bun and a few tendrils escape, framing her pretty face. She’s not wearing a ton of makeup, but I can see hints of sooty lashes and rosy cheeks. She is long and lean, taller than my five-foot-six-inch frame, but she’s also wearing heels. She takes one step in our direction.
“Mom.” Her heads snaps to the right. “Dads.” Milo nods at the three men I haven’t even glanced at yet. He passes them and heads right for his mother. Her face morphs the seconds she sees him. The confusion melts away to a beautiful smile that reaches all the way to her pretty light blue eyes.
“Milo,” she responds with an unabashed joy as he makes his way over and wraps her in a tight hug. He’s a few inches taller than she, so not by much, but he dwarfs her in size. When he pulls back, she doesn’t let go. Watching him from arm’s length, she grins at him.
I glance away from them long enough to see the three men openly staring at me. It takes everything in me not to slide behind Ares’s wide back and pull Dante with me. Two of the men are big—not Ares big, but close. The third man is shorter, maybe an inch or so shorter than Milo. I know immediately which one is Milo’s biological father. It’s the eyes—he has the same navy-blue eyes as his son.
Is that hard on them, or does it even bother them? I glance at him now. He’s in jeans and a fitted, button-down shirt, just like Milo’s other dads. All of them look fit, and I would never guess that any of them were old enough to have a child Milo’s age.
I inch my hand over to Dante’s chest, barring it across him like I’m somehow protecting him, but I don’t sense any threat. I think I’m just really nervous. The man furthest to the left tilts his head, his eyes watching my every move. “Milo, is there something you want to tell us?”
I hear a throat clearing as Milo turns to face our group, an easy smile on his face as he raises his hand, gesturing over to us. My fingers itch to pull him over. I feel beads of sweat dotting my upper lip. When did it get so hot? Is Ollie doing this to me?
“Laura, I’d like you to meet my parents. Linda,” he wraps his arm around his mom’s tiny waist, “Matt, Phil, and Stephen.” He points to Matt first, the one with the same striking eye color as Milo. Phil turns to look at Milo, then back at me. Stephen lifts his fingers up to rub the stubble on his jaw.
“No shit,” Matt curses, his eyes going between me and back to Milo at a rapid pace. Linda reaches around Milo and swats his arm, and it looks to be more of a habit than an actual reprimand.
She takes a step forward, her eyes only on me. “You’re…” She clears her throat and tries again, “Are you?” Her shoulders fall the tiniest bit, and she looks over at Milo, a helpless little expression on her face.
“Yeah, she’s ours,” Milo confirms, releasing his mom and heading over to us. Ares takes a step away, making room for Milo at my side as I make a distressed noise—totally unintentional, but there all the same. So, instead, he moves behind me, and Ollie scoots over so I’m more in the middle of them.
If they think my behavior is strange, no one acknowledges it. Phil goes over to Linda’s other side, not quite touching, but close enough too. Stephen just grins, he tries to hide it behind a big hand, but gives up rather quickly. “Laura, huh? When did you find this rag-tag group?” Matt’s eyes twinkle, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was Ollie’s dad.
Trying to find my voice, I croak, “A few weeks ago.”
I hear a gasp. “Milo Andrews,” Linda says in that mom voice every kid knows. His back goes rigid.
“Oh, boy.” Phil rolls his eyes. “You’ve done it now,” he mutters, bracing his arms over his chest.
“I cannot believe you hid this from me!” Linda’s voice goes from angry to weepy in a matter of seconds. I can’t see any tears, but the emotion is clear in her tone.
“Mom,” Milo’s voice is whinier than I’ve ever heard it, “it’s not like that. I didn’t want to keep it from you.” He looks behind me at Ares, his nostrils flaring