“I wouldn’t have won that title if you hadn’t shown up with my girls,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fuck. I wouldn’t be half the surfer I am if you hadn’t been by my side tearing it up all these years. I know this ain’t much, but it’s the fucking least I can do.”
He presses his fingers into the corners of his eyes as he shakes his head. “Fuck me. If you tell anyone you saw me cry, I’ll kick your ass.”
“You’re five-nine. I’ve got five inches on you. I think I can take you.”
“Dude, I’m Japanese and I’m lactose intolerant. All I have to do is eat some pizza and drop some payback for Hiroshima on your ass. Boom!”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “Too soon, man. Too soon.” He laughs as I pat him on the back and head for the exit. “Enjoy the board,” I call out. “I gotta pick up Lindsay at the hospital. She’s being discharged in a couple of hours.”
“Tell Baby Yuri his uncle said hi,” he shouts back.
I try not to speed on my way to the hospital, but it’s hard when I can’t fucking wait to see my boys again. And no, I haven’t named either of them Yuri. Actually, we haven’t named them at all yet. We’ve tossed around potential names, mostly the same ones we were contemplating while Lindsay was still pregnant, but none of them feel right yet.
I park Lindsay’s SUV in the lot at New Hanover Regional Medical Center and make my way back to the Mother/Baby Unit, where I’ve spent the past two nights sleeping on a very uncomfortable sofa bed in Lindsay’s room. Well, sleeping isn’t really the right word for it. I’ve been trying to give Lindsay the opportunity to rest whenever she’s not breastfeeding two hungry newborns, which basically means I’ve been dozing off intermittently between feedings and diaper changes.
Kaia and Mila have been staying with Grandma Lillian, who has been surprisingly civil with me since we returned from Hawaii three days ago. She actually brought Lindsay and me homemade dinner two nights in a row so we wouldn’t have to eat hospital food three times a day. Though, as a dietitian, I think it was partially out of concern over the nutritional value of the cafeteria food.
Lillian’s obsession with nutrition, combined with Lindsay’s father’s death, may have been the cause of Lindsay’s eating disorder. This used to piss me off, to the point that I got a little testy with Lillian on a few occasions while coming to Lindsay’s defense. But I now see that Lindsay’s going to turn that negative experience into something incredibly positive when she starts working at the Chrysalis Center in three months.
She wanted to wait until the babies are six months old, but there’s no reason to wait. The sooner she can start making a difference in the lives of people dealing with these debilitating disorders, the sooner we will both begin to settle into our new routine. And for the next two and a half years, that routine will consist of me training for the next Olympics and taking care of the kids. Lindsay will be working at the Chrysalis Center while studying for her master’s in Applied Psychology.
I know I’ve inspired hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, of people through my surfing career. But I can continue to inspire people by being the best surfer and father on my own terms. The championship tour is not the right arena for me right now. Next stop for me is the Olympics. And Lindsay and I have already agreed that if necessary, we’ll hire a nanny or two to get us through difficult patches.
I enter Lindsay’s room and find that Lillian and my mom are already there, each of them snuggling a baby. “If you take them now, we won’t charge you,” I say, making my way to Lindsay to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“Limited-time offer?” my mom replies, closing her eyes as she nuzzles her nose into the patch of fuzzy hair on the baby’s head. “Can you throw in the other two angels as an after-Christmas sale?”
“You’ll pry them out of my cold, dead fingers,” Lillian replies from where she’s standing near the window that looks out onto a courtyard, which looks exceptionally gray on this gloomy December afternoon.
I place my hand on my mom’s shoulder, smiling as my little man sleeps peacefully in her arms. “Christmas isn’t until tomorrow. We can negotiate after that. Speaking of Christmas… What did Adam say to his wife the day before Christmas?” My mom rolls her eyes as she anticipates the punchline. “It’s Christmas, Eve!”
“Who are you calling Eve?” Lindsay replies.
I reach behind me and she gives me a low-five.
By the time we get home, both of our mothers are already parked along the curb. I may have been driving a bit slower than normal. Just trying to make sure my heirs make it to their thrones in one piece.
Michael and my dad are in the front yard with the girls, stringing blue Christmas lights around the base of the forty-foot palm tree in the corner of the yard. “Your brothers are home!” he cries out as Lillian and my mom get the boys out of their car seats while I help Lindsay out of the car.
Kaia squeals as she comes running toward the SUV. “Can I hold him, Grandma?” she asks Lillian.
“Not yet, baby,” I answer for her.
“Why not?” Kaia whines.
Lindsay grabs my arm as I lead her up the front walkway. “Wait till we get inside, sweetie.”
I grin as I anticipate Lindsay’s reaction when we go inside. It wasn’t easy keeping our surprise a secret from Lindsay when I’ve been at her side practically every second of every day for the past forty-eight hours. But with a little—okay, a lot of—help from Lillian and my mom, and a few others, we managed to pull it off.
Lillian hands the baby off to Michael, then she holds the front door open for Lindsay and me to enter. My stomach is in knots as I anticipate her reaction.
As soon as we step inside, Yuri and Lena jump out from behind the sofa, each of them wielding a wooden spoon and a spatula as they yell, “Surprise!”
Lindsay flinches, her grip tightening on my arm as she laughs and makes her way into the living room. “You can’t surprise a woman in my condition. I’m liable to piss myself.”
My dad clutches his cowboy hat against his belly as he hoots with laughter.
“Lindsay!” Lillian chastises her, shooting a glance in Kaia’s direction to indicate the need to watch her language.
Lindsay waves off her mom’s rebuke. “I just pushed two humans out of me. I’m allowed to say the word piss for at least nine more days.”
I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, but Lillian shoots me a look. “She has a point,” I say with a shrug as I lead Lindsay into the kitchen.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers when she sees the Christmas buffet Yuri and Lena cooked.
A dozen platters of ham, various potato dishes, salads, and desserts are spread out across the kitchen island. The kitchen smells like a warm cinnamon hug. The breakfast table is set for six, and a folding table nearby is set up with two adult and two children’s place settings.
My mom hands the baby off to my dad so she can rub Lindsay’s back as she begins to tear up. “Jim and I will sit with the girls. You sit down over here,” she says, taking Lindsay by the hand and pulling a chair out at the head of the table. “Do you need a pillow?”
Lindsay nods as she wipes away tears. “Yes, please.” She turns to me as my mom disappears into the bedroom. “Did you do this?”
I smile as I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I couldn’t do much from the hospital. It was mostly these miscreants,” I reply, nodding toward our parents and Lena and Yuri. “But there’s more. Hurry up and eat so I can show you the rest.”
“Why can’t you show me now?”
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh. First we feast, then we open presents. No changing the rules. I don’t care how many monkeys you pushed out of you.”
Yuri leans in and whispers loud enough for everyone to hear, “On second thought, maybe you should give her that package of adult diapers now rather than later.”
Lindsay gasps and smacks his arm.
“Hey!” he cries. “It was your joke.”
She smil
es, shaking her head as my mom lays a pillow down on the chair so she can sit. “At least this is nice and absorbent,” she says, patting the pillow before she takes a seat.
I pat Lindsay’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll get you a plate.”
My mom bites her lip, trying not to laugh as I head into the kitchen and grab the apron my mom made for me yesterday. Kaia laughs as I sling it over my head and my mom ties the back, which prompts Lindsay to try to look over her shoulder to see what’s so funny. But Yuri blocks her view as I serve her up a plate with all the fixings. I bring the plate to the table and she shakes her head when she sees the words #2 Mom stitched in pink thread on the front of the black apron.
“Here you go, dear,” I say, placing the plate in front of her, then I grab her napkin and tuck it in the front of her shirt.
She laughs hysterically as she reaches up and grabs my face to plant a loud kiss on my lips. “This is the best Christmas present ever.”
“This is not your present,” I reply. “This is just the pregame show. Hurry up and eat and I’ll give you the real present.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Lucky me.”
Once everyone has eaten, I help Lindsay out of the chair. “Come with me.”
The family watches with bated breath as I lead Lindsay toward the master bedroom, but I close the door behind us. The moment she sees it, she begins to cry.
The master bedroom is completely decorated and tidied up. In the corner of the room, where there was no furniture before, stands a sleek glass desk with a brand-new laptop and desk chair. On top of the desk is a red briefcase and a silver collage photo frame with a picture of us on our wedding day, a picture of each of the kids—even one of Lindsay holding the twins in her hospital bed. And the picture in the center of the collage, the one that anchors all the rest, is a picture of her father, Jacob Harris.
Her hands tremble as she covers her mouth and turns her face into my shoulder. “I can’t believe you did this.”
I stroke her hair as I kiss the top of her head. “I promised you I was going to be here for the kids while you went to school, but talk is cheap.” I grab her head, tilting her face up to look her in the eye. “I wanted to show you that I mean it. This is your space from now on for you to do your business stuff, unless it’s time for the #2 mom to get a foot rub.” I wink at her and she laughs. “I never want to be without you again,” I murmur as I lean in and kiss the corner of her lips.
Her face is serious as I pull away. “I didn’t get you anything,” she says, staring at my chest.
I tilt her chin up. “Are you kidding me? You got me two humans for Christmas. I know I can’t outdo that, but I’m sure as hell gonna try.”
“Speaking of… we should probably name those two humans.”
I smile as I brush a tear off her jaw. “How about Jacob?”
She nods as she presses her lips together and tries not to cry. “I was thinking Myles,” she replies.
I nod as I start to get a bit teary-eyed myself. “I think Jacob and Myles sound like perfect names.”
She lets go of me and turns around to face the desk again. “Now we just have to do eenie-meenie-minie-mo to see which boy gets which name.”
I shrug as I follow her toward the desk. “It doesn’t matter. They won’t know their names for, like, two years, right? We can just call them Thing 1 and Thing 2 for now.”
She shakes her head as she traces her fingers along the shiny glass surface. “What’s with the red briefcase?” she asks.
I smile as I grab the case and set it down on the bed. “Open it.”
She looks a little apprehensive as she reaches for it. “This isn’t going to release one of Yuri’s farts, is it?”
“No, I couldn’t afford that.”
She smiles as she undoes the latch on the briefcase and lifts it open. Pulling the two tickets out, she gasps when she reads the words. “Bora Bora? For two weeks?”
“I think it’s about time we have a proper honeymoon. Plus, in three months you’ll be working. I thought we should do it before then.” I hold up my hand to stop her from speaking. “I made sure the resort was tick-free.”
She drops the tickets into the case and throws her arms around my neck. “You’re the number-one mom. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
I laugh as I wrap my arms around her waist, being careful not to squeeze too tightly. “I’ll expect a new apron for Christmas tomorrow.”
She buries her face in my neck. “I’ll give you anything you want tomorrow… and forever.”
I chuckle as I bring my lips to her ear and whisper, “I’ll take forever.”
Thank you!
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If you were to die right now, what is the one thing you would regret most? This is a question often heard on sputtering first dates, inane personality quizzes, and the exact moment before you die. Well, maybe you won’t actually hear it when you die, but you’ll think it. And when you peel the answer back to the smallest kernel of truth, the reply is simple and true and always the same: love.
Whether we regret not having found someone to love or not having told someone we love them just one more time, the regret is still as real and sharply visceral as a knife in your gut. No one wants to die that way, tormented by regret. But, despite our constant bombardment with this message in various self-help books and motivational quotes, very few people actually ever summon up the courage to approach each day as if it were their last.
I thought I had my life figured out. I thought I’d discovered the formula for both personal and professional fulfillment. To me, happiness was merely a mindset people either did or didn’t choose to adopt.
I was wrong.
When it was my time to die, the question blazed through my mind almost as fast as my car sped off that embankment. What is the one thing you will regret most? And the answer, which came to me just as suddenly, echoed in my mind like the glug-glug sound of the water rising on all sides of me: If I died right then and there, I would always regret not knowing if he was okay.
* * *
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The Way We Fall
Preview
Ready for some more passionate, angsty romance? Turn the page for a preview of The Way We Fall, another epic love story from Cassia Leo.
About The Way We Fall
Five pages. A letter holding a secret buried for more than five years. A secret neither of them wanted to know.
Five years after their messy breakup, Houston and Rory are forced to work together opening up a new wine bar. Despite their tragic past, they find themselves once again drawn to each other, unable to deny their potent attraction.
But the secret of the letter hangs like a guillotine over their heads. And soon, Houston finds himself in the same position he was in five years ago, choosing between the truth and the only woman he’s ever loved.
Lies are comforting. Soft blankets we wrap around our hearts. We roll around in them like fat, happy pigs. Gorging on their decadence. We prefer lies, though we claim otherwise. Trust me. If ignorance is bliss, b
elieving lies is orgasmic.
I should know. I’d subsisted on a steady diet of lies and orgasms while Houston and I were together. And now that he was standing before me, five and a half years after the breakup, six-foot-four inches of solid muscle and caramel-brown hair, offering me my first dose of reality, part of me wondered whether my body would reject it.
Houston sighs as he looks me in the eye. “Rory, I came here because I told you I would tell you the truth and I intend to keep my word.”
“The truth about what?” I spit back, imbuing my words with caustic venom, hoping he’ll feel just a fraction of the agony he’s inflicted on me. “It’s over Houston. There is no truth that needs to be spoken anymore.”
He shakes his head, his blue eyes filled with regret. “I wish that were true.”
He reaches into his back pocket and my stomach drops out. My limbs becomes heavy as I watch him retrieve a white envelope. I think part of me knows what’s inside that envelope. Has always known. But lies are powerful. And it seems Houston’s lies had the power to make me stop looking for answers when they were right in front of me, tucked away in the warmth of his back pocket.
“She left a note.”
My eyes are locked on the envelope as memories swirl in my vision. The first night Houston and I slept together. The hours that came before. I begin ticking off the lies one by one, but when I move past our first night together, the lies mount up too quickly. A mountain of fiction too high for me to see over.
“Not Tessa. Hallie,” he says, mistaking my horror for confusion.
The anger sets my blood on fire. I land a hard shove in the center of his chest. “I hate you!”
“I didn’t want you to read it until you were strong enough.”
Skippy barks as I pound on Houston’s chest, half-expecting to hear a hollow thump where his heart should be. He drops the letter and grabs my wrists to stop the onslaught of violence.