The thought of that absolutely terrified me.
I wanted to gather up both my children and protect them from any heartache that might come their way.
From every misfortune and all their mistakes.
Keep them small and innocent and sweet.
But there was no way to stop the passage of time and the experiences that would come with it.
And truly, I wanted to embrace each phase.
Let them stumble and pick themselves back up again as they chased down their dreams.
Some days that was easier said than done because I knew that meant they were bound to go through all kinds of hard lessons to get there.
No one ever said momming was easy, and doing it alone was a whole ton harder.
Greyson smacked my face to get my attention. “I ready eat, Momma!” he shouted above the mayhem that was going down in the kitchen.
Connor and Liam had found themselves on the floor in a wrestling match, the rest of the children making a circle around them as they fought it out to see who would come out on top.
“Hey, don’t you make me go wake up Uncle Lyrik to break up a fight. You know how that’ll go down,” I warned, trying to hold back my amusement.
Brendon cracked up. “Watch it, she’s gonna get my dad, then you’re all in for it.”
“No way, I bet he’ll give me five bucks if I pin Connor.” Liam was gasping as he said it, flailing like crazy, both of them laughing so hard I doubted there was a chance either of them were going to get in a win.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, relishing the feel. The joy and the love and happiness.
A stark reminder there wasn’t only evil left in the world.
That I could do this.
“All right, let’s feed you, my sweet boy,” I sang to Greyson as I hiked him higher on my hip and started for the refrigerator.
That was right when Tamar came fumbling down a set of side stairs that led from the second floor into the kitchen. She tugged the belt of a silky leopard-print robe tighter around her waist as she took in the scene. “What in the world is going on in here?”
“Got ten bucks on Liam, Momma Blue. He might be tiny, but he is mighty.” Brendon grinned triumphantly as she stepped down into the kitchen.
She frowned. “Um . . . what have we said about gambling, Brendon?”
“Not gambling when you know you’re gonna win.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. I shook my head at his step-mother as she looked over at me in exasperation.
She might not have birthed Brendon, but she loved him with all her might. Treated him like he was her own. Respected his birth mother, coming alongside her to make sure Brendon was raised the best as he could be considering he was being raised in two separate homes.
It was never easy. Never perfect. But the truth was, families never were. But love truly living there was what made them completely right.
She ruffled her fingers through his hair and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “You are nothin’ but a troublemaker, do you know that?”
“That’s why you love me.”
She sighed again, holding back a giggle, adoration filling her expression.
Adia made a beeline for her. “Hi, Mommmmmy!”
She threw her little arms around Tamar’s middle, and Tamar hugged her close.
“What are you doing up already?” Kristina asked Tamar, biting back laughter when Tamar looked in desperation at the coffee pot. “I didn’t think we’d see you at least until noon.”
She rolled her eyes over her daughter’s head. “Seriously . . . I think I could sleep for a straight week. But my littles were calling to me, so Momma got her tail out of bed. I figured everyone was going to be hungry.”
“I hungry!” Greyson’s hand shot into the air, a worthy volunteer.
“I would have been happy to feed them,” Kristina said.
Tamar waved her off. “It’s fine.”
I jolted when the side door banged open from behind us.
I could almost feel it.
The way the levity drained from the air and aggression flooded in to take its place.
A cold dread that lifted the hairs at the nape of my neck and twisted my stomach in an instant knot of worry.
I guessed everyone else felt it, too, because Kristina stopped what she was saying and all the kids went silent.
From my vantage, I watched the deepest frown set into Tamar’s expression.
Warily, I turned to look over my shoulder to find Lyrik raging in the doorway, wearing tattered jeans and an even older tee and hatred on his face.
“Lyrik. What’s wrong?” Tamar managed, her voice quivering with a shock of dread.
Hands curling around the doorframe, he swallowed hard, the tattoo on his throat bobbing as his eyes skated the room, instinctively moving to land on me. He glanced back at Tamar. “Need to talk to my sister. In private.”