Page 116 of Face Off With Fate

“Sana sana, colita de rana. Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana,” I said, pulling her hair back from her face, working it into a braid the way I’d done with my little cousins a hundred times, fingers moving on autopilot. “There you go, sweetheart.” I tied off the braid with an elastic tucked in the bag I’d brought and sat back on my heels.

Her cries slowed to a whimper, squeezing my heart.

Monroe hadn’t moved, still holding her. But he was watching me with an expression that made my pulse race.

Luckily the foul scent kept me from lingering too long on what that look could mean. I’d have plenty of time to overanalyze every moment of this adventure after Goldie was home and on the mend.

And when chunks of god knows what were not coating two of the three people in the room.

“Okay.” I reached for the hem of my T-shirt, and pulled it over my head in one motion, leaving me in nothing but a gray cami. “Get her out of that.”

Monroe blinked, like he was trying to register the request. “What?”

“Her shirt.” I jerked my chin at her limp little figure. “I don’t want her to ride home covered in that stuff.”

Realization dawned on him, and he shifted her weight to one arm and worked her dress over her head with his free hand. “She might throw up on yours, though…”

“That’s okay,” I said, easing it over her. Fabric swallowed her, the sleeves falling past her elbows, the hem hitting her knees.

She looked down at herself and then up at me with a toothy smile, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

I took her.

Her small body settled against my chest, warming me with her feverish cheeks, but also from within. I was so fucking screwed, head over heels for her as much as I was her dad.

“Your turn,” I said, looking at Monroe over the top of her head. “Take your shirt off.”

He stood there. “You gonna let me wear that little gray thing you got on? Because I’m pretty sure that won’t fit over my biceps, and I don’t have any other shirt options.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I guess the ladies are about to get a show. Because you reek and there’s no way we’re riding back with you in that.”

Goldie popped her head up from my shoulder. “Yeah, Daddy, you stink.”

He let out a low laugh.

“Fine, you two win.” He reached back and pulled his shirt off with one hand.

And because I was holding a sick five-year-old, and I had my priorities straight, I didn’t stare at the V-cut lines disappearing into his waistband, or drool over his muscled chest—at least not very long.

“Graciella.”

His voice was low, tinged with something that had my eyes snapping to his.

“Come home with us.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

MONROE

I LOVE ALL THREE OF THEM.

The house was dark when I walked back in, arms weighed down with grocery bags.

“Girls, I’m home.”

The words flowed as if I called out that phrase every time I stepped through the door. The ache of how I wanted that to be true settled behind my sternum and didn’t move as I set the bags down on the island, taking out the thirty million items Graciella sent me to get. Every one of them was “essential”, including the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

Giggling came from the living room, but cut off fast, like someone had clapped a hand over a mouth. I’d been so busy putting things away, I hadn’t noticed that the place looked like a bomb had hit the linen closet until I walked into the room on soft feet. The couch was stripped bare. Blankets draped over the backs of chairs, connecting high on the media cabinet so the TV was inside the fort.