Page 35 of Knights Like These
Because what I actually feel, looking at the three of them, is a longing so sharp it takes my breath away.
I go to the kitchen. Put my hands on the counter. Lean forward and breathe, slow and deliberate, the way I breathe between saves when the game is close and my heart is going too fast.
Then I go back.
I pick up Luke first because he’s easier to extract. He stirs when I lift him, makes a small sound, and then his head drops against my shoulder and he’s out again. I carry him upstairs, put him in his bed, pull the covers up, and set his shark blanket next to his pillow where he’ll find it in the morning.
Lily is harder because she’s wrapped around Sydney like a vine, and I have to peel her arms away slowly, one at a time, trying not to wake either of them. Lily mumbles when I lift her but doesn’t open her eyes, and I carry her upstairs and tuck her in, and she rolls over and grabs her giraffe from the pillow where I placed it and pulls it against her chest without waking up.
Two trips. Both kids in bed. Now it’s just Sydney.
She’s still on the couch, curled on her side now that the twins aren’t pinning her down. Her hair is across her face, and her mouth is slightly open, and she’s wearing my Knights sweatshirt again, the navy one, and it’s so big on her that her hands have disappeared inside the sleeves.
I should wake her up. That’s the right call. Tap her shoulder, say, “Hey, you fell asleep,” and let her walk herself to theguest room like a grown adult who doesn’t need to be carried anywhere.
Instead, I pick her up.
She’s light. I knew she’d be light—she’s five-two and maybe a hundred and ten pounds, and I’m a professional athlete who lifts weights every day—but I wasn’t prepared for how she’d feel in my arms. She fits against my chest like she was measured for the space, her head finding the curve of my shoulder, her body tucking into mine with an ease that feels practiced even though we’ve never done this before.
She stirs. Her face turns into my neck, and her breath hits my skin, warm and steady, and my arms tighten around her without my permission.
“I can walk,” she mumbles, half-asleep.
“I know.”
She doesn’t argue. Her hand comes up and curls around the back of my neck, and her face presses closer against my throat, and I can feel her eyelashes against my skin.
I walk slowly. Down the hall, past the kids’ rooms, to the guest room door. I nudge it open with my foot and cross to the bed and lay her down.
I pull the blanket up. She rolls onto her side and tucks her hands under her chin and exhales, long and slow, and I stand there.
I stand there too long. I know I’m standing here too long. I can feel the seconds passing, and each one is a small, quiet reminder of the lie I’ve been telling myself since she showed up on my porch with a suitcase and a grin.
Her breath on my neck. Her fingers on my collar. The weight of her in my arms and the way my body responded to it—not with surprise but with recognition, like it had been waiting to carry her and finally got the chance.
I leave the room, close the door behind me, and go to bed.
Chapter Twelve
Learning Something New
Sydney
I’ve never been on skates in my life, and I want that on the record before this goes any further.
I’m a dancer. I’ve spent years training my body to do exactly what I tell it to do—I can balance on one leg with my eyes closed and not wobble. Put me on a stage, in a studio, on any solid surface, and I am grace itself.
Put me on ice, and I am a baby deer learning to walk for the first time while the ground actively tries to kill me.
“You’re going to be fine,” Archer says, lacing up the twins’ skates on the bench while I stare at the ice through the plexiglass like it’s a crime scene I’ve been asked to enter.
“I’m not going to be fine. I’m going to die.”
“Nobody dies at family skate.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Lily is already on the ice. She lasted about four seconds before her feet went in opposite directions and she hit the surface with a splat that would’ve alarmed me if she hadn’t immediately popped back up, laughed, and done it again on purpose.
