Page 63 of Play the Game
I close my eyes for a second, trying to collect myself. “I have literally never thought about being a mom even once in my entire life. My own mom sucks, so I don’t even know what a wonderful mom looks like. I figured this would be it. My career, my brother and his partner, my pets, my apartment. It’s not a huge earth-shaking kind of life, but it worked for me.”
Pam takes one of my hands. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure if it was my place, but honestly, I love you already and I don’t care. I say what I think. Always have, always will. Any mom who leaves one of her children alone on Christmas doesn’t deserve that title.”
I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment and just a tiny touch of anger that Cooper divulged this little part of my personal life. I open my mouth to respond, but Pam holds up her hand.
“Don’t be mad at Cooper, honey. When he told me you were coming, I asked him where your family was for Christmas and he wouldn’t tell me, but I’m really persuasive. He didn’t even realize he was saying anything until the words were already out of his mouth.” She gives me a sly smile, and despite myself, I laugh. “But I’m glad he told me because it gives me the opportunity to tell you that you have a family right here. And not just because you’re having my first grandchild, but because I’m positive my youngest son is crazy about you, and that makes you a part of us. We’re loud, chaotic, and probably alittle crazy, but I promise the one thing you’ll never be in this family is alone.”
When Pam says the wordalone,my eyes fill with tears that spill over immediately as it hits me suddenly exactly how alone I’ve felt for so long. I didn’t even realize it until I was sitting here with this group of women reaching out their hands and offering me something I didn’t even know I was missing. Friendship. Family. Home.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, taking my hand from Pam’s and swiping under my eyes. “I really didn’t mean to cry all over you the first time I met you. Hormones are so fucked up.”
Jo slides an arm around my waist. “The first time I came here, I accidentally flung a thong, a bra, a vibrator, and a couple of condoms all over the driveway.”
Amelia links her arm through mine. “I cried the first time I came here too. Pam hugged me, and I hadn’t been hugged by a mom in so long that I sobbed all over her.”
Hannah reaches across Jo and takes my hand. “I didn’t come here for the first time so much as I barged in after leaving my awful ex-boyfriend and driving all the way here from Pittsburgh in some kind of fugue state and then I literally never left.”
Cece stands from her chair and joins Pam on the coffee table so we’re all sitting in a tight little circle. “It doesn’t matter how you got here. Any of you,” she says, as she looks at the four of us on the couch. “All that matters is that you’re here. When I said we were waiting for you, I meant it. We were waiting for all of you. We needed you, exactly as you are. You were meant for us, and us for you.”
“Shit, Cece,” Amelia mutters, wiping under her own eyes.
“Yep,” Jo says, sniffling and leaning her head on Hannah’s shoulder as Hannah wipes her own tears away.
My hormones are having a freaking rave right now, and I couldn’t stop these tears if I tried, but sitting here with them, I don’t mind so much.
“Why are you crying? What did they do to you?” Cooper’svoice has me turning to the living room doorway as his gaze sweeps the room, an accusatory look on his face as he makes a beeline for me, nudging Pam out of the way and crouching in front of me, taking both of my hands. “What did you say to her?” he demands, glaring at his mom and Cece. Cooper lifts my hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, his deep blue eyes steady on mine. “What happened, Rhodes? Who made you sad?”
“Not his, huh?” Pam says in an amused voice.
“Head over fucking heels,” Jo says gleefully, tears suddenly forgotten.
Wanting to reassure Cooper I’m fine—needing to, somehow—I lean in and press a kiss to his forehead, my heart squeezing at the way his breath stutters out, the emotion swirling in his eyes when I draw back. And with him in front of me, and these women around me, somehow, for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
COOPER
It’s still mostly dark outside when I stumble down the stairs on Christmas morning. The rest of the house is still silent, but I’m wide awake. It makes no sense because Evan and I have never shared a bed before, but somehow, I couldn’t sleep without her. It’s like being in the same house meant my body knew she was almost close enough to touch and wouldn’t let me settle. I took advantage of the quiet to get some stuff done, but my need to get my eyes on Evan after hours apart had me impatient to get downstairs.
The clock on the stove says it’s almost five thirty, which is later than I’ve been sleeping lately but still too fucking early. With a yawn, I turn on my mom’s countertop Christmas tree so I have enough light to see and walk straight to the espresso machine. But before I can flick it on, movement outside catches my eye. My mom’s beloved porch swing is swaying back and forth under the glow of the Christmas lights, occupied by a dark silhouette I know immediately is Evan.
I stand there for a second watching her, tucked inside a blanket, head bent low, and my heart clenches at how right it feels tohave her here, in my favorite place, with my favorite people. How well she fits. With them. With me.
I have it bad. Really, really bad.
Opening the refrigerator, I blink at the blinding light and then grin at the jars full of coffee syrup lined up on the top shelf, labeled in my dad’s handwriting. I mentioned to him that Evan was a big seasonal coffee fan, so in addition to the regular vanilla, hazelnut, and assorted other flavors he keeps there so everyone can have their favorites, there are jars labeledPeppermint SyrupandPumpkin Spice Syrup. It does something to me. My family’s easy acceptance of Evan. Of the baby. Of me and Evan when we haven’t exactly decided what we want from each other yet, even though I am more sure of it every day.
I want her. Us.
God, I hope one day there’s an us.
With everyone still asleep, there’s no risk that anyone will catch me in the kitchen—they think I can’t even manage coffee, which is endlessly amusing. Assembling the ingredients I need, I make coffee for Evan and me and toss a sweatshirt on over my family pajamas, grabbing both mugs and the blood pressure monitor I brought down with me, then heading outside.
Evan is writing something in her pink notebook when I step out onto the porch, but she turns at the sound of the front door opening and closing. The way she looks at me, her smile, bright blue eyes soft and a little tired, cheeks red from the cold, and hair pulled up into a haphazard ponytail that spills over the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and thewomen don’t owe you shitsweatshirt she wears over her pajamas has my heart stuttering, falling straight out of my chest and right at her feet.
And I’m gone.
I accept it in an objective sort of way. Casually almost, as if it was always going to be this way and no other. Evan is mine. She’s always been mine. Even when I thought I hated her, she was mine. And as long as she’ll have me, I’m hers.
