Page 50 of The Pact
“I just want them with someone who will keep their routine and respect our wishes and how we parent them,” she says. “Someone I trust. Who I feel safe leaving them with.”
“I really am sorry,” I say quietly.
She softens. “No, don’t worry about it. I knew it was a long shot this time of year.”
I wrap her in a hug. “Please don’t ever stop asking though. If I can do it, I absolutely will.”
She steps out of my hold and puts her coffee cup in the sink.
“I should have a better idea by mid-December, and then I can tell you for sure.”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it. We have to make the plans if we want to get decent-priced tickets.” She smiles.
“Okay, but can you keep me posted? If I’m not playing and they need help or if you want me to get the kids from his parents early, I will if I can.”
“For sure. I’ll send you an itinerary once we get everything planned.”
Outside, Remy shouts my name.
I walk to the window just in time to see him fall on his butt, making Rhyan laugh hysterically.
God, I love them.
“You deserve this same kind of love and happiness, Wyatt,” she says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “And if that’s not with Presley, I know you can find someone to share your life with. You’re a special person.”
I nod slowly. “With Presley, it’s complicated. The fact that we work together doesn’t bother me, but I’m not sure if she would feel the same. Not to mention, we come from very different worlds. And at the end of the day, if I wasn’t enough for her, it would kill me to lose her.”
“But you won’t know unless you try.”
I look down at her.
“Either way, you could lose something.”
That lands harder.
Before I can answer, the back door bursts open and Rhyan storms inside, cheeks pink, stick still in hand.
“It’s starting to snow!”
Remy comes in behind her. “Uncle Saint, come see the snow.”
I look at my sister.
She smiles but shakes her head. “I’m staying warm in here. I can see the snow out the window.”
I grab my coat off a kitchen chair and ruffle Remy’s hair. “Okay, let’s go see the snow.”
Rhyan grabs my hand. “And then you can do my cordnation.”
“Coronation?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“Right, sorry, I must have misheard.” I chuckle.
And for the next hour, I let myself just be Uncle Saint.
When the sky starts to get dark, Savannah calls us in, and that familiar ache settles in my chest again.
