Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)
Unravel Me: Chapter 11

Have you ever walked into a space and been hit with the overwhelming urge to lock the door so you can live there, in that moment, forever?

That’s me right now, and it’s been me since Adam opened his front door and guided Connor and me inside.

Since Connor took one look at the wide staircase and started crawling up it, and then Adam spent fifteen minutes showing him how to go up and down, because we don’t have stairs at home.

Since he showed us the dining room table he and his dad built together when he moved in two years ago, and then played peekaboo with Connor around it.

Since Connor found the TV remote, handed it to Adam, asked for bus , and the two of them watched and sang it on repeat three times.

And right now, as I run my fingers over the rustic brick backsplash, the marble countertops, along the edge of the oversized farmhouse sink, down to the cupboards. From the pristine white siding mingled with large stone, the wooden pillars, the black framed windows, this oversized farmhouse backing onto the mountains in North Vancouver is just…perfection.

But it’s the olive-green cupboards that do me in.

“I’ve always loved the color of these cupboards, but they’ve become my favorite part of this house since I met you.”

My gaze comes to Adam’s as he strolls up beside me. “Why’s that?”

He brushes my bangs aside. “Because they’re the same color as your eyes.”

A happy warmth pools in my cheeks, and I watch my fingers slowly skim the muted color. “My parents and I moved into our house when I was six. The cupboards were solid maple but old, and we didn’t have the money to renovate.” I smile at the memory of my dad dragging us through Home Depot, holding paint chips up to my eyes. “He painted them green to match mine and my mom’s eyes.”

“Mmm…” Adam winds an arm around my waist, pulling me back against his chest, his lips at my hair. “Your dad and I would get along well, I think.”

They really would have. Lord knows he would’ve had my mom eating out of the palm of his hand too.

Connor squeezes between us, pulling on Adam’s shorts. “’nack?”

“Snack?” Adam asks, and when Connor nods, he pulls out peanut butter, bread, and a banana. “Yeah, dude. Let me make you a—”

“Ba-na !” he shrieks, marching in spot, clapping his hands. He reaches for the banana. “Ba-na!”

“All right, banana it is.” Adam chuckles, peeling the banana, breaking it in half, and handing it to him. “That was easy.”

“Where’s Bear?” I ask, suddenly realizing what’s missing.

“I tucked him in my room. I wasn’t sure if Connor would be nervous around him since he’s so big.”

“Oh no. Connor loves dogs.” I ruffle his hair. “Don’t you, buddy?”

“Dog,” he replies, shoving the last of his banana in his mouth. “Oof, oof !”

Adam crouches in front of him. “Do you want to meet my dog Bear? He’s my best bud.”

Connor shoves the last of his banana in his mouth and grabs hold of one of Adam’s fingers. The way Adam’s eyes light, the corner of his mouth quirking as he looks down at the connection, makes my heart flutter.

I follow as they trot up the stairs, Connor staring up at him with wide, wonderous eyes, like he’s enthralled with every word Adam speaks to him. Or maybe it’s the undivided attention Adam lavishes on him. Whatever it is, I think he’s in love.

Adam pushes his bedroom door open an inch, and a black nose nudges its way through, sniffing. There’s a solid, steady thump of a happy tail whipping back and forth, and when Bear’s tongue makes an appearance, Connor starts giggling.

“Bear, sit,” Adam commands, lifting Connor into his arms as he opens the door. “Good boy. Wait.” Bear’s brown eyes bounce between Connor and me. He shifts from paw to paw, whimpering, and Connor starts gasping, wriggling, just as desperate to touch Bear as Bear is to touch him.

“Dog. Dog!” Wild green eyes meet mine. “Mama, dog !”

Adam walks into the bedroom, up to the pristine king-sized bed, and takes a seat. He pats twice and tells Bear up before making him lie down. Then he sets Connor on the bed.

“We’re gentle with our pets,” I remind Connor, and he tentatively reaches for Bear, his eyes shining with love. Bear meets him halfway, one ginormous tongue that covers Connor’s whole face in a single swipe, and my little guy throws his arms around Bear’s burly neck. “Hi, dog! Hi, big dog!”

Adam laughs, and my attention wanders around his incredible space, how intimate it feels to be in here with him. I walk across the chestnut brown planks, warm below my bare feet from the sunshine streaming through the double French doors. They’re propped open, letting in the breeze, and I step onto the oversize balcony.

“Wow.” The single syllable escapes on a breath.

A sea of evergreens peers back at me, tracking their way up the lush mountain, wrapping me in its ethereal beauty, reminding me why I moved here. Why, of all the places my family visited when I was growing up, Vancouver is the one I chose to make my home. There’s a nostalgia in the green, the fresh scent of pine and earth that each gust of wind brings. A peaceful calm that settles all my racing thoughts in this moment, the uneven beat of my heart. Everything is still and quiet, and I feel…at home. With myself. With Connor.

With Adam.

Something warm brushes my back, and two strong arms cage me in, large hands clasping the stone balcony wall on either side of mine.

“Pretty, huh?”

“Pretty doesn’t begin to describe it,” I breathe out.

Soft lips ghost the shell of my ear. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Shrieks of giggles ring behind us, and I glance behind me to find Connor and Bear rolling around on the plush rug.

Adam chuckles, a warm sound that rattles down my spine. “Think my dog’s in love.”

Yes. The dog. Definitely the dog. Not the…not the human. No. That’s absolutely…no.

I watch Adam’s hand move, so slowly, fingertips trailing my forearm before his palm splays over my belly. Instead of worrying about everything he might feel, the soft lines that speak of my love of Saturday mornings spent baking muffins and midweek batches of cookies, too many iced lattes in the summer and far too many hot chocolates in the winter, I sink into the touch. I revel in the connection, firm fingertips that seem to tingle beneath the material of my sundress, like he’s touching bare skin. My heart pounds in my ears, a steady thrum that both liberates and scares me. I swallow the tightness in my throat, lick at my lips, and beg for a sudden storm to douse the heat singeing my skin.

“Your heart’s going a mile a minute,” Adam murmurs in my ear.

“I…” God, that’s embarrassing. I curl my fingers into my palms until my nails bite the skin. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Frankly, Rosie, I can’t tell you how good it feels to know that, for once in my life, I’m on the same page as someone.”

Our gazes collide, a silent question in mine: Are we on the same page? Really? I’m too nervous to voice it, even though he’s just said the words. But what page is he on? What chapter? How does his book end, and who does he want standing next to him in his epilogue?

I don’t have a choice; my future is that little boy in there. And even if the decision were mine? He’d be my choice, day in and day out. I’ll always choose him.

How nice it would be for someone else to choose us too.

Adam cups my cheek, spinning me into him. Nerves grip my throat, stealing my breath, but he simply leans forward, presses the gentlest kiss to my forehead, and soothes every worry with eight words.

“I’m glad you’re here, Rosie. Both of you.”

I have to start doing yoga or something if I’m going to keep up with Connor, because how am I raising a kid as flexible as the fifteen-month-old who just essentially backflipped into the playpen in Adam’s spare room when I was still trying to explain to him that his nap would look different today? Maybe the breathing techniques would also help not send me into a tailspin at the idea of changing our daily routine even just once.

“Did he go down okay?” Adam whispers, making me jump as I back silently out of the room.

“Yeah, went down like a…a…a…” My eyes roll down to Adam’s bare chest, the patch of dark curls that look so soft, I want to run my fingers through them. Down to the lines of thick, sinewy muscle carved so impeccably, and holy motherforking shit, I was right. It is an eight-pack. And, oh fuck, the swim trunks. They’re tight in the worst way—because I can’t look away—bright, summery stripes that wrap all the way around, hugging every single inch of him.

And, ladies, trust me when I say this: there are a lot of inches.

I mean, Jesus shit. He’s bigger than the underwear guy at the bus stop; I’m sure of it. Or is it the stripes? I always avoid them because I think they make me look bigger. Does it work that way on cocks too?

Yes. Yes, it must. Because there’s no way that he…that he…there’s just no way, right?

This is it. I’m looking destruction right in the face. Obliteration. Total annihilation. That’s the only thing that can possibly come from a dick that big. No woman is surviving a dicking from this man, not without being wheeled out afterward, and possibly in a dick-induced coma.

Oh my God. Archie and Marco were right. I’ve been dickmatized.

“Sorry, did you say…total annihilation?”

My eyes snap to Adam raking his fingers through those tousled curls, a faint blush on his high cheekbones. “Pardon?”

“You were talking about putting Connor down for his nap, but you trailed off and whispered, uh…total annihilation .” He swallows. “I think you were looking at my crotch.”

I force my jaw closed, ignoring the violent cracking sound it makes. My eyes twitch, desperate to coast down, just once more, but I’m not doing it.

Okay, I’m doing it. Fuck. Damnit. My gaze bounces down, then right back up. Adam’s eyes follow, and his mouth curves as molten heat rushes to the tips of my ears.

I dash by him, heading for the stairs. “I’ve gotta put my bathing suit on.”

“I brought your bag into my room. You can change in there.”

I halt, already halfway down the stairs. “Oh.” Whipping around, I strut by him, keeping my eyes on my feet. “Thanks.”

“Rosie?”

I pause at his door, watching his feet come closer, until all I can smell, all I can breathe, is him.

“Need help?”

I swallow. “No.” Maybe.

“’Kay.” Sizzling fingertips slide up my arm, hitching the strap of my dress back up to my shoulder. “Holler if you change your mind, trouble.”

I do need help. All sorts of it. Help cooling my jets, because I haven’t had sex in over a year, and looking at him, it’s suddenly all I can think about. I’m flustered. So flustered. He’s so sweet and kind, so patient, and then he springs these little things on me, lingering, searing touches, starved gazes, hot, teasing words drenched in intensity. I’m horny as hell, clearly, which is new and scary, but I’m not ready to jump into that, and what if that’s what he’s expecting?

But beyond that, I need help finding the confidence to walk out of here in this bikini.

I don’t want to feel pretty for Adam. I want to feel pretty for me.

And right now, as I stand before his mirror and take myself in, I’m struggling.

I remind myself that this body gave me the love of my life. That it grew something from nothing. That it endured endless bouts of sickness, days spent hugging the toilet, aches and pains that made me feel like I’d never walk properly again, an emergency surgery that—so briefly—convinced me I was less of a woman because I couldn’t push my child out. A surgery that had me unable to stand on my own for days, to take more than a couple steps with my newborn in my arms.

This body isn’t perfect, but it’s strong. Physically, mentally, in everything I’ve worked so hard to overcome.

This body isn’t perfect, but for all it’s done and everything it’s given me, it’s beautiful.

I tie the string of my sheer cover-up at my hip and take a breath before opening the door, starting down the stairs.

The photos lining the wall of the staircase catch my eye, and I pause to take them in. It’s Adam in every single one of them, I’m sure of it. Even the tiny boy tucked into the side of the smiling couple is so clearly him, vibrant cobalt eyes, the most genuine grin with just a hint of mischief.

And the couple…they’re everything. From the way they look at each other, full of devotion, endless love, to the way they look at Adam, like he’s their whole world.

I’m so enthralled with the love flowing from the pictures, I don’t notice Adam until he’s at my side, towering over me though he’s one step below. He’s smiling at the pictures, a hint of longing in his eyes that makes me a little sad.

“Those are my parents.”

I look back at the couple, their deep brown skin and warm eyes, the dark curls spilling down around the woman’s shoulders.

“I was adopted.”

A strange feeling grips my heart, the weight of that single word refusing to settle in my chest, questions I want to ask but can’t, for fear of overstepping.

Fear of revealing parts of me I’m not ready to.

So I tell him, “You can see the love between you three.”

“Mmm. I’ve always been able to feel it too.” His mouth hitches up on one side as he stares at a photo of him on his dad’s shoulders. “Even if it took my dad a little longer to figure it out.”

“What do you mean?”

Adam takes my hand, pulling me down the stairs. “I was in a group foster home.”

The grip on my heart instantly eases, a soaring, freeing feeling as excitement bubbles to the surface at the thought that maybe, after all, we’re so much more alike than I’ve realized. That he’ll understand all the fears, the nagging thoughts that eat at me in the darkest, quietest parts of the night, when I’m all alone, wondering if I’ll always be this way.

Hope fills me so fluidly, a warm feeling that nearly spills out of me. Before the words can come, Adam goes on.

“My dad did a lot of volunteer work with the home I was in, so I met him right away. I think four-year-old me would’ve gone home with him that first day, I was so enamored with him. Every time he was in, I followed him around like a puppy. I wanted to be just like him.” He smiles, a little far off, like he’s remembering something. “I was in foster care for ten months, and my parents adopted me not long after my fifth birthday.

All that bubbling hope dies, dropping like a dead weight, sitting on my chest in an oddly suffocating way. It’s a petty, dirty thing, the jealousy that nips at me, the bitterness that he spent so little time there, that he found this beautiful family that chose him, that decided they wanted to love him for the rest of their lives and his.

All I want to feel for him in this moment is happiness that he found that. Instead, I’m overcome with guilt and a stinging pile of self-hatred, because beyond the genuine happiness lies the weight of wishing there was somebody out there, anybody , who might understand what it’s like to sit there day after day, on your best behavior, hoping, dreaming that someone might choose you. Might spend five minutes talking to you and go, Hey, I think I want to take a chance on her. I think I want to keep her.

I think I want to love her.

I bury the nasty thoughts as deep as I can, choosing to embrace the good ones as I squeeze his hand. “I’m happy you found your forever family, Adam.”

“Are your parents in the city?” he asks casually as he leads me through his house, toward his backyard.

“It’s just me and Connor. I came out here on my own after I graduated from high school.”

“Does it ever get lonely?”

Always.

I force a smile. “I keep busy.”

“Right, but…” His fingers circle my arm, stopping me. “That’s not what I asked.”

His eyes rake my face, searching for answers. But I’m still searching for them myself.

“How about this, Rosie.” He brackets my jaw in his hand, the pad of his thumb trapping my lower lip. “How busy do you want me to keep you? Because sometimes I feel lonely, but when I’m with you, I feel full.”

That fullness he swears he feels seeps into my skin, filling all the empty spaces like sand between pebbles. “I’d like you to keep me very busy.”

Happiness detonates his face. “I can do that.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Adam’s backyard is as immaculate as his house, exquisite and sprawling. Situated below Mount Fromme, it’s a plush green oasis worthy of a magazine spread.

“Of course you have a waterfall feature,” I mumble as Adam dips into the pool, long arms making circles as he pushes himself backward, waiting, watching, grinning .

My heartbeat threatens to pound out of my chest as I dip my toes. The water is warm, but the chill that trembles down my spine isn’t.

I swim where there are lifeguards. Where the water reaches my hips and my feet touch the bottom. Where Archie and Marco are arm’s length away, in case panic sets in.

My eyes flutter closed as I chant the mantra my therapist taught me.

My past is not my future. I’m allowed to be scared, and I’m allowed to choose to move slowly, so long as I move.

I move, down one step, warm water lapping at my ankles as the air in my chest rattles my rib cage.

“Rosie?” Adam murmurs, and my lids flip open. “You gonna take your cover-up off?”

“What?” I look down at myself, still covered. “Oh. Yeah. Duh.” I find one of the loungers below the gazebo, and with my back to Adam, I slowly peel off my cover-up and drop it. My fingers tremble at my belly as I remind myself I’m beautiful and strong, that if Adam can’t see it, it’s his loss.

I drop to the first step and stop, curling my fingers into my palms three times, squeezing my eyes shut as I count each one. I hear the lapping of water, the steady drip drip drip as Adam climbs the steps, feel the warmth of his hands as they circle my waist, fingertips digging in.

“Rosie?” he whispers, so close, I think his lips may be nearly touching mine. I want to look, but I can’t.

“Yeah?”

“Open your eyes.”

“Do I have to?”

“I’d like you to, but I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

I crack one, just a smidge. He cracks a smile, lopsided and sweet.

“What is it you’re afraid of right now, me, or swimming?’

“What if I said both?”

“Well, I’d tell you that you have nothing to be afraid of when it comes to me. I’ll be gentle, and I’m not going to hurt you.” He sweeps his thumb over the dimple in my chin, coaxing my gaze open. Cobalt eyes lift to mine. “I wish I could tell you that you have nothing to be afraid of when it comes to swimming, too, but I don’t know your reasons, and I won’t undermine them. I want you to know, though, that you’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You promise?”

“Swear it.”

I take one step, then another, dropping five inches lower, then ten, and my fingernails bite into his shoulders. Strong hands squeeze my waist tighter, guiding me into him. When he sinks to the bottom, water kissing his chest, he pulls my limbs around him, letting me cling to him.

“’Atta girl,” he murmurs against my temple. “You okay?”

I nod into his neck. “Don’t let go, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I almost drowned when I was eleven,” I blurt. “A firefighter saved me. It was a…a silly accident. In my own pool.”

“Fuck, Rosie. I’m sorry.” His hands still on my body. He starts wading toward the stairs. “I would’ve never asked you to—”

“No, please. It’s okay.” I drag my face from the safe spot in his neck. “It’s something I’ve been working on for years, getting back in the water, and it’s been a priority since Connor was born. I know why my fears exist, but I don’t want them to control me forever. More than that, I don’t want them to impact Connor’s life. He loves the water, and I want him to feel confident and safe in it. We’re learning together.”

Adam’s gaze is steady on mine, a comforting weight that tells me he’s listening, taking it in. “Thank you for letting me be a part of your journey.” He dips his mouth to my shoulder, pressing a kiss there that sends all the blood to my head, making me dizzy. “I won’t push you to do anything you aren’t ready for. You tell me where your boundaries are and I’ll respect them.”

“It’s easier,” I mumble against his neck. “With you, it feels easier.”

“I feel the same with you.”

I look at him, the shadow of stubble lining his rugged jawline, the sharp line of his cheekbones, the way his curls hang in effortless perfection above his eyes. “What’s easier for you?”

“Being me,” he whispers. “Just me.”

I take his face in my hands and swallow every worry. “I like you, Adam. Just you, the way you are.”

His smile is like the brightest beam of sunshine, heating the coldest, darkest parts of me. He drops his nose to mine, his lips so close I can taste the mint on his breath. “I like you, too, Rosie. Just you.”

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