Page 88 of Single Mom's Firefighter SEALs
Elena bites her lip, badly hiding a smile. “We can figure that out.”
T.J. seems unconcerned as he slides off the couch. “Okay. I’m gonna try sleeping again.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“I was mostly checking,” T.J. says.
Weston’s brow lifts. “Checking what?”
“That you knew already.” T.J. shrugs. “‘Cause I knew.” Then he shuffles back toward the hallway, stopping halfway there to turn and tell his mom goodnight.
“Night, Bug. I love you.”
“Night, Buck. Night, Weston. Night, Calder.”
We all answer him at once.
When his bedroom door clicks shut, silence fills the living room for two seconds before Elena dissolves into laughter. Weston follows, Calder shakes his head like he’s been outmaneuvered, and I cover my face with one hand.
“Well,” Weston says at last, “that was humbling.”
I drop my hand. “That boy’s been ten steps ahead of us for weeks.”
Elena wipes under one eye. “You’re all very obvious in the way you care about him.”
“And you’re amused by this?” I accuse.
“Immensely.”
I catch her around the waist and haul her into my lap, earning another peal of laughter. “Good, because now we get to have the adult version of that conversation.”
Weston and Calder lean in again, and we talk about things that move beyond fear and confession. It’s unromantic, real-life logistics like school pickups, how we’ll share our nights, how we might spend holidays, and whether or not Elena or T.J. would need time before we make our relationship public in town.
“I don’t want him to think this is something to hide,” she says, and that tracks exactly with who she is. “Nothing hidden. Let’s throw out shame along with the guilt.”
I kiss her shoulder. “Agreed.”
Weston looks thoughtful. “We should be deliberate, though, and make spacefor Tyler in this.”
“I’d like that,” Elena says.
“Of course, pictures stay up. Stories stay part of things. If T.J. wants to talk about him, we talk about him.” I pause. “And maybe we make some traditions that are his.”
Calder rests his forearms on his thighs. “Like what?”
After a moment of thought, Elena says, “Tyler used to make pancakes on the weekends when he was home. Terrible ones. A few turned out good, but he always burned at least one.”
“Easy to do.” I chuckle as I picture it.
Elena’s eyes go faraway for a moment. “Little T.J. used to think it was hilarious.”
“We can burn pancakes in his honor,” Weston says gravely.
I match his tone. “It’s what he would have wanted.”
This makes her laugh again, but tears shine in her eyes, too.
We keep talking about practical things and hopeful things. About closet space, future housing plans, and how to handle school forms.
