Page 110 of Breakaway Daddies

I sway gently on the bench, one baby in each arm. Lyra is nestled against my left shoulder, her little hand fisted in my shirt, and Orion is tucked under my right, out cold and drooling onto my sleeve.

They’re bigger now, nearly walking, and heavier than they have any right to be, but I don’t mind. My arms are strong. And so is my heart these days.

Also, my bladder. Because I’m pregnant again.

Yup.

The great cosmic joke continues. Three men. Now three kids. There’s poetry in there somewhere, I’m sure.

Bruno tried to find it the other night, something about balance and divine symmetry and a Slovak fertility spell gone wrong. I told him to shut up and bring me more pickles.

This pregnancy’s easier, though. Less puking. Less crying on the bathroom floor. More eating.Somuch more eating.

“Is this seat taken?”

I glance up to find Ally approaching, sunglasses perched in her wild curly hair, a juice box in each hand, and a knowing smirk tugging at her mouth. She drops onto the bench beside me with the elegance of someone who’s given up pretending to be graceful after having twins.

“Only if you’re not gonna judge me for being a human baby swing,” I murmur, rocking the twins a little more. Lyra lets out a sleepy grunt and shifts, her little curls damp against her forehead.

Ally grins. “Judging you? Please. Iaspireto this level of multitasking. How’s life treating you, mama? You know, now that you’ve officially moved into the frat house from hell.”

I snort, but it’s affectionate. “Honestly? Not bad. Surprisingly low on testosterone-related disasters this month. I think Thomas is trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“Oh god, what did he do?”

“Bought a whiteboard,” I deadpan. “For ‘house logistics.’ Wrote ‘laundry equals love’ across the top in purple Sharpie. Then forgot to do his own laundry.”

Ally barks a laugh, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. “Sounds about right. And how areyoudoing? Really?”

I pause, letting the question settle.

HowamI doing?

I look out across the park. Kenzie’s triplets are attempting to build a fort out of fallen tree branches and threatening the twins with exile if they touch it.

Thomas is fake-dueling one of the boys with a foam sword while Rowan pretends to be an aloof knight who’s too cool for fairy tale politics.

Bruno is nearby, perched on the grass with a sketchpad and a baby bottle, switching between doodling and yelling at Thomas to stop “training children for anarchy.”

“I’m… good,” I say, voice quiet but certain. “Tired, hungry all the time, constantly peeing, but good.”

Ally smiles softly. “You look good. Happier.”

I glance down at the twins, both fast asleep now, and nod. “I didn’t think this would be my life, y’know? All this noise. All this… love. I thought I was the kind of person who’d always go it alone. Punk-rock therapist with no need for anything permanent.”

“And now?”

I grin. “Now I can’t even go to the bathroom without someone yelling, ‘Where’s Jinx?’ like I’m the damn glue holding the world together.”

Ally bumps her shoulder against mine. “You kinda are.”

I lean my head back, eyes closing for a moment, feeling the sunlight on my face, the babies in my arms, and the distant sound of Bruno yelling something about “historical accuracy in fairy warfare.”

This isn’t the life I planned.

It’s better.

Messier.

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