Page 51 of Pucking the Single Dad
"Yes, though we've been discussing making it permanent." The words emerged naturally, feeling more true than false. "Finn's routine stability is crucial, especially with his health considerations. Multiple transitions would be like... ripping up a plant every time it starts to root."
"And your relationship with Mr. Wilder?"
There it was. The question we'd rehearsed until the lies felt like muscle memory.
"We're building something." The truth slipped out instead, raw and unscripted. "It's messy and complicated and probably moving too fast, but—" I looked at Finn, who was constructing something architectural with his sandwich crusts, oblivious to the interrogation. "Some things are worth the mess."
"She makes octopus hot dogs!" Finn announced to the social worker with the gravity of someone revealing state secrets. "And reads different voices for every character. And doesn't get mad when I use my inhaler during story time even though it makes whooshy sounds."
The social worker's laugh cracked her professional veneer. "Finn, could you show me your room?"
The house tour became my stage. I guided them through spaces I'd quietly transformed—the homework station with sensory tools for focus, the reading nook with carefully curated books addressing emotional regulation, the kitchen with visual schedules and allergy-friendly options clearly labeled.
"You've implemented a therapeutic environment," Ms. Rodriguez observed. "This mirrors best practices for children with chronic health conditions."
"Every child deserves to feel safe and supported," I replied, catching Brad's grateful gaze.
In Finn's room, Mrs. Patterson found her smoking gun—a photo from the field trip, us looking so convincingly familial it hurt.
"You seem... invested." Each word dripped suspicion.
"Love isn't something you measure or contain," I responded, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "Finn's easy to love. He's brilliant, funny, and resilient. Anyone would be lucky to be part of his life. I'm grateful Brad trusts me with that privilege."
Something shifted in Mrs. Patterson's expression—not quite acceptance, but perhaps recognition. She'd been a mother once. She understood the fierce protectiveness I couldn't quite hide.
"What happens when you get bored?" Mr. Patterson challenged. "When playing mommy loses its charm?"
The implication that I was temporary, disposable, ignited protective fury I hadn't expected. "With all due respect, that's not—"
"That won't happen." Brad's voice cut through, firm and final. He moved beside me, arm sliding around my waist with possessive certainty. "Serena's not going anywhere. We're not playing anything. This is real, and it's permanent, and if you can't accept that, then we have a problem."
The room fell silent except for Finn's quiet humming as he organized his hockey cards, blissfully unaware of the adult tension.
"I see," Mrs. Patterson said finally, her tone arctic. She turned abruptly, smoothing her skirt with sharp, jerky movements. "Richard, we're leaving."
Mr. Patterson turned to face us, his jaw still tight with disapproval. "We'll be consulting our lawyer about custody arrangements."
"You do what you need to do," Brad said evenly, though I felt the tension coiling through his body. "My lawyers will be ready."
Mrs. Patterson's gaze swept over me one last time. "I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into, Miss Voss."
They left without saying goodbye to Finn, the door closing with a decisive click that echoed through the suddenly quiet penthouse.
The exhaustion hit me like a physical blow. I sank onto the bed, head in my hands, trying to process the emotional gauntlet we'd just survived.
"Hey." Brad knelt in front of me, his hands warm on my knees, thumbs tracing circles that grounded me. "You were fucking magnificent. They came looking for blood and you gave them a masterclass. There wasn't a single crack because you weren't performing—you were just... you."
"That's the problem," I whispered. "None of it feels fake anymore."
His hands went still. Something detonated behind his eyes—hunger and recognition and relief all tangled together.The air between us crackled, and I could see him fighting for control, losing—
The door burst open like a cops raid.
"Wilder, you magnificent bastard!" Theo filled the doorway, all six-foot-four of cheerful chaos. "Ready to lose your child to the superior uncle?"
"Uncle Theo!" Finn materialized from nowhere, launching himself at Theo's knees. "Are we going now? Right now?"
"Amusement park demolition derby, remember?" Theo hoisted Finn like a trophy. "Whoever wins the most games gets to make the loser eat a triple cheeseburger."
