The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(66)

“I want his autograph for Christmas. And I heard he sings. Have you ever sang with him? I’ll bet he sings like an angel. Did you know he had a hearing problem when he was little? And that’s why he doesn’t talk a lot? We are so much alike. He’s my favorite. And his baby is sooooo cute. One day, they walked past the store, but they didn’t come in, and when Mom told me, I cried, because if he’d come in, she could’ve asked him to sign my skates, but he didn’t, and he’ll probably never come back, and he should come back, because he could be my dad. I mean my pretend dad. Not a real dad. His wife’s okay, but she’s no Ares, you know?”

I ease Hudson to the ground and steer him around his sister to safety. “There can really only be one Ares.”

“Do you know him? Like know him know him?”

I’ve met him a few times, which I will not be confessing to Piper. Especially since no isn’t a lie. I’m not sure many people know the real Ares Berger. “I don’t, but—”

“How can you not know him? Jesus. What good is it to be famous if you don’t know Ares Berger?”

Zoe rolls her eyes. “Do I need to go get your bodyguard?” she asks me.

“Very funny.” I try one of the shape up looks my mom used to use on me, and it fails completely. “Piper. No more talk about hockey until the dishes are put away.”

“The dishes are put away.”

“Did you two finish vacuuming the living room?”

“Zoe won’t let me plug it in.”

Zoe huffs. “She always plugs it in backwards.”

“Do not! You do!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Piper. You’re only seven.”

“They’re always like this,” Hudson announces.

Seriously. Fucking. Amazing.

Also, my mom’s getting a new car or—fuck.

Not a new car. Her boyfriend could give her that.

Maybe I can buy her a gazebo with a fully-stocked bar and a heater for use in winter. Like a she-shed, but fancier. Seems like something a single mother would appreciate. Twenty or thirty years late, but it’s the thought that counts, right? Making up for past wrongs in not doing it sooner?

“I plugged the vacuum in,” Giselle announces, “and anyone who doesn’t get their rump into the living room to take thirty-second turns pushing it while the other one moves furniture will have to drop and give me twenty.”

All three kids look at each other, shrink a little from Giselle, and then dart for the living room.

“I vacuum first!” Zoe yells.

“No, I do!”

“Me me me! What does twenty mean? Do we have to give her our allowance?”

“It means push-ups, idiot.”

I eyeball my bodyguard. “I thought you didn’t babysit.”

“You were clearly being assaulted by a seven-year-old. I did what I had to do. You can send my Christmas bonus to a women’s shelter. And increase it by fifty percent.”

“Doubled, and done, and you’ll still get your normal Christmas bonus.”

“Had enough?”

I shouldn’t smile. I’m exhausted. I don’t know how Ingrid does this day in and day out. But I can also see how it’s worth it.

She’s raising three funny, smart sparks of light who’ll take the planet by storm one day.

It’s like an entire world right here in one small space.

Giselle folds her arms. “You’re in over your head.”

“Yep.”

She starts to open her mouth again, then shakes her head, gives the squirrel a look that makes him freeze, then rocket out of the tub and down the hall before she follows the animal.

She doesn’t have to say what she’s thinking.

None of them do—not my employees, my friends, or my family.

Ingrid doesn’t need one more complication. If I’m in, I’m in. No playing. No dabbling. No when it’s convenient for me.

If I’m getting involved in her kids’ lives, if I want to be more than a one-time babysitter, then my entire life has to change.

Everything I’ve ever thought I wanted has to change.

Since the minute my piano lessons clicked, I’ve never wanted anything beyond being a musician. I’d still play ball with my buddies in our parents’ driveways. I’d jump in both feet first whenever someone recommended fun. In high school, I took girls to homecoming and prom, because that’s what my buddies did, but I always knew none of them were my future.

Subconsciously, I caught on to how much Mom did for Tripp and me. And I caught on to the fact that she worked a desk job to support us instead of following her own dreams.

Mom can sing.

Mom can sing circles around me.

My first year solo, I brought her out with me for part of the tour. Had her sing on stage with me a few times. And I know—I know—that she would’ve loved this life for herself, but that she would’ve given it up in a heartbeat for Tripp and me.

Hell, she did.

So there’s never been a question in my mind.

I can be Levi Wilson, single pop star, or I can be Levi Wilson, the guy who walked away from it all for a woman.

I’m not unhappy being by myself. I’ve never felt like anything’s missing from my life. But I also light up from the inside out when Ingrid pushes through the door thirty seconds after we get the vacuum put away.