Getting Real (Getting Some 3)

All of us—the boys, Stacey, me, and Violet—who buried her face in my arm through most of the movie, because it’s creepy as fuck.

It felt a little strange hanging out with my ex-wife and my girlfriend at the same time. But it was also good—really good. For the boys, for all of us.

Sometimes I think about what I’ve learned from the experiences of the last few months. If there’s a lesson in it that I can pass on to my kids. And I’ve concluded that the moral of the story is simple but significant—the good ones usually are:

Sometimes life can be a straight-up asshole . . . but then it gets better.

And that better can end up being more perfect than you ever dreamed.

* * *

One Saturday afternoon, when Vi and I are both home, a bunch of Aaron’s friends—the guys from the football team—come over. From the kitchen, I hear them talking in the other room.

“Only you, Daniels. You can’t just break your leg—you gotta pulverize it. Overachieving motherfucker.”

“It’s a gift,” Aaron replies dryly and I picture him shrugging and smiling in that smart-ass way he has.

Then they all laugh. I pick Aaron’s laughter out of the din, and for a moment I stand there and close my eyes and just listen to my kid laughing.

“Best sound in the world, isn’t it?” Violet says beside me. Because that’s how it is with us—we get each other—know each other inside and out.

“Yeah.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Though I can think of a few sounds that are definitely close seconds.”

I slide my hand into the back of her jeans, palming her ass. And she squeaks out a sexy little surprised gasp.

I give her a wink. “There’s one now.”

* * *

After New Year’s, the hospital bed gets tossed out of the house for good. And Aaron goes back to school on crutches for the spring of his senior year.

I’ve never seen a kid so happy to go back to school.

If all goes as planned, he’ll hang up the crutches over the summer—just in time to pack up and ship him to the University of Maryland for his first year of college. He says he wants to major in sports medicine, to be a physical therapist or an athletic trainer.

My brother Garrett is thrilled by this development. And words don’t exist to describe how proud I am.

In early April, a warm front sweeps into New Jersey, making the air feel more like June.

Vi and I have the afternoon off and the boys are in school, so I ask her if she wants to go for a jog on the trail behind her old house. I’ve always loved this town—it’s why I was determined to raise the boys here—but these woods in particular have a special meaning to me now.

Because that’s where Violet and I really started.

We jog beside each other in easy silence and then I stop for a water break—by the big boulder where she tied her shoe last year. I almost kissed her for the first time in this exact spot—and later, at her house, I did.

But I don’t kiss her now . . . at least not yet, though that’s on the menu.

Because she’s just that awesome, Violet unknowingly puts my plan into motion when she says, “So your birthday’s coming up.”

“Yep.” I nod. “The big 4-3.”

“I don’t suppose you want to give me a hint about what you’d like? You’re kind of hard to shop for.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah . . . I mean a motorcycle is obviously out of the question.”

“Obviously.” I chuckle.

She moves closer to me, running her hand up and down my chest.

“And I already spoil you with naughty lingerie on a regular basis.”

I smirk, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

“That you do—lucky me.”

Vi grins up at me prettily, her long ponytail gleaming in the sun that finds us through the trees.

“So what do I get the man who has everything?”

I look into her beautiful eyes and my voice goes soft.

“A little girl would be really cool. Don’t have one of those yet.”

Violet’s breath catches in her throat.

“Another boy would be awesome too,” I continue. “They’re always fun.”

Violet’s voice is airy when she speaks, her gaze tender.

“Connor . . . is that your way of telling me you want to have a baby with me?”

“It really, really is.” I press a kiss to her lips and repeat her own words back to her. “One would be amazing, two would be even better.”

“Oh my God!” Excitement flushes on her face and she lifts her arms to wrap them around my neck.

But I’m not nearly done yet.

I sink down to my knee—one bended knee—and reach into my pocket for the small velvet box I picked up from Zinke Jewelers last week.

“I was hoping we’d be married when the first one gets here . . . but that’s up to you.”