Rebel Soul

Asher watches me as I drag the highchair out into the entry hall, making it the first thing Stacia will see when she enters. Once it’s situated just right, I start arranging all of the other goodies I ordered for her, because go big or go home is kind of our gift-giving style and even though I’ve splurged like crazy on all of this, her agreeing to marry me will be the most epic gift of all.

On the floor to the left of the highchair is a massive bouquet of wildflowers. And to the right is a glossy white gift box with a gold bow tied around it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I slide it out. Holy shit! They’re ten minutes away! Without bothering to respond, I shove the device back into my pocket and grab Asher, car seat and all.

“We gotta get a move on, little man. Your mama’s gonna be here soon and everything needs to be perfect.” Asher coos and reaches his pudgy little hands up toward me.

In his nursery, I make quick work of changing him into the onesie I had made for the occasion before hoofing it back downstairs. Once my little guy is secured into his highchair, I fly back to our bedroom to grab the ring box.

Right as I make it back to Ash, I hear the sound of tires on gravel, letting me know they’re here. “It’s go time, mini-man,” I say to my son as I place the ring box down onto the tray of his highchair.

Stacia

AJ’s been acting cagey all day. When she wasn’t whispering to her husband, she had her nose in her phone. She picked me up at eight this morning for a girls’ day, which Brock promptly crashed at lunchtime. And we’ve been running around ever since.

Now, it’s almost five and my makeup is flawless, my hair is on point, and my nails are fresh. I look like a thousand bucks—which is fitting because it’s probably what West spent on my primping. Pretty much, I’m dressed up for a night on the town and all I want to do is go home and snuggle up on the sofa with my two guys.

“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask when Brock passes the turn-off for my house.

“I was thinking before we took you home, we could check out the progress on the new house,” AJ says, answering for him.

I manage to hold in my frustration—shockingly. More than anything, I want to go home, take off my bra, and just…be. She doesn’t have kids yet, I remind myself and some of my discontent slips away.

“I guess, but don’t expect much. West says they won’t be finished until the end of the week, so I imagine it’s probably a mess.”

AJ wiggles in the passenger seat and claps her hands together. “I know, I know. It’s still exciting though!”

When we roll up, I’m expecting there to still be construction materials in the driveway, but there’s nothing there. “They left the outside lights on,” I murmur as Brock pulls into the driveway.

“All the better to see inside with,” my bestie singsongs and I laugh.

“C’mon, let’s get this over with.” We all climb down from Brock’s massive truck. “Let’s peep in the windows and hit the road.”

“Or…” AJ hedges, “we could try the front door!”

Scoffing, I say, “Girl, it will be locked.”

“Let’s just try,” Brock adds, backing her up like the good little husband he is. Kiss ass, he’s a total freaking kiss ass.

“Shit better be locked,” I grumble under my breath as AJ drags me up the front porch steps.

“It’s open,” Brock says when the door handle gives way under his touch.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I try and pull my arm out of AJ’s grasp. “Let me call West, he needs to know—”

Brock pushes the door open and my best friend yanks me forward and over the threshold. The sight before me both boggles my mind and fills my eyes with tears.

The house isn’t under construction, not at all. It’s more than finished; it’s furnished and looks like my Future Home Pinterest board come to life and in the middle of the foyer are my two guys looking as handsome as ever.

West drops down to one knee. “What…what is this?” I gasp, struggling to come to terms with everything before me.

“Shh, baby mama, I’m trying to make you my wife.”

“What?” I ask again, because clearly my brain is not functioning at its usual capacity.

West remains kneeling and nods his head toward our son. He coos under my attention and it’s then I notice he’s gnawing on a ring box and not a toy of some kind. “Whatcha have there, mini-man?”

He reaches for me with one hand and I pick him up. “Can Mama see that?” I ask, trying to pry the drool-covered velveteen box from him. As I finagle it away, I read the words printed on the front of his onesie aloud. “Will you marry my daddy?”