The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,163

the left, wearing his and Ember’s two-year-old, Quinn, in a rugged, framed backpack. Next to him stood Jagger, with Annabelle, his and Paisley’s thirteen-month-old, in a front carrier. Then came Grayson, who somehow managed to look even bigger with Delaney, his and Sam’s fifteen-month-old, strapped to his chest. Finley walked Peyton through the smaller waves just in front of them.

And then there was Jackson.

My Jackson.

I slipped my hand into his and peeked at our sleeping son, who was tucked away in the sling Jackson wore. Grant was three months old, and he was…everything. His little breaths were even through his tiny, perfect lips, and Jackson had him completely shielded from the sun as he napped peacefully. We’d named him after Jackson’s father, and all three of us had fallen in love with those big, blue eyes at first sight.

Jackson pressed a kiss on my forehead and slid his arm around my waist, pulling me close. He was an amazing father—no news there—and Finley had jumped headfirst into the role of adoring older sister. We were now a family of four…with six pets.

“If you wake him, you wear him, Kitty,” he joked in a whisper.

I laughed. If the roaring of the ocean and the booming voices of the men beside us didn’t wake Grant, nothing would. The kid slept like a champ.

“You’re fixin’ to have some pretty awkward lines with that thing,” I noted, devouring the bare skin of his chest and stomach with my eyes.

“You can always lay out naked with me and help them fade.” His lips brushed my ear.

A shiver slid down my spine.

“Jackson Montgomery, we have company!” I dropped my jaw and raised my eyebrows in mock indignation.

He laughed.

Leaning my head away from Grant, I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Fin, there’s cobbler!” It had become her favorite dessert this year. Last year it was apple pie, and who knew what she’d pick next summer?

Her eyes lit up, and she raced out of the waves, her hand still gripping Peyton’s.

“Can we get some?” Fin asked, looking up at me with an excited smile.

“Fine with me, but he’d better ask his mama.” I smoothed back an errant curl.

“Aunt Paisley, can Peyton have some cobbler?” Fin asked down the line, where Paisley stood with Jagger. “You want cobbler, right?” she asked Peyton like an afterthought.

“Mama, please?” he asked, jumping. That boy might have looked like Paisley, but he was all Jagger, constantly moving.

“It’s okay with me,” she answered.

“Yes!” the two exclaimed at the same time.

They took off at a run, kicking up sand.

A few years ago, I never would have thought I’d be raising my kids with Paisley’s, and sometimes the sheer reality of it, the happiness that flooded my heart when we were all together like this, was too much for words.

We wouldn’t all be together like this again for a while. Jagger had just gotten home, but Josh was headed out one last time in a couple of months—his last deployment before his six years was up and he’d be eligible to get out of the army. Grayson would be gone before Easter.

This was a rare, complete moment, and I knew none of us would take it for granted. We’d all learned that we couldn’t control the storms in our lives, but we weathered them better when we were together. Phone calls, Skype, texts, and visits—we always made time, and I had the feeling that we always would. Friendships like ours, forged in fire, were the kind that lasted.

Ember lifted Quinn from the carrier, then took off after the spitfire toddler when she made a dash for the waves, scooping her up and blowing kisses on her neck. Slowly, everyone but Jackson and I headed back to the barbecue, leaving us alone on our beach.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, stroking my side.

“How long it will be until we’re together like this again.” I hooked my arm around his waist and leaned into him.

“Bittersweet?”

“A little, but I’m just happy for the time we have.” I looked up at him, and my heart filled to bursting. “I’m happy for every day I have with you.”

“And I’m happy for every night, so we’re even.” His smile made me glad I’d passed the six-week postpartum mark a while ago.

“I love you, too.” I rose on my toes and kissed him long and slow.

Rotor blades beat through the air, and we broke apart, watching as the Jayhawk flew overhead, heading out to sea. My stomach clenched, but it wasn’t