Page 3 of Reformation

So yeah, I can only imagine where Cullen gets his stubborn streak from. Hell, I’d have questioned his paternity if he grew up as sweet as apple fucking pie, to be honest.

“You know he’s going to start a kindergarten revolt tomorrow, right?”

Mark shakes his head, squeezing Makenna a little tighter. “I know. I’m already preparing my apologies for the teacher and other parents. Headed out later to buy some ‘I’m sorry’ first day of school gifts. Don’t you wish you had ten just like him?”

I shiver, cringing at the thought of having children.

“Hell no. I’ll leave the procreating to you.”

My brother looks down at whatever Makenna is watching on his phone, kisses the top of her head before looking back at me. His face now, though, isn’t joking, instead, more serious, which means I’m about to get one of his “heart-to-heart” conversations.

Sometimes I liked it better when he was pissed about thePlayboys.

“You and Annika aren’t thinking about children? Don’t get me wrong, you can do whatever you want to do. I just figured… well, you’ve been married a few years now, and you aren’t getting any younger…”

I choose to let the dig about my age go. A man in his forties can have a child if he damn well wants to. I also don’t bring up the fact that I’d have to have sex with my wife in order to get her pregnant. And considering that hasn’t happened in months, I’m not worrying about accidentally bringing another Dixon child into the world.

“Some people aren’t meant to have kids. Annika and I are those people. Neither of us wants them, so we aren’t going to have them. End of story.”

Like she’s trying to call me out on a lie, Makenna chooses that moment to leave her father’s lap and climb onto mine. She snuggles into me like she has since she was a baby.

If I knew my child would be like Makenna, then maybe I wouldn’t be so against having kids of my own. But considering Annika would be the child’s mother, there’s a slim-to-none chance of that level of sweetness and perfection happening.

I knew what Annika was when I married her—a wanna-be socialite who was more interested in the “Doctor” part of me than anything else. More specifically, the paycheck that came with it. Mark tried to tell me when we were dating that she was a carbon-copy of my ex-wife, Michelle, and though I always waved off his comments, he was exactly right. They are clones of each other, right down to their near-anorexic bodies, manicured nails, and cold, calculating hearts.

Though I’ll never admit that to him.

Even if I had a normal relationship with my wife, she’s not the motherly type. I don’t think she held Cullen or Makenna when they were babies, and one time I even believe she called them “the things.” And considering at this point we are just married out of convenience, both of us too lazy to push for a divorce, kids are the furthest thing from our minds.

“You know I just want you to be happy, brother. You know that, right?”

I shake my head, snuggling Makenna into me a little more.

“I know. And I am. My version of happiness just isn’t the same as yours.”

“Are you really?”

“Happy?”

He nods. “Yeah. This practice. Annika. Your life in Virginia. Are you happy?”

I look around my office at my various degrees, photos of business associates, Mark, Charlie, and the kids, and me shaking hands with various movers and shakers of the medical industry. I’m at the top of my field with everything at my disposal.

“Yeah, brother. I am. This life is exactly what I want.”

Chapter Three

Paige

There is something about the first day of school that will never get old for me, no matter how long I teach.

There’s a certain buzz in the air. It’s a new year, filled with new possibilities and excitement. And when you teach kindergarten, that air is a little different. These seventeen new little friends of mine are getting to experience their first day of kindergarten. And there isn’t anything more magical than that.

“There she is. Our very own Disney Princess kindergarten teacher. Are you daydreaming about the perfect class who all bring you apples?” Cassie, my cynical, yet best friend, asks as she catches me staring at my empty classroom.

“I wasn’t dreaming about apples and quit calling me that,” I say with a huff, fixing a stack of papers on my desk for no reason.

“My bad and you know I won’t,” she teases, walking into my room. “So, what were you daydreaming about? It was probably a classroom full of angels who all haven’t had a bathroom accident in over a year, who will never randomly throw up, and know how to write in complete sentences on day one. One of these days, my dear, sweet Paige, you’re going to realize that the best day of the school year is the last day of the school year.”

---