Page 76 of Racking Up Penalties
Laughter spills from my lips, unbidden and genuine, as I imagine a mini version of Liam, all blonde hair and determination, zooming through hallways with arms outstretched. Ethan joins in, his deep laugh resonating through the room, filling it with warmth.
“Did you ever manage to take off?” I tease, catching Liam’s eye.
“Only when I jumped off the couch and onto a pile of pillows,” he admits with a sheepish grin that reaches those striking gray eyes.
“Did he ever break anything during his ‘flights’?” Ethan asks, nudging me playfully with his elbow.
“Only his pride,” Debbie replies, her laughter mingling with ours.
I lean back, letting their shared joy wash over me.
I shift closer to the edge of my seat, my eyes locked on Debbie as she weaves another tale, this one about a young Liam determined to turn their backyard into an ice rink with nothing but a garden hose and sheer willpower. Her words paint vivid images in my mind; I can almost see the mischievous gleam in a younger version of those gray eyes, the winter air turning his cheeks a rosy pink.
“Picture this,” Debbie says, her hands animating the scene, “Liam out there in the freezing cold, hosing down the lawn at midnight because he read that’s the best time for it to freeze over.”
A chuckle escapes me, soft and warm, and I find myself leaning forward, elbows on knees. Every detail feels like a thread pulling me closer to Liam, knitting our lives together in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
“Of course, he didn’t account for the slope. Woke up to a half-frozen slide instead of a rink!” Debbie shakes her head, but the pride in her eyes is undeniable.
The room falls into a respectful hush as Liam clears his throat, his usual confidence taking on a cautious note.
“Mom,” he starts, his voice steady but softer than before, “there’s something we need to talk about.”
Debbie tilts her head, concern flickering in her eyes as she takes in the seriousness etched onto her son’s face. I hold my breath, my heart thumping against my ribs with the weight of what’s to come.
“Mom,” he repeats, and I admire the way he shoulders the gravity of our truth, “Tessa isn’t just dating me. She’s… well, she’s with all three of us.”
The words hang in the air, bold and unflinching. I search Debbie’s face for any sign of shock or disapproval, but she remains quiet, absorbing the revelation with a calm that belies the turmoil surely churning within.
I wanted Liam to tell her before we came but he insisted it would be better after she met all of us and saw how we interact.
“Are you…” she starts, her eyes darting between us, “happy with this arrangement?”
“Very much so,” Liam answers without hesitation, making me smile.
“And they treat you well?” Her gaze settles on me, searching, protective.
“Better than well,” I add, my voice soft but resolute. “We respect and care for each other deeply.”
There’s a pause, the kind that stretches and bends time around it, before Debbie leans forward, her expression folding into one of gentle acceptance. “Then that’s all I need to know,” she says, and there’s a sweetness in her voice that wraps around me like a warm embrace. Relief floods through me, washing away the residue of my anxiety.
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling the sincerity of the moment reflected back from her eyes. It’s more than gratitude; it’s recognition. Recognition of the magnitude of her understanding, of the love that underpins her response.
“Of course, dear.” She waves a hand as if to dismiss the gravity of our confession. “Now, how about we get started on dinner? I could use some help in the kitchen.”
“Absolutely,” Tristan chimes in, ever the peacemaker, his smile easing the lingering tension in the room.
We rise together and make our way to the kitchen. The space is cozy, filled with the scent of herbs and the promise of a meal made with love. Liam pulls out a cutting board while Ethan fetches the vegetables from the fridge.
“Here, let me show you how to dice those peppers,” Liam says, demonstrating with swift, precise cuts. He passes me a knife, and I mimic his movements, finding a rhythm in the slice and chop of preparation.
“Tristan, can you set the table?” Debbie asks.
“Sure thing,” he replies, collecting plates and silverware, his movements fluid and sure.
“Looks good, Tessa,” Liam praises, leaning over to inspect my handiwork with the peppers. His proximity sends a shiver down my spine, but it’s a sensation I welcome.
As we continue to work, the kitchen fills not just with the scents of cooking food but also with laughter and light-hearted banter.
