Page 90 of From the Embers
Even after we’d moved, it took a while for the kids to adjust to life after Rob’s dramatic return. Slow and steady, Luna had reemerged as the sassy, wild child she’d always been. Madison smiled and giggled with her every step of the way. Asher’s emotional recovery was slightly more of an uphill climb. He trusted no one. Questioned everything. Just acclimating to a new school almost broke him. Watching my outgoing, lovestruck boy withdraw into himself made me hate Rob Winters that much more. And it should be noted that I’d already hated that asshole with the wrath of a rabid tiger, so that was really saying something.
It wasn’t until six months later, when Rob accepted a plea deal for a life sentence in order to avoid the possibility of the death penalty, that Asher seemed to finally relax. Before we’d left Atlanta, the courts had approved Bree’s petition to have their marriage dissolved—immediately. But in an even bigger move, as a part of Rob’s sentencing, the judge stripped him of his parental rights too.
That was the day everything changed for Asher. Knowing Rob was in jail was one thing, but knowing he would never get out was another. However, the tears in his eyes and the relief on his face as we explained that Rob would no longer legally be his father healed wounds inside me I hadn’t even realized I was still carrying. Knowing Asher had felt that fear, had been worried he’d have to go visit the man who had kidnapped his sister and terrified that he’d somehow come back for him, shattered me in so many different ways.
Though, when he looked at me and asked, “Does that mean you can finally be my real dad now?” all the pieces of my heart clicked into place.
I couldn’t say yes fast enough, but then again, I couldn’t really say anything past the emotion lodged in my throat. I gathered my son in my arms and nodded at least a dozen times. Bree quickly excused herself, and a little while later, I found her sitting on the floor in the pantry, crying and separating the red M&M’s from her secret stash.
“You can have every red M&M for the rest of our lives for that,” she croaked.
I didn’t give a damn about red M&M’s—I stole them all anyway. But adopting Asher and Madison was not a favor or a good deed that deserved a reward. They were my kids. Period. Full stop. End of story.
Bree and I hadn’t been married yet. We were planning a small destination-wedding-slash-family-vacation to Jamaica in the spring when my schedule opened up. However, as soon as the courthouse opened the next day, we were standing on the front steps. If we were making our family official, I wasn’t about to half-ass it in any way.
In front of a county clerk, wearing a white sundress while I sported a pair of jeans and a pale-blue button-down—sans a tie—Bree Winters became Bree Maxwell. And then, four months later, after a mile-high stack of paperwork, a judge granted our adoption request, making me the legal father to Asher Maxwell, Madison Maxwell, and of course, their glowing and giddy little sister, Luna Maxwell.
However, at the current moment, I was more worried about our fourth child making its debut in the middle of the Grammys.
As quickly as the camera shifted to the next nominee, my smile fell and I turned back to Bree. “You gotta give me something here. How close together are your contractions?”
Her lips thinned. “Do you mean the ones this morning or the ones now?”
“You were having contractions this morning?” I hissed. “Jesus, Bree. What the hell are we doing here, then?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, resting them on top of her round stomach, and shot me my favorite glare. “I don’t know about you, but I’m about to watch my husband win a Grammy.” She paused, screwing her eyes shut, before sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.
Any other day when the birth of my child wasn’t at risk of being a televised event, I would have been moved by her support. On that day, with her being thirty-eight-weeks pregnant and having contractions, I was just moved to get the hell out of there. “That’s it. Let’s go. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
Tugging her arm out of my grip, she slanted her head. “Would you stop? I’m fine. The contractions aren’t regular yet. But even if I was crowning, there is exactly a zero percent chance of me letting you miss this. So sit back, relax, smile, and enjoy the moment you’ve worked your ass off for.”
I gritted my teeth.
Bree was the most stubborn and fiercely independent woman I had ever met. And while those were usually qualities I admired, with nerves churning in my stomach, they weren’t my favorite of her attributes at the moment.
