Michelle Gross

“Whatcha’ lookin’ at?” The kid had some serious beef with me, but I was staring directly at them. For fuck’s sake, how did a grown man get a three, maybe five-year-old enemy?

“And it’s not exactly like our relationship is innocent. I’ve seen a little side boob.”
I gawked at him. “God bless America! It’s called breastfeeding.”
“A tit is a tit, even if it’s being used for nursing.”

His upper lip twitched. “Even with them asleep, you still won’t say ass?”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not. Just interesting.” There was a hmm in his tone. “Makes one curious as to how exactly does one make you slip and say something bad.”

“Elijah!” Lucy screamed, and I smiled. That’s right, Lucy. I’m your Elijah. Even the way she said my name was adorable.

I was watching Eli who was holding his head up perfectly staring up at me. Suddenly he threw his hands into the air and cried.
Fucking hell. I broke him.
I started to give him back when Hadley scooted into my side, almost like she was snuggling into me.
Maybe I’d hold him after all.

I couldn’t deny it anymore. I wanted that. I wanted them. With me. As my family.
I wanted Hadley—all pieces of her.

Deep down, instead of princes, I thought maybe every woman wanted gentle monsters. Someone strong—scary enough to keep all the bad things away—and gentle only to those he loved.

Elijah: What about you? Do you miss me?
Hadley: Yes.
One word, but it was everything.

“Mom?”
“Yeah, Lucy?”
“Daddy said Elijah wouldn’t be our friend one day. Why?”
“I hope that never happens,” I murmured.
“Me too. I don’t want him to stop bringing me stuff.”
I chuckled. “Lucy!”
“I want to bring my chocolate milk to share with Elijah.” She pushed away from me, and I smiled.
“Okay. That’s fine.”
“Can I bring my pony coloring book to show him?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask him to buy me another car?”
“No.”

The two of them together. A giant, tattooed man holding my baby? Said man being Elijah. Ovaries exploded.