Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six × Do The Math

"Erik. I'm so glad you could make it." My mom exclaims, a beaming smile spreading across her face. She's carrying two large boxes of what appear to be baked goods - and smell like it, as well. That's just in one arm; with the other, she's holding the hand of my youngest - and currently only, niece, Micah.

She's one of the five kids that my brother and sister-in-law have had in the last ten years. Yeah. He's only twenty-eight and has five kids; so, do the math. He's the one that I'm closest to in the family and I would consider him one of my closest friends, but he's certainly different than I am.

Whereas his wife (Cassidy) is a stay-at-home mom and makes his lunches - even on the weekend, I'd be caught dead before asking Rosie to be a housewife. Even once we have kids, that would only be something she would decide, whereas he made it practically a requirement. I guess it makes sense - save the money on a nanny and have your other half stay home instead. But seeing how it affected my parents relationship, I don't think it's one to be taken lightly.

Someone always ends up being resentful and the other person ends up being more oblivious than a blind man in a shopping mall. "Here. Let me grab that." I offer, immediately taking the boxes from her hands putting them on a nearby end table. Knowing what an end table is, is another thing I only know from watching HGTV with Rosie.

Another? That it takes approximately 22 minutes for a couple to decide to buy a house and exactly five to make my girlfriend come. Okay. So, that's a record. But it doesn't take too long; and even if it did, I kinda enjoy it. Okay, I really do.

"Uncle Erik." One of my nephews shouts when he finally makes it through the front door. With five kids, going anywhere is like having dinner with the Brady Brunch; or going on a family Vacation with that family from Nineteen Kids and Counting. I'm not sure if that's the title or not.

"Hey buddy. How's it going?" I ask him, laughing when he practically superglues himself to my leg. That's the nice thing about being an Uncle - you're the cool one, the one everybody likes. As long as you're not the creepy uncle, but then again, I guess when you are the creepy Uncle maybe you don't realize you're the creepy one. Or maybe you do, but don't care.

I'm not sure which option would be better.

"Good. We got hot chocolate." My nephew, Noah, tells me, thrusting the - once full but now empty, Starbucks cup out into the air. He does it as if the hot chocolate stained around the rim of his mouth wouldn't be enough of an indicator. I grab a nearby baby wipe that Cassidy seems to have stockpiled around the place - even though they're only here for the same amount of time as us, and clean up his mouth.

I guess that's the nice part about being an Uncle - you only have partial responsibilities. Much like a father with custody only every other weekend, the amount of parenting you have to do, is few and far between. The majority of your interactions are positive and you get to be the one that they get to do cool things with.

I think Rosie and I would make great parents; we'd make a great team. And that's what parenting really should be - a team effort, rather than a one-on-one game. Or a "don't tell your mom" when your wife isn't around. You gotta be on the same page about things and consult each other before making big decisions. That's what marriage is, teamwork.

"Who are you?" Noah asks, looking up at Rosie as she tries to blend in with the wallpaper - unsuccessfully. If it came from anyone else but a child you would think it'd be sassy and someone wondering why you're encroaching on their humble abode. But coming from a kid, it's always wondering.

That's one of the beautiful things about kids, they're always wondering; learning; curious about new things. They don't pass judgement, they're not confined by the rules of society; they march to the beat of their own drum. Sometimes, I miss being a kid.

Not the whole, being six years old thing and eating my own boogers - or worse, someone else's. I mean not having to worry about what other people think; how your actions might impact them. Because although I don't particularly give a fuck about what other people think about me, I would be lying if I said it doesn't impact the way I operate.

When you're in the public eye, you always have to watch what you do. And being team captain, it's even worse. I have to make sure I'm setting a good example for everyone else: coming in early, being the last one on the ice, doing the right thing - no matter whether it's what I actually want to do or not. Like, would I rather miss practice and stay in bed with my girl? Yes. Will I? Unfortunately not.

"This is Rosie." I tell him, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to me. She's temporarily stopped cracking her fingers but I know the urge must be killing her. Hopefully being close to me will help; I know it's helping me, her touching me. "She's my girlfriend." I explain, not wanting to get wrapped up with titles but also not wanting him to think she's a friend or something.

Not that it would matter one way or another to a kid, but I'm sure for Rosie it would be a little weird. Also, she's far, far more than a friend. She's my best friend. And also my future wife. Hopefully, you know, if she says yes. Which I'm counting on - me and the massive rock I intend to buy for her finger.

"What's a girlfriend?" Micah asks. She's their only girl (so far) and is a vampire for information. She's constantly looking to learn more and wait for the facts before passing judgement. Unless it has anything to do with boys, because boys are still gross at her age. Apparently, we have cooties. Who knew?

I let out a laugh, exchanging a look with Rosie whose cheeks are as red as a traffic light. How does one explain a girlfriend? "She's what your mom was before I married her." Link answers on my behalf, before beginning to hustle their kids down the hallway and towards the coatroom.

I mean, he's not wrong.

Before I have a chance to really explain any further, or tell Rosie she's so fucking cute when she's acting all shy, the door opens again. Three more people come in. One of which is in a baby carrier; the other two? My parents.