The Long and Winding Road (The Seafare Chronicles 4)

“Not all of us are you.”

“Hey! I don’t do any of that!”

“You’re a vegetarian. How am I supposed to know that?”

“Children,” I say with a sigh.

“I am not a child,” both of them growl at me at the same time. It’s really rather disconcerting just how much they sound alike. How much they sound like me.

“Can I speak with Izzie, please?” I ask Ty, who still hasn’t moved out of the way.

“Are you going to make her sad?” he retorts.

I smack him upside the head.

“Hey!”

“Don’t be stupid,” I scold him. “Go downstairs and keep your boyfriend company. You know how he gets when you’re away from him for too long.”

“That’s ridiculously codependent and unhealthy,” Izzie mutters.

“Welcome to the family,” Ty says before stepping forward. “Stay right there for a minute.” He shuts the door behind him and looks back at me. “What the hell.”

I sigh. “He didn’t mean it. And according to Creed, he’s kicking his own ass right now. No one plays the martyr like Otter Thompson.”

“No one except for you. Or me.” He frowns. “Wow. That is unhealthy.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should change that.”

“Meh,” he says. “I’m set in my ways.”

“Creed is making JJ play the guitar for him as punishment.”

The Kid makes a face. “No one deserves that. Not even Otter.”

“I got this, okay? Go downstairs, keep Dom company. Or better yet. Go home.”

“Kicking me out already, Papa Bear? I might get the idea that you don’t want me here anymore.”

I reach up and put my hand on the back of his neck, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. “I always want you here,” I tell him quietly. “You know that.”

He hums a little under his breath. “Yeah. I know.”

“I’m glad she had you to call. Thank you for coming for her.”

He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I just—I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I know.”

“And you are too, right?”

“Yeah. Or I will be. He’s…. It’s getting close.”

“The babies.”

“Yeah. And one of us was bound to crack first. I just thought it’d be me.”

“You’re stronger than you think, Papa Bear,” he tells me. “I wish you’d remember that.”