehead.

"Okay," Noah says. "So. Um. I need to... tell you. Something."

I nod slowly.

"The. Um. Weed. Thing?"

"The weed thing," I say blandly, like I don't have a care in the world. I've got this dad thing locked down.

"Okay. So. Um. You see, Lily wasn't the one who wanted it. It was. Sort of. For me?"

That... is actually surprising. Somehow, I'm able to keep the shock off my face. "Really."

He nods, throat clicking as he swallows. "Yes, sir."

"You wanted to get marijuana from JJ."

"Yes, sir."

"So you could smoke it."

"Um. Yes?"

"You don't sound sure."

His hands fidget on the table. "I'm sure."

Lily says, "I told him I could—" but I hold up my hand, cutting her off. She doesn't look too happy about that but doesn't say another word.

"And why did you want to smoke weed?" I ask Noah, completely sure Bear is going to flip his lid when he finds this out. That our sweet, innocent little Noah of all people seems to have concocted a plan to get his sister to ask JJ for pot. It was really rather devious. I'm almost impressed by it. But you shouldn't show your kids you're almost proud of them when they tried to buy drugs. Bear learned that from the internet.

"Because... it... looks cool?"

"It looks cool," I repeat flatly.

"Yes?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

He's looking a little frantic now, and I know I shouldn't push this too much further. He hasn't had a panic attack in a long time, and I want to keep it that way. "I don't... know?"

"Okay," I say with a shrug. "Caleb, napkins are our friends."

Caleb grins at me. "I've got ice cream on my eyebrows."

I snort as I dab my napkin in my water glass and hand it over to him so he can clean himself up.

"That's it?" Noah asks, sounding incredulous.

No, that's not it, because I'm pretty sure there's more, but I'm not going to push it. "That's it."

Lily and he have another eyebrow conversation, and just when I'm about to resume eating, Lily sighs and says, "You might as well tell him now. I mean, they're going to find out eventually."

Bingo.

And I'm also a little worried now.

Noah looks even more nervous than before, searching my face for something. But then he steels his shoulders, and there's a stubborn set to his jaw that I can't help but be proud of. People underestimate Noah Thompson. They shouldn't.

I don't even have to look under the table to know Lily's got a tight grip on his hand. It's just how they are.

"It was for a boy," my son blurts out.

Yeah, that's not what I had expected to hear today.

He looks stunned, like he's surprised at his own words. He opens his mouth, trying to speak again, but no sound comes out. He closes it again.

"A boy," I say, struggling to keep the smile off my face, because he's legitimately scared for reasons I don't quite understand. "Like, he wanted you to get it for him?"

He snaps his head from side to side so quickly, it looks painful.

"Is he pressuring you for it?"

Another no.

Oh, kid.

Even Caleb is watching his brother with interest, milkshake forgotten.

"Do you go to school with this boy?" I ask.

Noah starts to shake his head but then seems to change his mind and nods instead.

"Would I happen to know this boy?"

Noah glances at his sister, who smiles at him encouragingly. "Yeah," he croaks out when he looks back at me.

"Hmm," I say, pretending to think. "Oh! Would this boy happen to be Ethan?"

His eyes bulge just a little at that.

Yeah. Got you.

Ethan Lundgren. The kid a year above Lily and Noah. Popular and handsome and seemingly playing the role of the stereotypical jock who had one day last year followed Noah home with a dreamy look on his face, much to Noah's bewilderment, and had never really left.

It wasn't that hard to spot the fact that Ethan had a crush on my son.

And, as Bear pointed out, it seemed to be a mutual thing, though we were pretty sure neither had done a damn thing about it.

I was proud of Bear that day. He hadn't freaked out in the slightest.

I had. A little.

Bear wouldn't let me buy a gun to threaten Ethan with.

"So, Ethan," I say, already knowing Bear's going to be pissed that he wasn't here for this. "He didn't ask you for it, he didn't pressure you for it—and wow, it sounds like we're talking about something else."

"Dad," Noah hisses.

"Whoa," Lily breathes. "That was awesome."

"We're talking about drugs," I say rather gleefully. "Of course we're only talking about drugs. Now, it does beg the question why you'd be asking your sister to ask JJ for weed if Ethan didn't want you to get it or pressure you into doing so. So, I suppose that's where we're at now."

"What are we talking about?" Caleb asks.

"Noah's crush on Ethan," I tell Caleb. "And trying to get drugs to impress him."

Noah squeaks.

Lily chokes.

Caleb rolls his eyes. "Everyone knows that. That's boring."

Noah's starting to tremble, and I think we're almost at the point of too much. So I reach across the table and place my hand on top of his. His skin is clammy and his hands are shaking, but when I ask that he look at me, he does.

"We've known," I tell him quietly. "Your dad and I have known for a long time about you, kiddo. And we'd be hypocrites if we were upset by it. The thing is, we're not. We could never be upset with you for something like this. We don't care if you're gay or straight or somewhere in between. This isn't about that. The only thing that matters to us is if you're happy. And I can tell you right now that you don't need to do anything like this to impress Ethan. Trust me on that one. You've already got him wrapped around your finger."

"In between," Noah manages to say, his eyes wet.

"Pardon?"

"I think I'm in between." He coughs, clearing his throat. "Like, maybe both."

"Okay," I say, shrugging easily. "Bisexual, then. Or, if you're not ready for a label or if that doesn't feel like the right one, then that's okay too. You do you, Noah."

"Papa knows?" Lily asks, voice trembling.

"Yes. He does. He figured it out before I did."

"And you're not mad?"

I shake my head. "No. We're not mad. Not about that. The weed thing, though. That's another story."

Lily laughs shakily before she punches her brother on the arm. "I told you they'd be chill about it!"

"Ow," Noah says, and no one mentions it when he wipes his eyes. "You don't have to hit me."

"I do when you spent forever angsting over it. You know Daddy likes hippies."

"That's pretty much true," I agree.

"And they're married, in case you couldn't tell." She rolls her eyes. "They're not going to disown you, you idiot. Now maybe you can finally ask Ethan out on a date and—"

"A date?" I say with a frown. "Now just hold on a minute. I didn't say that."

"Oh no," Noah moans. "He's going to start freaking out."

"I'm sorry!" Lily exclaims. "I didn't mean to say—"

"Dad, why are you making that face?" Caleb asks me. "It's all scrunched up and stuff."

"Now I'm never going to get to ask Ethan out," Noah says, slumping back against the booth.

"Oh, I didn't say that," I manage to say. "In fact, why don't you invite him over this afternoon. Just make sure to give me enough time to get my baseball bat out."

"Dad!"

"Don't tell him about the condoms that JJ bought for you to—oops."

"Lily!"

"The what?"

Okay. Yeah. Maybe Bear will freak after all.

# Coda

OTTER! OTTER! Otter!

Don't lead cows to slaughter!

I love you, and I know

I should have told you soon-a

But you didn't buy the dolphin-safe tuna!

BEAR! BEAR! Bear!

I've got something to say! Don't be scared!

Bacon is bad! Beef is wrong!

Mad Cow disease stays with you for a time that's long!

I want you to be mine, can't you see?

That's why I'm down, down on my knee!

It may not yet be legal,

but it's better than eating a beagle,

so won't you please marry me?

SHE WOULD have said that family is all a person needs

and it wouldn't matter if they're near or far.

All that matters is the lesson we must heed:

to know that this is us, that this is who we are.
NO. ABSOLUTELY not. No way.

I know what you're thinking: But, Tj! You could continue this! THERE COULD TOTALLY BE MORE.

Nope.

There will not be BOATK: The Next Generation, with Bear and Otter as the wizened old parents and Ty as the epic uncle, watching these kids grow up and find their way.

(Goddammit. That gave me ideas.)

It's time, folks. It's time for me to close this door. It's time for me to say goodbye. These guys have been with me for the better part of a decade, and have given me more than I ever thought possible.

But even before I sat down to write this book, I knew that this was going to be the end. Because it does need to end, even if we don't want it to. Just remember, though: it's not about the destination. It's about the long and winding road that took us there.

And I will remember that road always.

# More from TJ Klune

Three years ago, Bear McKenna's mother took off for parts unknown with her new boyfriend, leaving Bear to raise his six-year-old brother Tyson, aka the Kid. Somehow they've muddled through, but since he's totally devoted to the Kid, Bear isn't actually doing much living—with a few exceptions, he's retreated from the world, and he's mostly okay with that. Until Otter comes home.

Otter is Bear's best friend's older brother, and as they've done for their whole lives, Bear and Otter crash and collide in ways neither expect. This time, though, there's nowhere to run from the depth of emotion between them. Bear still believes his place is as the Kid's guardian, but he can't help thinking there could be something more for him in the world... something or someone.

Sequel to Bear, Otter, and the Kid

Bear, Otter, and the Kid survived last summer with their hearts and souls intact. They've moved into the Green Monstrosity, and Bear is finally able to admit his love for the man who saved him from himself.

But that's not the end of their story. How could it be?

The boys find that life doesn't stop just because they got their happily ever after. There's still the custody battle for the Kid. The return of Otter's parents. A first trip to a gay bar. The Kid goes to therapy, and Mrs. Paquinn decides that Bigfoot is real. Anna and Creed do... well, whatever it is Anna and Creed do. There are newfound jealousies, the return of old enemies, bad poetry, and misanthropic seagulls. And through it all, Bear struggles to understand his mother's abandonment of him and his brother, only to delve deeper into their shared past. What he finds there will alter their lives forever and help him realize what it'll take to become who they're supposed to be.

Family is not always defined by blood. It's defined by those who make us whole—those who make us who we are.

Sequel to Who We Are

Tyson Thompson graduated high school at sixteen and left the town of Seafare, Oregon, bound for what he assumed would be bigger and better things. He soon found out the real world has teeth, and he returns to the coast with four years of failure, addiction, and a diagnosis of panic disorder trailing behind him. His brother, Bear, and his brother's husband, Otter, believe coming home is exactly what Tyson needs to find himself again. Surrounded by family in the Green Monstrosity, Tyson attempts to put the pieces of his broken life back together.

But shortly after he arrives home, Tyson comes face to face with inevitability in the form of his childhood friend and first love, Dominic Miller, who he hasn't seen since the day he left Seafare. As their paths cross, old wounds reopen, new secrets are revealed, and Tyson discovers there is more to his own story than he was told all those years ago.

In a sea of familiar faces, new friends, and the memories of a mother's devastating choice, Tyson will learn that in order to have any hope for a future, he must fight the ghosts of his past.

Once upon a time, in an alleyway in the slums of the City Of Lockes, a young and somewhat lonely boy named Sam Haversford turns a group of teenage douchebags into stone completely by accident.

Of course, this catches the attention of a higher power, and Sam's pulled from the only world he knows to become an apprentice to the King's Wizard, Morgan of Shadows.

When Sam's fourteen, he enters the Dark Woods and returns with Gary, the hornless gay unicorn, and a half-giant named Tiggy, earning the moniker Sam of Wilds.

At fifteen, Sam learns what love truly is when a new knight arrives at the castle—Knight Ryan Foxheart, the dreamiest dream to have ever been dreamed.

Naturally, it all goes to hell when Ryan dates the reprehensible Prince Justin, Sam can't control his magic, a sexually aggressive dragon kidnaps the prince, and the King sends them on an epic quest to save Ryan's boyfriend, all while Sam falls more in love with someone he can never have.

Or so he thinks.

It begins with a message that David cannot ignore:

I want to see you.

He agrees, and on a cold winter's night, David and Phillip will come together to sift through the wreckage of the memory of a life no longer lived.

David is burdened, carrying with him the heavy guilt of the past six years upon his shoulders.

Phillip offers redemption.

# Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune

Bear, Otter, and the Kid

"TJ Klune, you (and your boys) sure know your way to a girl's heart. Because they've captured mine."

—Maryse's Book Blog

"Touching and poignant! You can't fake that type of emotion and Klune manipulates emotion to his whim, taking the reader on a journey that many won't ever forget."

—Under the Covers Book Blog

Who We Are

"Intense, dramatic, passionate, endearing and realistic... they will pull you in and you'll get completely lost..."

—MM Good Book Reviews

"I can't thank TJ Klune nearly enough for bringing me this world which centers me and where I feel at peace, even through the drama, the tears, the laughter, the grief, the anger, and the love."

—Rainbow Book Reviews

The Art of Breathing

"...you cannot read TJ Klune's prose without fully understanding the emotional tidal wave that these lovable, loving people experience."

—Prism Book Alliance

"Another outstanding addition to the Bear, Otter, and the Kid world. I can't wait to see where our favorite family goes next."

—On Top Down Under
When TJ KLUNE was eight, he picked up a pen and paper and began to write his first story (which turned out to be his own sweeping epic version of the video game Super Metroid—he didn't think the game ended very well and wanted to offer his own take on it. He never heard back from the video-game company, much to his chagrin). Now, over two decades later, the cast of characters in his head have only gotten louder. But that's okay, because he's recently become a full-time writer and can give them the time they deserve.

Since being published, TJ has won the Lambda Literary Award for Best Gay Romance, fought off three lions that threatened to attack him and his village, and was chosen by Amazon as having written one of the best GLBT books of 2011.

And one of those things isn't true.

(It's the lion thing. The lion thing isn't true.)

Facebook: TJ Klune

Blog: tjklunebooks.com

Email: tjklunebooks@yahoo.com

# By TJ Klune

Burn

How to Be a Normal Person

Into This River I Drown

John & Jackie

Murmuration

Olive Juice

Wolfsong

AT FIRST SIGHT

Tell Me It's Real

The Queen & the Homo Jock King

Until You

BEAR, OTTER, AND THE KID CHRONICLES

Bear, Otter, and the Kid

Who We Are

The Art of Breathing

The Long and Winding Road

TALES FROM VERANIA

The Lightning-Struck Heart

A Destiny of Dragons

Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Published by

DREAMSPINNER PRESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Long and Winding Road

© 2017 TJ Klune.

Cover Art

© 2017 Paul Richmond.

http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.

ISBN: 978-1-63533-680-1

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63533-681-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017904536

Published August 2017

v. 1.0

Printed in the United States of America

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaBook