Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)
Unravel Me: Chapter 30

“Would you just fucking text her? I’m sick of watching you open your messages, stare at them, and then close them again!”

“Geez,” I mutter, glowering at Jaxon. “Someone’s testy this morning.”

“Mittens thought my goddamn wiener was a dangly toy when I got out of bed, and he whacked it with his sharp fucking talons before I could shield myself.” He grips his junk with one hand, the other arm flailing wide. “Of course I’m fucking testy!”

“Maybe you should guard your testes, and then you wouldn’t be so testy ,” Carter says. He wags his brows, holding his hand up for a high five. “Eh? Get it? Because I said—”

“No, we got it,” I assure him.

“Oh.” He frowns at his hand. “’Cause no one high-fived me.” He chugs his post-rollerblade smoothie, then twists an Oreo apart. Balance, I guess. “How come you’re not texting Rosie?”

“It’s barely after seven a.m.”

“She has a kid and school,” Emmett says, as he and Garrett slather mashed avocado on several pieces of toast. “She’s definitely awake.”

“Dey takin’ tings swow,” Garrett mumbles around his bite.

Jaxon blinks at him. “What?”

“They’re taking things slow,” Garrett repeats. “So he can’t text her first thing in the morning, ’cause that’s not slow.”

Carter chuckles, stretching his arms overhead. “Yeah, I know that game. Ollie and I were never good at slow. Her more than me. We were supposed to be taking things slow, then she climbed on top of me in the limo after Cara and Em’s engagement party. Had to fight her off.”

Olivia walks by with a steaming mug of tea, flicking him in his head. “That’s absolutely not how that went.” She smiles at me. “I think it’s sweet you guys are slowing things down for a minute. It can’t hurt. And yes, you can text her. Women love to know they’re your first thought in the morning.”

“So I should—”

“Yup.”

“Yes .” I pull out my phone and immediately start typing out a message, not a fuck to give about the way my friends are laughing at me.

Good morning. Did you have a good sleep?

No. Lame. Backspace.

Hello, Rosie. Are you well today?

How did it get worse? Backspace.

Good morning, beautiful. I thought of you in bed last night.

Oh my God, Adam, what’s wrong with you? Back-fucking-space.

Olivia peeks around my shoulder. “A simple have a good day would do wonders, Casanova. Don’t overthink it.”

ME

Morning, trouble. Hope you have a good day.

TROUBLE

Thanks, Adam. Not off to a great start.

A photo follows, a tearful Connor wrapped around her.

Connor has a stomach bug.

Ah fuck. Poor guy. I zoom in on the picture, Connor’s sleepy eyes, his unusually pale skin. It’s the exhausted, stressed look in Rosie’s eyes that has me hitting the Call button, slipping out Carter’s patio door into his backyard.

“Hey,” Rosie answers.

“I’m sorry Connor’s sick, Rosie. You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” She sighs. “Crap timing. I can’t send him to daycare, and obviously Brandon isn’t an option anymore.” She sniffles, tugging at my heartstrings. “Sorry, I’m frustrated and exhausted because we’ve been up since two, and it’s making me emotional. I’m supposed to be in surgery in two hours, but I’m going to have to miss it.”

“I’ll watch him. I can take Connor today while you’re at school.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not. I’m volunteering. I already did my workout with the guys; I’ve got the rest of the day free.”

“It’s not going to be an easy day. He’s clingy and emotional when he’s sick.”

“I like clingy and emotional.”

“Adam—”

“Let me help you, Rosie. You can count on me. Plus, I’ve missed the fuck out of him. Lean on me today.”

She hesitates, and I imagine her teeth tugging on her lower lip, the little crease between her brows while she overthinks this. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as hell.” I head back through the house. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Carter throws his arms in the air, following me to the front door. “You promised to do that TikTok with me!”

“I did not.”

“Aw, man . But all the girlies love to see you dance.”

“No, Carter.” I open the door, looking at him in his DILF T-shirt. “They love to see your shirtless daddy content.”

“You could be a shirtless daddy too !” he shouts out the door as I climb into my truck.

Right now, the only person I’m okay with calling me Dada is Connor.

And shit is the poor kid ever sick, all red-rimmed eyes and snotty nosed from crying, his skin pale and slick with sweat.

“We’ll be fine,” I promise Rosie forty minutes later when we’re out front of her school. We might not be fine. “We’ve got it under control.” We don’t have it under control at all. I grin at Connor. It’s way shakier than I’d like, so I try for plan B, which is two thumbs up. “Right, buddy?”

He heaves, and Rosie manages to get the opened bag into position a split second before he vomits.

“Oh, baby.” She wipes his face, worried gaze coming to mine. “I don’t know, Adam. Maybe I should stay with him.”

“Rosie.” I grip her shoulders, squeezing gently. “This is scary because you can’t control it. But you aren’t going to be able to control him being sick if you’re home with him either. I know you just want to be with him, make sure he’s taken care of, and I promise you, I’m going to take care of him. He’s going to be loved to pieces at home with me and Bear. Right, bud?”

Connor wipes the tears from his face, sniffling. “Dada, Bear?”

Rosie smiles softly, pushing his hair off his damp forehead.

“Trust me?” I ask her quietly.

She watches me for a moment, then nods. “I trust you, Adam.”

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“Fuck yeah,” Connor repeats quietly, and my smile falls.

“Oh shit. No. Oh fuck. Shit.” I look to Rosie. “Rosie .”

Connor smiles slowly, a devilish sight, little brows quirking. “Oh shit. Oh shit! Shit !”

I grab Rosie’s backpack, sling the straps onto her shoulders, then shove the Starbucks I picked up for her into her hands. “I’ll call you if I need anything at all, and I promise I won’t swear anymore!” I push her—gently —toward the entrance of the building. “Have a great day, we love you!” I stop, popping a fist on my hip, brows furrowed as I replay those last three words in my head. “No, I didn’t, um…” My eyes come to Rosie’s. She’s standing there, clutching her breakfast, grinning at me. “Okaybye !” I dash to my side, throw myself in, and tear out of the parking lot without another look in her direction. “Shit. That was a close one, huh, bud?”

Connor grins at me in the reflection of the car seat mirror. “Shit.”

Ah fuck.

TROUBLE

How’s it going?

ME

Great!

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Only a little!

*laughing emoji* I appreciate you, Adam.

She made it two and a half hours before texting. I’m impressed; I just know her fingers have been itching all morning.

And really, we’re doing okay. Tough day, but we’re getting through it. He hasn’t thrown up in nearly two hours, he’s managed to keep down some crackers and water, and he’s only fallen to pieces, like, three times, all three times I’ve tried to put him down. Me? I’m whole. I’m totally whole.

“I need help.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Carter says.

I know what you’re thinking: You called Carter for advice? It’s the last thing I ever thought I’d do, too, but I have to admit, he’s got the dad thing down pat.

I’m waiting on my front porch when he rolls up, a weeping Connor in my arms, his small hand tangled in my hair.

“What is that?” I ask as he strolls toward us.

“What, this?” He touches the hat on his head. “It’s my DILF hat.”

“I can read, Carter. I know what your hat says. And why do you need a DILF hat when you’re already wearing your DILF shirt?”

“To really drive home the point.” He holds up the contraption in his hand. It looks like some sort of…backpack? “When Ireland is having a rough day, she just wants to be held. I strap her to my chest, and she’s happy as hell.” He sizes me up. “We’ll probably have to adjust this, because you’re smaller than me.”

I roll my eyes as he covertly makes the waist larger, because he knows as well as I do who the smaller one of us is.

“I’m gonna put you down for a minute, ’kay, buddy?” I lower Connor down to a chair on my porch, and he screams, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt.

“No ! No down! Up! Up !” He scrambles to his feet, tugging at my pants, wailing. “Up, Dada, up !”

“Hey,” I soothe, crouching down, rubbing his back. “I know you’re upset. My friend Carter is going to help me put this on, and then I’m going to pick you right back up, okay?”

“I’ll be superfast, little dude. I promise.” Carter straps the contraption around my waist. “Told you you could be a shirtless daddy.”

“I don’t want to be a shirtless daddy. I want to keep my shirt on.” I scoop Connor back up, and Carter shows me how to tuck him against my chest before he clips the shoulder straps together. Connor rubs his eyes with his tiny fists, hiccuping, laying his cheek on my collarbone. “What do you think, bud? You like it?”

“Bus,” he whispers softly, pointing down the street.

“You wanna go watch some buses?” I look to Carter. “Can we do that when he’s sick?”

“Fresh air might be good for him.” He pats Connor’s back, smiling. “Nice to meet you, little dude. You’ll have to come over for a playdate with Ireland soon, ’kay?”

Connor’s wide, glassy eyes move between Carter’s. “I-lan?”

“Nailed it!” He claps me on the back. “You got this, Daddy.”

“Please don’t call me Daddy.”

He winks at me, climbing into his car. “You can call me Daddy.”

My God. Poor Olivia.

I hook Bear to his leash, grab some snacks, and the three of us head out. Connor is quiet at first, watching me as I point out trucks and birds, but Bear wrings a snicker from him when he tangles himself up trying to chase a squirrel up a tree.

“Red car,” he whispers, pointing to a car at the stoplight.

“Yes! Red car!” I point at a blue one. “What color is that one?”

He grins, and his little feet start kicking. “Red car!”

“Blue car!”

“Rrred car!”

“Close enough! Holy smokes, buddy!” I point at the bus coming down the street. “Look!”

“Woooah-ho-hooo! Bus ! Big bus!” The bus rolls by us, and Connor waves frantically. “Hi, bus! Hi, big bus!” The bus driver waves back, honking her horn, and Connor loses his ever-loving mind. “Beep-beep, bus! Beep-beep!”

We stop by Wildheart and sign Piglet out for a quick walk. She’s confused that Rosie’s not with us but elated all the same, tossing her butt in the air like she always does, smacking Bear in the face with it on the way down. By the time we get back to the house, everyone is ready for a nap.

Connor eats half his peanut butter and banana sandwich for lunch, then shoves the other half in my mouth, and I hope to God I don’t catch a stomach bug four days before our home opener game.

“Ready for a nap?” I ask, carrying him upstairs.

“No,” he replies simply.

“I am. I’m sleepy.”

He points a finger in my face. “Dada sweepy?”

“Yeah, buddy. Dada’s sleepy. You kept me busy today.” I step into my spare room and set Connor on his feet so I can push aside the boxes I set in here the other week, tuck the paint cans away in the closet.

When I straighten, Connor is gone.

“Connor?” I rush into the bathroom, panic gripping my heart when I don’t find him. “Connor! Where are you, buddy?”

A giggle sounds down the hall, and I follow the sound to my bedroom. Connor is at the foot of my bed, and Bear has his head under his bum, like he’s trying to hoist him up.

“Dada, sweep?” Connor points to the bed, then reaches two hands for me. “Conn’a sweep.”

Relief slides through me as I exhale. “You scared me. Thought I lost you for a minute.” I lift him into my arms. “You gotta lie down in your playpen.”

“No,” he cries, grasping my shoulders, trying to pull himself up. “No pen, no pen!” He pats his forehead, the fading mark from Saturday, when he got stuck under his playpen at Brandon’s. “Ouch.”

I sigh, hugging him to my chest. “You’re scared. I know, buddy. I’m sorry.” I rock him side to side, and he lays his cheek on my shoulder, sticking his thumb in his mouth. “What should we do?”

He points to my bed again, stifling a yawn. “Dada, Bear, Conn’a, sweep.”

“You want me to lie with you?”

His answer is a soft, sleepy smile. I set him in the middle of the bed, and Bear climbs up beside him as I grab extra pillows from the closet, building a makeshift guard around the two of them.

I lie down next to them, and my sigh turns into a full five-second yawn. I rub my burning eyes as Connor curls into my side, Bear at his back, and settle into the warmth. “I’ll just lie here until you fall asleep, ’kay, buddy?”

He slides his tiny hand into mine, and I smile at him as his eyes drift closed. His blond waves are scattered across his forehead, teensy freckles lining his nose. He’s got that dimple in his chin, the same one as Rosie, and fuck , I just can’t believe how perfect this little boy is, how damn lucky I am. That’s all I’m thinking about as I hold his small body against mine and my eyes drift closed, thoughts of him and his mom running rampant in my head.

Rosie sounds the same in my dreams. Soft and sweet as she calls my name, her quiet giggle gliding over me. Fuck, she even feels the same in my dreams, gentle hands that glide up my arm, skimming my jaw, cupping my cheek.

“Adam,” she whispers my name again, and when her thumb sweeps over my lower lip, my eyes flip open, finding her amused ones watching me.

“Oh fuck, I fell asleep. Oh fuck, I fell asleep !” I shoot up, nearly smacking my face off hers. I grip her arms, steadying her, and look at Connor, still passed out beside me. “Did I forget to pick you up? Fuck, Rosie, I’m so sorry. Connor didn’t wanna go down in his playpen, he wouldn’t let go of me, so we lied down here ’cause he was tired and I was so fucking tired, and he just-he just…” I gesture at my side. “He curled up at my side, this tiny little ball, and he was just clinging to me, and he fell asleep, and I was just staring at him, I couldn’t believe how sweet he was, how perfect, and I-I-I…I guess I fell asleep too.”

Rosie smiles, an incredible, earth-shattering sight that makes me want to drop to my knees at her feet. “My teacher let me leave after surgery. I let myself in when you didn’t answer, and found you two right where I expected.” She sifts her fingers through my messed curls. “Caring for a little human all day is tiring, especially a sick one.” She gestures to Bear, panting happily at her feet. “Me and Bear let you sleep while we made dinner.”

“You made dinner? Why?”

“To thank you. I was stressed out this morning because I couldn’t be in two places at once, and I hate leaving Connor when he’s sick. I thought I was going to be staring at my phone all day, asking for updates, but when you drove out of that parking lot with my son in my car, I felt calm. I knew he would be safe with you, Adam.”

She takes my face in her hands, pulling me forward so she can drop her lips to my warm cheek. “Every day, you give me something new to love about you. How lucky am I to find someone who gives me so many things to be thankful for?”

“This is pointless.”

I watch Rosie, pacing back and forth alongside the truck on the quiet country road we’re parked on. She keeps stopping to think, then throws her arms in the air, saying, This is pointless, and starting her strut all over again.

“Why is it pointless?”

“Because I don’t even have a car, Adam! And I can’t afford one, so it’s not like I’m gonna be driving, so why even learn to drive, you know?” She props her chin on her fist, staring at me but not really seeing me as her head bobs. “Yeah, it’s settled. We’ll skip it.” She marches to the trunk, gestures over her shoulder, and pats the hood twice. “No driving lessons today! C’mon, everyone! Let’s go!”

“Does she do this a lot?” I ask, arms crossed as she struggles to open the door I just locked on her.

“The dramatic stomp-off?” Archie watches her tug at the handle. “Uh-huh.”

“Believe it or not,” Marco adds, “she has a bigger flair for the dramatics than me.”

“Okay,” Archie chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far. Nobody is as dramatic as you.”

“Oh, I’ve got a friend.” I unlock the door for fun, and Rosie’s eyes light before she reaches for the handle again. I lock it again. “Sometimes I’m not sure when to push her to try new things and when to let things go. I don’t want to force her to do something she really isn’t ready for, you know?”

Archie hums, nodding. “Yeah, I know that struggle. The thing is, though, you’ll know when she’s really not ready for something. She’ll completely shut down, and your heart will tell you to stop, to hug her instead. You seem to read her well. She’s never felt rushed with you. She does need to be talked into quite a few things, though.”

“Has anyone ever stopped to think if really pounding things into her might work better than talking her into something?” Marco wags his brows at me. “Give it a shot, that’s all I’m saying.”

Connor curls over Marco’s head from where he sits on his shoulders, covering his mouth with his hand. It might be for the best. “Mama, tuck?”

“I don’t think so, buddy,” Rosie says, walking back over to us, hands on her hips as she huffs. “Not today.” She thumbs over her shoulder at the truck. “Adam, something’s going on with the locks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they keep unlocking and then locking again.”

“You don’t say.”

“It’s weird, ’cause it’s almost like when I reach for the handle…” She trails off, frowning at me. It’s super frowny, with a side of I’m gonna castrate you . “You motherf—”

“Ah-ah. Watch your language around innocent ears.”

“Motherforking shirthead.” Her eyes narrow, and she pops a hip, pinning her arms across her chest. My gaze falls to her cleavage—oops —and she yanks her button-up together, stealing my view. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Here we go,” Archie mumbles.

“And you said she doesn’t have a flair for the dramatics?” Marco whispers.

“No, I said her flair for the dramatics wasn’t as big as yours .”

“I’m right here!”

“We certainly know, Rosie.”

I laugh, then turn it into a cough when Rosie glares at me. “C’mon, trouble. Let’s talk in the truck.”

“I know what you’re doing,” she says as I load her into the driver’s seat, the one we’ve adjusted for her three times. “You’re going to give me those eyes—”

“What eyes?” I give her the eyes.

“Those eyes!” She lets me buckle her in. “And then you’re gonna ask me what’s holding me back from driving in that gentle voice that makes me want to tell you everything, and I’m going to fold!”

I climb into the passenger seat, holding my palm face up between us. Her gaze flicks between it and me three whole times before she finally slides her hand against mine, tangles our fingers together. Fuck, it’s a feeling I’ve missed too much, one that makes everything feel so warm and bright and full.

“What’s holding you back from driving?”

She groans, and I chuckle.

“I’m serious. You were excited about our driving lesson today, so I think you want to do it.”

She saws her lip with her teeth. “I do.”

“But you’re scared.”

She hangs her head. “I’m tired of being scared of simple things.”

“It’s okay to be scared, Rosie. Just because driving is simple for some people doesn’t mean it’s simple for everyone. Is it something I can help you work through?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Wanna give it a shot anyway? You never know.”

“I’m afraid of dying,” she blurts, then waits, gauging my reaction. When I don’t give her one, she goes on. “It’s not really death I’m afraid of, but what comes after unexpected death. The thought of never seeing Connor again, not getting to watch him grow up, it wrecks me. And who will take care of him? He has no grandparents. His own father doesn’t even—” She stops herself, waving the words off, her nose wrinkling. “I know my parents didn’t die in a car accident. But people die in car accidents every single day, and fires are way less likely, and it still happened.

“After they died, I started having a lot of anxiety around the possibility of unexpected death, but once I had Connor, it grew tenfold. Suddenly, I had this little human who depended on me for everything, and all I could think about was what my parents’ final moments were like, knowing they weren’t going to see me again, that I’d be alone. People always say, ‘I can only imagine,’ and I always think it’s silly, because, like, no, you really can’t. But I’ve been imagining it for so long now, and it’s…it’s debilitating. There’s no other way to describe it. It’s like my body quits on me. Fear takes hold of my brain, and I can’t do anything but sit there and imagine the worst-case scenario. I get so lost in my thoughts, Adam. Sometimes it feels like they eat me alive.”

She sniffles, a swallow so audible it hurts my own throat. When a tear slides down her cheek, I catch it on my thumb. “I know it’s only my imagination, but that almost makes it harder, you know? Because if it hurts this much to just imagine it…God, the pain my parents must have experienced in those moments, knowing that was it.”

She swipes a hand through the air, dismissing her own pain, forcing a laugh. “So, yeah, that’s why I’m scared to drive, even though I’d love to learn. Silly, huh?”

“No.”

Her gaze slides to me. “What?”

“Not silly at all. Your fears are real and valid. I can feel your pain, Rosie, and it hurts. I have a thought though. You’re feeling what you’re feeling, this fear of having to say good-bye to Connor, leave him behind, and that’s scary enough on its own…but what if you’re holding onto your parents’ grief too? What if you’re taking on the pain they felt leaving you behind? Their pain that they felt like they were abandoning you?”

Her gaze drops, searching through my words as her chest heaves.

I squeeze her hands in mine. “Can you try something? Close your eyes for me.” I smile, brushing her hair off her face as her eyes flutter closed. “I know it’s hard, but picture your parents sitting here with you.” A tear escapes, tracking its way down her cheek, followed by another, and she clamps down on her lower lip, chin trembling. “Tell them you see their pain.”

She shakes her head, tears falling faster.

“Rosie,” I whisper, taking her face in my hands. “Please. Tell them.”

“I see your pain,” she cries softly.

“Good girl,” I murmur, swiping at her tears. “Now tell them you can’t hold it for them.”

She gasps out the words before she falls across the center console, collapsing against my chest. I smooth my palm down her back, holding her close as she cries into my neck.

“What did they say?”

She looks up at me, green eyes dancing in their own rain, crystal clear as it washes away just a little bit of her fears. “‘We’re not asking you to.’”

“I believe that. They don’t want you to hold onto that. Not the pain, not the fears. They want you to remember the love.” I wipe away the tears that cling to her lashes as she gives me a heartbreaking smile. “I bet they gave the best kind of love, Rosie. Just like you.”

Rosie tosses her arms around my neck, hugging me tight. “Thank you, Adam. Thank you so much.”

We spend the next few minutes checking the mirrors, practicing tapping the break and giving the truck just a little bit of gas, and when Rosie’s ready, she takes a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel.

“Put it into drive,” I tell her, watching as she does it. “Good. Now signal left to let people know you’re going to be merging into traffic.” I glance over my shoulder at the imaginary traffic, Archie and Marco hitting us with two thumbs as they watch from the side of the road, Connor clapping Marco’s head. “And when you’re ready, take your foot off the brake.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and breathes deeply before demanding, “Tell me something good. Tell me about your charity, The Family Project. Why do you do it?”

I smile. “I do it for the kids who are searching for somewhere to belong, searching for safety, for love.”

Rosie cracks her lids. Slowly, she releases the brake, and the truck inches forward.

“I do it for the kids who want to give up, because I want to show them what happens when you hold on a little bit longer.”

She steps on the gas, just a bit, and the truck moves a little faster.

“I do it so they know there’s always someone out there that loves them, that’s rooting for them. That it might take some time, but they’re going to find their people. I do it for the Rosies.”

She beams, bright and so beautiful, and when she comes to a stop at the corner and throws the truck in park, Archie and Marco run toward us with Connor, shouting and cheering. The pride shining in her eyes is unparalleled, a sight I’ll remember forever.

“I did it, Adam. I drove down my first street!”

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