Page 128 of Our Broken Pieces
I take my seat at the table. “Well, I certainly don’t want to miss out on cake.”
Marcus
“I can’t believe she’s eight.” I shake my head, looking at Millie, surrounded by her friends in the living room.
Linc sighs beside me. “Melonie said she asked for a sports bra last week. I can’t handle that, man.” He sniffles. “She doesn’t need one, so why rush it? She’s still my little girl, and I’m not ready for all that yet.”
I hand him a tissue from the end table. “I’m sorry.”
He blows his nose. “Thanks.”
Melonie comes to his side. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”
His face strains, and he shakes his head. “I can’t talk about it.”
She rubs his back. “Go outside and sit with Jax for a bit. Take a break.”
He blows out a breath. “Okay, a break might be good.”
Linc walks out to the patio, and I laugh. “Your husband is ridiculous.”
“I know, and I love it.” She smiles. “I know I’ve already said it, but thank you for hosting the party. Everything is great.”
“Happy to do it.”
“Big guy! Food’s ready!” Gigi shouts from the kitchen. The kids must have heard her, because there’s a herd of children passing by us. Millie’s friends put her at the front of the line, a tiara on her head and her cheeks rosy. When I look at her, I still see baby Mills, the child who knew I needed to open up, who claimed me as her favorite, who softened my heart in a way that I didn’t know I needed.
As the kids eagerly make their plates, they leave us adults with a mess of scraps to assemble our tacos from. Wren sits to Millie’s right, and as I approach the table, balancing my own plate, Millie points excitedly to the empty chair on her left. “Uncle Marcus, sit next to me!” she exclaims.
I take my seat, watching Wren, who is captivated by Millie’s every move. From the moment Wren was born, Millie took her under her wing, and Wren quickly became her little shadow. Millie’s sweet, nurturing spirit shines through as she effortlessly includes her “cousin” in every aspect of her life, whether it’s with friends, at parties, or during holidays. She has such a gentle, caring soul.
The sounds of conversation, laughter, and playful squeals fade into the background as I lock eyes with Gigi across the room. Her curls are just as wild as the day I met her, her eyes still sparkling with that wanderlust for life that’s uniquely hers. My love for her is overwhelming, something I never anticipated but am endlessly grateful to have found.
After our wedding, my father handed over Holt Contracting to me, and Gigi has been my unwavering support as I navigated the responsibilities of becoming a CEO and shaping the company’s direction. She’s my sounding board for new ideas, a stunning presence at events, and a calm place to land when the pressures of life become too much.
In the first year of our marriage, I insisted we attend counseling together. We both carry scars from our past, and I was determined not to repeat the mistakes of those who came before us. It was the best decision we ever made—building a strong, healthy foundation grounded in our friendship and love for each other. It’s the greatest gift we could have given ourselves and our daughter.
Before Millie, I never envisioned myself as a father. But once I opened my heart to the idea, all I could think about was Gigi carrying our child. The months we spent trying were so much fun—we explored every position, every location, at any time of day we could imagine. It was fun and helped us stay light-hearted, easing some of the pressure while we waited for that positive test. Even with a small child in the mix, our passion hasn’t faded. We still carve out time for each other, and I still can’t keep my hands off her.
As I gaze at Gigi now, she smiles at me. There’s something about her smile that brings a wave of calm over me every time. She winks at me and then bites into a taco, half of it crumbling back onto the plate, lettuce shreds hanging from her mouth. I laugh and shake my head; it’s never a dull moment with her.
The kids finish eating, and the girls all head back to the living room while us guys start cleaning up.
“Why did we think shredded cheese was a good idea for eight-year-olds?” Jax says as he sweeps the floor under the table.
“Yeah, we didn’t think that through very well. Salsa, either,” Linc adds as he collects the globs of tomatoes from the counter with a paper towel.
I pause at the sink where I’m washing dishes. “You guys, we’re really lucky to be cleaning up cheese and salsa.”
Linc’s head whips in my direction. “Are you about to get sappy?” His eyes widen. “Do you need a tissue?”
“No, you idiot, I don’t need a fucking tissue. All I’m saying is, that cheese, that spilled salsa, these dishes, they’re signs of life, of celebration.”
Jax slowly rises to his feet, dustpan in his hand, from gathering the cheese from the floor. “Oh my God, you’re getting sappy.”
I shake my head in frustration and vigorously scrub a bowl. “Forget it.”
Linc throws his paper towels in the garbage before coming to my side at the sink, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “No! We’re going to get sappy right along with you.” He looks over to Jax. “Jax, what do you feel sappy about right now?”
