Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

Early Monday mornings at Wildheart are near impossible to beat. It’s a slow start, the quiet hum of music drifting from the radio on the front desk, the soft purr of the cats lounging in their pods while they wait for their forever homes, stretching lazily in the sunshine, bellies out and begging for scritches.

There’s a certain peace that comes with being the only one here for an hour or two while the rest of the world wakes up from their weekends. It’s a safe type of happiness, in a bubble of contentment, pretending for just a moment that we’re not all restarting on Mondays, rushing out the door, and gearing up for a long, drawn-out week where you can barely stand by the end of it.

A wet nose nudges my pocket, and I smile down at Piglet. “You like Monday mornings, too, huh?”

What she really likes is the treats tucked in my pocket. Her nose spots those things from a mile away, and she won’t stop looking up at me with those ginormous gooey-brownie eyes until I give her one. Or five.

“You’re irresistible, you know that, Pig?” She takes the treat from my palm and trots happily beside me, making our way to the cat sanctuary, her favorite place to be. Turns out she’s got a mothering streak a mile wide.

She’s been incredible with Adam and Bear on our weekly hikes, and though she still seems so utterly depressed when I head to her kennel first thing in the morning, the moment she spots me, she leaps to her feet, tail wagging, tongue out, ready for any adventure. On quiet mornings like these, I wear her lead around my waist, let her walk around the shelter with me. She loves the newfound freedom, but, God, these cats. I don’t think she’d ever seen one before, judging by the way she stared with the widest eyes at the first one through its door for five minutes straight, not moving a single muscle.

And then that cat stood, stretched, walked right over to Piglet, and touched her tiny pink nose against her big, wet black one, and all hell broke loose.

Piglet leapt into the air, spun around butt first, and promptly dropped to her back with her belly up, ready to play with the fluffball. She’s been great socialization for the cats, and they for her.

Archie thinks Piglet will be ready for adoption soon. The thought makes my palms itchy and my throat thick. So badly, I want her home to be with me. I don’t want to have to say good-bye to her. I want to be the person she trusts, the lap she throws herself in every morning, the face she covers with kisses.

But she deserves more than me. More time, more money, more space. I’ve got the love; I just don’t have anything else. And Piglet deserves it all, not just the scraps.

A car door slams out front, followed by deep laughter, and I peek out the front window as two men approach the entrance. Piglet cocks her head, hesitant but curious.

I smooth the spot between her eyes as she nuzzles her head in my palm. “You want to say hi, girl? Are you up for it?”

She stays glued to my leg as she follows me to the front desk. When our guests stroll in, she scurries behind me, nearly stuffing her entire face in my butt.

“You’re safe, Pig,” I tell her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

“Oh shit,” one of the men murmurs. “That’s Piglet.”

My forehead crumples. Maybe Archie’s been sharing her picture on the shelter’s social media page. Sometimes he does these photoshoots with ridiculous hats, and they go viral . I don’t understand it, but people always rush in to see the animals afterward. Maybe my Pig has gone…viral.

Ugh. I don’t like the sounds of that.

The men are about my age, maybe a bit older. One with golden waves and turquoise eyes, the other with brown hair and tattoos. Both ridiculously large and attractive, with happy, easy grins and a presence around them that seems oddly…warm. Friendly. They also both have mustaches, one brown and one blond, but the shape is so identical, so clean and perfect, they almost look…fake.

Yes, I’m certain these mustaches are fake as hell, but I don’t know why.

Piglet doesn’t seem to second-guess the mustaches, shoving her head between my legs, sending me toppling sideways into the desk, her nose going a mile a minute while she sizes them up.

“She’s fucking cute, dude,” the tattooed one whispers to his blond friend.

“Sorry. This is Piglet. She’s one of our rescues, and she’s learning to trust men. And yes, she is super cute, and she knows it.”

The blond crouches down, smiling at her. “We won’t bother you, pretty girl.”

Pig’s tail starts thwacking against the desk. She doesn’t get any closer, but the tension in her lithe body dissipates as she looks between us.

“Can I help you guys?”

The blond leaps to his feet and shoves a hand through his hair, looking to his friend with wide eyes. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we were gonna…” He slaps his friend’s chest with the back of the hand. “You were gonna look at those…those…cats.”

The tattooed man claps his hands together. “Yeah! Yeah, I was gonna look at those cats! For you, though. ’Cause you wanted to get Jennie a…a cat. For her birthday.”

“I’m not fucking getting her a cat. It starts with one, next thing you know I’ll have five cats and three dogs and I’ll be sleeping by myself on the couch.” He jabs his friend in the shoulder. “You’re getting the fucking cat, douchewaffle.”

“Uh…right, so…” I thumb toward the cat den. “Cats?”

“Yeah,” that tattooed one says, shooting a feral look back at his friend. “But we’re just browsing, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” That’s how it always goes, mostly, and then they’re back a week or two later, just to see if the cat they fell for is still here. Then a couple days after that, and another day after that, this time with adoption paperwork, a crate, and a brilliant smile to take their new friend home. We have one of the highest turnover rates in Vancouver. Our cats are rarely here more than a few weeks, unless for medical reasons. Archie says it’s thanks to his cats in hats photo sessions.

Piglet and I lead the way to the cat den, and as the men’s hushed whispers trail behind us, I’m fairly certain they’re talking about me.

“It’s definitely her…pink hair…no, dude, he didn’t say it was all pink, he said it had pink in it.”

My hand goes to my hair, curling around the rose ends. For a moment, I wish I blended in with the cream-colored walls.

“She heard you, dipshit. Now she’s gonna think we don’t like her hair.”

A throat clears, and I glance back, ears heated, as the blond man offers me a kind smile. “Uh, I like your hair. It’s really pretty and unique.”

His friend’s head bobs. “Yeah, and super cool. It suits you.”

My shoulders inch away from my ears, and my hand falls from my hair. “Thank you.” As I step into the room, Piglet yanks me toward a cage full of kittens. They’re her favorite, rambunctious and full of love, and they’re feral for her.

“Holy fuck.” The blond pokes his finger through the gated door, and a tiny black fluffball attacks it. “Look at this cutie.”

Tattoos rolls his eyes. “As if you’re not adopting a—oh my fucking shit. ” He stops in front of our newest arrival, a giant ball of white fluff with a few strategically placed orange blobs, like the ones on all four paws and around his right eye. “Who’s this squishy marshmallow?”

“He doesn’t have a name yet. He just came in a few days ago. He was left behind when his owners moved out of their apartment, so we don’t have any documentation on him.” The cat flops over when I open his cage, paws in the air, belly on display. The man steps forward without hesitation.

“Oh shit,” he chuckles, ticking his belly. “You’re a cute little fucker.” Lifting one paw, he frowns. “Is it just me, or does he have too many toes?”

I nod. “He’s polydactyl.”

“Poly-what’ll?”

“Polydactyl,” I giggle, watching as he hoists the cat into his arms like a baby. “He’s got an extra toe on each paw, but it doesn’t impact his life.” I scratch at his chin. “Just more of you to love, huh, bud?”

“It’s like he’s wearing mitts. Huh, buddy? That’s what your name should be.” He buries his face in the cat’s belly, and the cat mewls, licking the man’s wavy hair. “Mittens.”

The blond snickers. “Mittens? Wow, big, tough Jaxon.” His mouth opens on a silent scream as his friend’s fist lands square against his shoulder, and he clutches the injured limb while slapping at his friend’s face. “Ow, you donkey!”

The cat—Mittens?—hisses and swats at the blond. The man—Jaxon?—hides his smile in his fur. “Good boy, Mittens.”

I grin at them. “You two would make such a cute couple.”

Jaxon pulls his mortified face from Mittens’ belly. His friend’s jaw drops, and he steps back.

“No, but I—I have—Jennie’s my—I have a Jennie !”

Jaxon gestures at him with one flail-y arm. “And I’m way hotter than him!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“I’m a huge upgrade for you!”

Jaxon shoves a finger in his shoulder, and the cat hisses and swats at him again. “You’re a fucking downgrade, bud! Mittens thinks so too! And Rosie. Rosie, tell him!”

I cock my head, frowning. “How do you know my name?”

Both men stop fighting, and maybe breathing. They lock eyes, fear taking hold of them, stretching across their faces. The blond’s mustache dislodges from his face, hanging on to the corner of his mouth for dear life.

He comes to life then, shoving his hand in his pocket, bringing his silent phone to his ear. “Jennie? You-you need me? Okay, yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Jaxon tucks Mittens back into the cage. “Sorry, Mitts, gotta go!” He makes it three steps before rushing back, popping a kiss on his furry head, whispering, “Love you, chunk.” He waves over his shoulder, jogging down the hall after his friend. “Bye, Rosie! Bye, Piglet!”

Through the window, we watch them hightail it into their car and speed down the road.

I meet Piglet’s gaze, as lost as mine. “Men are weird, Pig. Don’t tie yourself down, girl.”

“You said you were going to drop him off to me at work.” I shove the stroller through Brandon’s door and blink the rain from my eyes. I’m soaked to the bone, my hair a matted mess.

Brandon doesn’t look away from the TV. “Yeah, but then it started raining, and I didn’t wanna go out.”

“You have a car,” I remind him, catching Connor as he crashes into me, scooping him into my wet chest and hugging him tight. “I’m so happy to see you, buddy.”

“If you don’t wanna walk, then maybe you should get your license and your own car, rather than expecting everyone else to accommodate you.”

Blood rushes to my ears, thrumming angrily as Brandon tips back a beer, watching a baseball game. “I don’t expect anyone to accommodate me. I do expect the father of my child might sometimes share the effort and drop him off or pick him up so that I’m not always the one doing so.”

He tosses a handful of chips into his mouth. “Sounds like it’s your expectations that are the issue then, Ro.” Finally, he glances at me over his shoulder. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

Everything inside me bubbles to a rolling boil, despite the chatter of my teeth from my soaked body and the chill of the air-conditioning. I clench my fists before strapping Connor in his stroller and tucking his stuffed kitten into my bag, ignoring Brandon.

“What’s that big bag for?”

“We’re going somewhere,” I mutter.

“Where?”

“To my friend’s.”

“You don’t have any friends.”

I close my eyes to the outburst brewing inside me. “I’m seeing someone, and we’re going to spend some time with him.” It’s our first sleepover, and I’m a lot less excited about it now that I feel like a drowned rat and Brandon has so lovingly pointed out that I look like shit.

Choking sounds from over my shoulder, and though I’m tempted to leave and hope nature takes its course, I glance over my shoulder as he sputters on his beer.

“You have a boyfriend?” His eyes darken, dropping down my body, a smirk tugging up his lips. “Where’d you find him? On the corner?”

“You’re being a jerk.”

“I just mean—and hey, no offense—but you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself. You’ve gained some weight.”

Anger clenches my jaw. I focus on Connor, his wide green eyes set on mine, so full of love and concern. “I had a baby.”

“Sixteen months ago. Can’t use that excuse forever, can you? Plus, you had a c-section. Isn’t that the easy way out?” Brandon turns back to the TV, crunching another handful of chips. “Don’t take it to heart or anything. You just gotta start hitting the gym or something.” Another swig of beer. “Don’t want you setting a bad example for our son.”

A bad example? Like refusing to keep your son for your time because he’s having a difficult day and you don’t want to deal with it? Not showing him the love he needs and deserves because you’d rather hang out with your friends and get drunk? Or talking down to his mother in front of him, making her feel like shit so you can feel better about yourself?

The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue, burning like acid. But like I’ve done so many times before, I force myself to swallow them down, to feel the burn myself, like I somehow deserve it more than he does. Like I’d rather he forget about me like everyone else in my life has, and maybe if I’m quiet, he will.

But his words prickle at my skin, as sharp as the stinging rain slapping at my face as I stomp toward the bus stop, Connor safe under his rain shield. And when the sky opens up with a boom of thunder and a clap of lightning, something inside me opens, too, pouring down my face to remind me how weak I am, how weak I’ve always been, even when I’ve tried so hard to be strong.

The heavy, humid air becomes suffocating, and through the mixture of rain and tears, I can barely see the sidewalk in front of me. Can barely see the truck slowing down, stopping alongside me. The dark curls that pop out, rush over to me, covering me in an umbrella, the handle shoved into my fist.

But I feel the heat of his hands as they pull me into his body, an embrace that’s so much more than warm. I feel his lips at the crown of his head, his fingertips as they grip my chin, feel his mouth take mine without hesitation, the way his tongue glides so effortlessly against mine before he finally pulls back, letting us both breathe.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper as he lifts Connor from the stroller, plopping a kiss on both his cheeks as my sweet boy squeals with excitement for his dada .

“Couldn’t have my two favorite people walking in the rain,” Adam says simply as he buckles Connor into the car seat in the back of his truck. He closes the door and turns to me, smile slipping off his face. “Why are you crying?”

“I-I’m not,” I insist pathetically, swatting at my tears. “It’s the rain. It looks like tears, because, water, but it’s-it’s…” I sniffle, then hiccup, and drag the back of my wrist across my nose. “I’m not crying.”

He takes my face in his strong hands, thumbs swiping at the droplets rolling down my cheeks. “Then I’ll kiss the rain away,” he murmurs before his lips touch my cheeks, over and over, tiny kisses that make everything better and worse at the same time. And when I fall apart in his arms, he simply holds me against him, his voice in my ear, telling me he’s with me.

And I know he is. I know it by the way he keeps his fingers twined through mine, one hand on the steering wheel the whole drive back to his house. As I stand at the bottom of his staircase, watching him and Connor practice going up and down for ten minutes, the way Adam scoops him into his arms, twirls him in the air, and celebrates every time they make it back down. When he pulls out the wooden stool he built just for Connor so my little man can stand with him at the kitchen counter while they make dinner together.

And when he glances over his shoulder and smiles at me and his dog snuggled on the couch with a glass of wine, I realize I’m finding a home, a family, right here with a man who walked into my life one afternoon and never looked back, chose every inch of me, not just some of me.

“Are you anxious about heading back to school in a few weeks?” he asks me as we wash the dishes side by side after dinner, Connor and Bear playing on the living room floor.

“Yes,” I admit with a sigh. “My school schedule is so demanding, and this year will be even more so. Connor and I never spent so much time apart.”

“What’s your biggest worry with that?”

“That he’ll think he isn’t my priority. That he’ll feel less loved, less important.”

“I get that.” He hesitates, like he’s sorting his thoughts. “My schedule starts to pick up in September, too, and I’ll be out of town a lot. I think I’ve been a little worried about you feeling less important to me too.”

“I don’t think it’s about the time we have, but how we spend it when we’re together.” I press a kiss to his bicep before pressing up on my toes and fusing my mouth to his as his forehead comes to rest on mine. “And you always make me feel important when we’re together, Adam.”

“And I think you always make Connor feel important and loved when you’re together. So I get where you’re coming from, and I know you’re feeling guilty, but if it’s any consolation, I don’t think there’s a way in hell that kid over there feels anything other than so loved by you.”

Pressing my lips together to hide my smile, I squint up at him, poke his stomach. “I see what you did there. Sneaky boy.”

He chuckles, winking. “For what it’s worth, I am genuinely worried. But I know I’ll do my best to make you feel important, just like I know you’ll do your best with Connor, because you always do. You do it effortlessly, Rosie.”

“Maybe it seems that way, but it’s not easy.”

“No, because effortless doesn’t mean easy. It’s effortless because love is meant to be natural, something you feel so deeply and nothing can change it. But all love is hard sometimes.”

“It’s worth it though, isn’t it?”

He smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear before kissing the tip of my nose. “It’s always worth it.”

“Dada?” Connor appears between us, tugging at Adam’s shorts.

Adam ruffles his hair. “What’s up, little trouble?”

“Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo?”

“Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo?” Adam’s brows pull together as he repeats the sounds, trying to figure out what Connor’s asking for as he drags him into the living room. “Yeah, we can ee-ya, ee-ya, bo. For sure.”

Connor points at the TV. “Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo, Dada?” He puts his hands in the air and starts dancing around as Adam keeps repeating the sounds, almost silently, trying to piece them together. “Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo !”

Adam blinks, then throws his head back. “Oooh! E-I-E-I-O?”

Connor grins, clapping his hands as Adam finds a music video for “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” “Ee-ya, ee-ya, bo !”

My heart smiles so big as Adam scoops Connor into his arms, dances around the living room with him without a care in the world, the two of them singing at the top of their lungs, laughing, quacking like ducks, mooing like cows, meowing like cats. This man is so at home with a child in his arms, like it’s a role he was always made to fill. That he does it so effortlessly, and with nothing but enthusiasm, only makes me fall that much harder.

“Old MacDonald” turns into “The Wheels on the Bus,” about seventeen times over while I sit and watch, snap a few pictures that quickly become favorites, and as I’m about to break up their party and tell Connor it’s bath time, Adam’s phone vibrates on the counter next to me.

“You have a phone call,” I tell him.

“Not important,” he says through his laughter, Connor and Bear crawling on top of him.

“It might be. They’re calling again.”

“All right, c’mon, buddy.” He stands, flipping Connor over his shoulder, carting him into the kitchen with one hand while he squeals with laughter. Adam takes his phone, frowning at the call before declining it. “Don’t recognize the number. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.” He drags Connor over his shoulder, the two of them nose to nose. “It’s someone’s bath time, and I might have gotten some special blue bubbles, just for you.”

Connor gasps, chanting one of his favorite words as we head upstairs. “Bub-bow ! Bub-bow !”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I murmur a few minutes later as Adam dips him in his bath, boats and ducks floating along in a sea of turquoise bubbles. I peek over my shoulder at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling above the playpen, the tractor nightlight casting a dim glow over the room, and something thick clogs my throat.

“Sure I did. He’s part of this relationship too. I want him to feel like he has a space here, and I never want you to feel like you have to deal with something on your own.”

There’s that R word, the one that stops everything inside me except the frantic race of my heart. I want to ask him about that, where we are and where we’re going, especially with the end of summer looming. Me, back at school, in my busiest year, and him back at work, traveling with the athletes he works with. The worry etched on his face earlier in the kitchen seeps into my bones, but not because I think I’ll be any less important to him. But because, after a summer full of him, of us, the idea of going so many days without seeing him, without being wrapped in his arms, held under the steady weight of his gaze, draped in his affection…it floods me with a startling emptiness.

It’s in this moment, with Connor gazing at Adam with so much adoration as this man gives him all his attention, loves on him, acts silly with him, and just…has fun with him, I realize how full life has felt with him in it. Connor’s always been the only family I needed, but I think with Adam…maybe he completes us.

Adam runs his hand up the back of my thigh, squeezing. “Connor and I can manage bedtime on our own. Why don’t you go run yourself a bath to wind down? Don’t wanna brag, but the one in my room is the best there is. There are eighteen jets.”

“Eighteen?” I breathe out.

He winks. “Eighteen.”

God, I can’t remember the last time I had a bath. The idea of relaxing for a few moments, peace and quiet where my mind is all my own, it sounds…well, to be honest, it sounds made up.

I take Connor’s face in my hands, pressing a kiss to both cheeks, his nose, and then his tiny pout. “Can Adam put you to bed tonight, baby?”

Connor points to Adam. “Dada.”

“Adam.”

He pats Adam’s hand and smiles. “Dada.”

“Ad—” I sigh. “Okay. Yeah. Mama loves you, buddy. If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

The oversized tub in the corner of Adam’s bathroom is every bit as glorious as he promised. There’s even a stack of fluffy towels and a brand-new bottle of bubble bath waiting for me, like Adam planned for this.

I turn the faucet until the water runs steamy and pour in a generous helping of bubble bath. Sweet vanilla mint and coffee fills the room, and I close my eyes to the smell. My bag waits for me on the bed with clean clothes to change into, but so does one of Adam’s clean, oversized T-shirts, and I’d so much rather be draped in him.

Connor’s stuffed kitty catches my eye, and I cart it back down the hall. He never sleeps without it. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

They’re still in the bathroom, the quiet lap of water, musical giggles, and soft words drawing me in. I stop short at the crack in the door, both boys covered in bubble hats and bubble beards, Adam’s elbow on his knee, chin propped on his fist like he’s deep in thought. It’s a ridiculous sight, but one that makes me warm from the tips of my ears all the way down to my wiggling toes.

“I was thinking you could help me ask your mama to be my girlfriend,” Adam murmurs to Connor, and my heart stops. “What do you think about that, little trouble? Would it be okay with you if I was Mama’s boyfriend?”

Connor plops a heap of bubbles on top of Adam’s already bubbly head. “Dada, bub-bow!” He pats his head. “Hair.”

Adam reciprocates the gesture, coating Connor’s face in another layer of bubble beard, until it hangs halfway down his chest. “You’re really special to me, buddy, and so is your mama. That’s why I want her to be my girlfriend. Do you think Mama would like that?” With a big sigh, Adam gently drops his forehead to the edge of the tub. “I think so. I hope so. Crap, I don’t know, buddy. What if she says no?”

“I won’t say no,” I blurt, a pair each of excited green eyes and nervous blues coming to me as I push through the door. Dropping to my knees in front of Adam, I take his face in my hands, fingers pushing through layers of bubbles. He looks so ridiculous and adorable, it hurts.

“You are the most beautiful, kind, and thoughtful man on this planet. My heart is already yours. No isn’t an option, Adam.