Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (71 page)

New York might as well have been a foreign country, but I was a fast learner and I had the best teacher. Once I got the hang of the city's flow, I relished life here. There was always something new, always some restaurant to check out, always some band playing somewhere we could see, always some new adventure in the park, always something moving and changing and it didn't take me long to fall in love with it.

After 30 years stuck in a town where nothing ever happened, the city was a welcome change.

Luckily enough, I'd managed to catch a building right at the perfect time about four months after we moved here. It wasn't exactly the size I'd been hoping to find and it'd needed more than a little spit-shine to get it ready for business, but the location was what sold me. This way, I was always close by and at the end of the day, that was what really mattered.

Finally, I turned down our street and took the steps two by two to get inside faster. The snow was really starting to come down now and I had to stomp my feet a few times to get all the build-up off my boots as I unlocked our front door.
When I shut the door behind me, I waited. Depending on the day, my welcome could vary. Sometimes I had so many arms wrapped around me I could barely move. Sometimes I was treated a little indifferently if I was interrupting. Sometimes I just heard their voices calling out to welcome me home.

I didn't find any of those welcomes now. The whole place was dead silent, which was particularly disconcerting considering Cooper usually barked his ass off when I came through the door.

It was just too damn quiet.

My heart pounded as I slipped off my snow-covered boots and coat. Swallowing back some irrational panic didn't really help either. There was probably a logical explanation for why I still stood here by myself.

And I didn't wait to find out either.

I swiveled around to the kitchen, only to find some leftover drawings of motorcycles and crayons sitting on the table. Okay, next option. I took our stairs two-by-two, ignoring the stiffness in my knee, and headed right for the nursery, sticking my head in the doorway and finding it empty yet again. My lips curved up a little—this room always managed to calm my nerves.

Pale yellow walls cocooned the room with a crib against one side of the wall and a comfy love seat on the other. Gender neutral, Isabelle had called the paint color, and as always, her foresight was spot-on. Books were piled high on a bookshelf right next to the rocking chair, which was exactly where I'd half-expected to find them. That was still his favorite hang-out even if this wasn't really his room anymore.

I slapped my hand on the door frame in frustration and let my eyes drift over the delicate, winding mural of two intertwined trees with their branches reaching out above the crib. That sight would never get old.

There was one more place I needed to try before I could really let the panic set in and I tip-toed down the hallway until I could push our bedroom door open ever-so-slightly. My breath left my lungs in one long sigh of relief.

Of course they were still here. Where else would they be?

Isabelle was nestled into her pillow, her hair fanned out around her like something out of a dream. Beautiful. Peaceful. Mine. And there, curled into her arms was the reason I couldn't love her more. He shifted a little in her arms and blinked back at me as I padded closer.

"Hi, Daddy."

I smiled down at him and reached out to push some blonde hair away from his forehead. "Hey, Connor."

He shot me a wide, gap-toothed grin even as I moved my attention to his mother, whose eyes, the same eyes I saw mirrored in our son, watched this interaction with a softness I was seeing a lot of these days.

"Hey, Iz," I murmured as my lips found her skin and she smiled into my kiss.

By now, Cooper finally remembered he had a job to do and leapt off the bed, huffing and puffing a measly bark until I ruffled the fur on top of his head.

"You're home early," she mused, staying right where she was, all cuddled in the warm blankets and pillows even as Connor reached out for me to pick him up.

"Just wanted to get out of there and get home, I guess," I grinned as Connor wrapped his arms around my neck.

"What did you guys do today?" I asked him.

"Mommy tired," he informed me in that sweet little voice I'd never get enough of.

I glanced at Isabelle, who just shrugged against the pillows like this was really nothing new, which in retrospect, really wasn't, and I turned my attention back to Connor. "Yeah, but you remember why, right?"

He nodded, reaching out to tug the scruff on my chin. I laughed and gently pried his fingers away.

"What else did you do?"

"Play with Tooper. Read book. Legos," he rattled off easily and reached for my goatee again even when I batted his hand away. "Ice cream!"

I laughed and glanced at Isabelle. "Ice cream? Today?"

"I know," she just rolled her eyes at me, but that soft look in her eye bounced right back when her gaze shifted to Connor. "Mommy had hot chocolate instead."

She tossed the comforter back, but that was about as far as she got. I shifted Connor to my hip a little more and pulled her up until she slid out of bed carefully, and a little stiffly too, I noticed. As soon as she had two feet on the ground, my arm slid up her hip and I smiled when her swollen stomach pressed into my side.

"You feeling okay?"

She nodded, her face flushed just enough to let me know this exhaustion was nothing but normal. Nothing to be worried about. I leaned down, brushing my thumb across her cheek, and kissed her before Connor tugged on my chin again.

"Potty, Daddy," he whispered in my ear.

"Okay, buddy," I whispered back. "Thanks for telling me this time."

He just nodded shyly. There was no need to rehash the epic potty training fail we'd had the night before that ended with me covered in piss from the waist down and Isabelle laughing her ass off.

"Well, I think this is as good a time as any to get dinner going," Isabelle reached out to scratch Connor's belly. "Hey, Con-man, tell Daddy what we're making for dinner."

He didn't hesitate.

"Pizza!"

My shoulders shook with laughter and I smiled as Isabelle and Connor exchanged kisses before she started out of the bedroom with Cooper right on her heels.

"Pizza
and
ice cream all in one day?" I told him, cocking an eyebrow at him. "You must've been really nice to Mommy, huh?"

He nodded slowly with a faux-innocence that had me wondering if maybe there was a little more to their day than what they both let on.

"Oh hey, Caleb," Isabelle called over her shoulder, her voice catching as her hand rested on the doorframe. "You got some mail today."

Judging by the way that softness in her voice dropped into something more sober, I had a pretty good idea what mail waited for me in the kitchen.

"Dom?"

She just nodded, shooting me a weak, supportive smile, and disappeared down the stairs. I blew out a deep breath and squeezed my arms around my son, reminding myself once again that I was a lucky son of a bitch to be here right now.

Dom's letters had started about six months into his sentence, right after he'd gotten released from the medical ward, and right after my first visit with him. From what I could tell, and the little he gave away in his letters, I was pretty much the only one he had any regular contact with outside of his lawyer. Lex had visited regularly when he was still in the hospital, but once you get a 25-to-life sentence with little hope of parole, your marriage doesn't really have a leg to stand on.

His letters were disorganized, muddled with random musings about everything from prison politics to prison food most of the time and other times, he wanted details about my family and my business, but regardless of topic, they kept coming. That was what I needed to focus on.

They didn't come often, but when they did, I made sure to get my reply in the mail the next day. I guessed it had less to do with what was left of our friendship and more to do with the sharp reminder of what could've been, of what our lives could've been like if we'd made different choices that night, and neither of us wanted to forget that.

But, for now, I'd have to shelf that letter until after we put Connor to bed. Reading Dom's letters was better done when I could take a few moments to myself and read them in solitude where my family couldn't see the emotions that came with reading them.

"Daddy," Connor tugged on my chin to get my attention. "Havta go
potty
."

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

Once we were in the bathroom, we went about our normal routine. Connor didn't really want much help from us at this point, but since he wasn't completely ready to be in the bathroom by himself yet, I leaned up against the door, trying to give him as much space as possible. I stared at the tiled floor and swallowed hard, thoughts of prison, orange jumpsuits, and losing life as you knew it flashed across my mind. It wasn't exactly easy to get down there, but I tried to make the trip a few times a year. It looked like I was going to have to make that trip again sometime in the near future.

"Daddy?"

I glanced up and grinned at Connor, who was sitting on his little potty chair and staring up at me in furrowed concentration. "Yeah?"

"I get kitty soon?"

A hard laugh escaped my throat and I shook my head. Persistent little shit.

"You know what Mommy said and she said we have to wait until after your sister gets here. Just a couple more months, buddy. You remember what I told you?"

He grumbled a little under his breath and shifted on the seat a little as he shot me his patent stink eye. I crouched down to get a better look at him.

"We always do what Mommy says because Mommy's always right."

Isabelle also had a theory that once the baby was here in a few months, Connor would completely forget about wanting a cat. She was probably right about that, too.

Connor's head tilted to the side and he giggled, shooting me that toothy, adorably dimpled grin that made me melt into a puddle at his feet.

"And hey, you know what?" I went on, pushing off the door and crouching down to his level. "Guess who you're gonna see tomorrow?"

Connor hesitated for a second, contemplating what was happening tomorrow that he needed to remember and then his blue eyes flashed with excitement. "Grandma!"

"That's right," I laughed and helped him pull his pants back up. "Grandma's gonna come over and play with you while Mommy gets some work done."

At first, my mom was too swallowed in grief to do much besides cry and drink herself into a coma, but the second we found out Isabelle was pregnant, she changed her tune pretty quickly. Just a few weeks later, I was helping her move into an apartment a few miles away from our brownstone.

Since then, my mom and Isabelle had found an easy rhythm, falling back into the routine they'd had years ago when they worked together, and shared a schedule that worked for everyone: Isabelle stayed home with Connor every other day of the week and my mom babysat on the odd days Isabelle went to her studio a few blocks away to work.

I wasn't completely sold on this happy-family act my mom played at every time she was here, but if she wanted to have a relationship with my son, I wasn't going to be the one to stop her.

"Still want kitty, Daddy."

Nothing if not stubborn and persistent—the best and worst of both his parents, I supposed. With a sigh, I lifted him up to the sink so he could wash his hands and I wondered how many times I'd have to have this conversation. Not necessarily
this
conversation, but given that he was only two, I had a feeling the advice I was about to give him was the same advice I'd be handing out for years to come.

I sat him down on the sink to face me so I knew I had his attention.

"I'm gonna tell you something really important, okay, Con?"

He nodded seriously, his eyes wider than the rest of his head, and I had to bite back a smile.

"Everything worth having in life comes with patience. You have to work for it and you have to wait until the time's right."

Connor studied me carefully, like he was actually processing what I'd told him, but I knew most of it flew right over his head.

"You wanna go help Mommy make pizza now?"

He nodded furiously, reaching up to me so I could lift him off the sink. He took off, skidding right for the stairs and I thought my heart just about leapt out of my throat.

"Slow down, buddy!" I called after him.

Connor glanced over his shoulder, shooting me a look I was all too familiar with, and slowed down just enough to keep from tumbling down the stairs and hitting every step on the way down. My eyes closed and I scrubbed both hands over my face before I followed in his wake.

I rounded the corner to the kitchen, stopping short and leaning against the threshold to give myself a moment to take it all in. My wife lifted our son up onto a stool so he could hover over the counter. She kissed the top of his head and he patted her pregnant stomach with a wide grin. Then they got to work, pushing the pizza dough around the pan with their palms, their heads leaning in with twin expressions of determination.