The bonds of family aren’t regulated by blood. They’re defined by love and an open heart.
Bryn and Michael Mettler have lived a life that many can only dream about. The two men had a whirlwind romance and ended up happily married. Bryn played hockey for the Pittsburgh Ravens, and Michael worked at a job he loved in web design and writing a successful humor blog. They also doted on Mike’s nephew Liam as all good uncles should.
They’ve welcomed a new member into their small but loving clan. Made strides to heal a fractured past hurt. Traveled the world and settled into their new home and lives with great joy. The only thing missing was a child of their own. That absent piece is now here, and their lives are about to change in a million charming, unexpected ways.
We arrived at the massive park with ten minutes to spare. Even after a shower and a Pop-Tart, blueberry with frosting, and two cups of hastily drank coffee, I was sure I looked like death warmed over.
“I should have shaved,” I muttered as we hustled around the Edward Bigelow monument on our way to the Westinghouse Memorial and Pond. To meet Bridgette. My heart was racing.
“You would have sliced your throat open,” Bryn replied, the warm spring air playing with his immaculately styled brown hair.
“With a disposable razor?”
“It’s fine. Men always wear fashionable stubble.”
“No, you wear fashionable stubble. My whiskers are just…unfashionable whiskers.” Joggers passed by, some alone, some moms with babies in those running baby stroller things. “Oh my God, I forgot to call Kelly! What if she’s having the baby?!”
Bryn stopped just as the small pond by the memorial came into view. He turned to look at me, his dark eyes deadly serious. I called it goalie vision. That intense, locked on stare that the fans would catch a glimpse of when the camera moved to Bryn during a game.
“If she were in labor she would have called, or Adam would have. She’s not due for another day. Take a deep breath.” I did. Then shook my head. “Take another one.” I did and that one helped a little. “Good. Now, this morning is going to be perfect. We have a small inexpensive gift for her.” I held up the bag with the books in it. Bridgette loved to read. She was far ahead of the other children in her class. We’d purchased her some lovely diverse LGBTQ books from our favorite feminist bookstore a few blocks from the house. The bag was packed with fun and educational reads that we hoped a brilliant second grader would enjoy. “Good. Now, it will all be fine. This meeting will be perfectly fine.”
“Right yes. I’m sure it will be. I’m having a fretting attack.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He pulled me into his arms and the frets began to drift off like the dandelion blows that would soon burst into life.
“There’s so much riding on this,” I whispered beside his ear.
“I know. And it will be wonderful. You’ll see.” He pressed a kiss under my ear then one to my lips. I gave him a nod and a wobbly smile, and we set off once again, hands joined. When we were close enough to the memorial, we spotted them. Bridgette and our caseworker Carolyn Frasier. I nearly stumbled over Bryn’s sharp loafers and went into the pond as I gawked at the little girl we’d been so anxiously waiting to meet. She was a petite thing, quite thin, with light brown hair neatly braided into a plait that ran down her spine. She was wearing a light blue T-shirt with sloppy denim overalls and vibrant yellow high-top sneakers and was making a rubbing of the names on the memorial. Bryn and I exchanged grins then slowly walked up to the little girl and our caseworker.
Carolyn tapped the young miss and pointed our way. Hazel eyes flew from her rubbing to us. There was a quick spark of excitement that was shuttered quickly. Now there was only a wariness in her gaze, which saddened me but wasn’t unexpected. Bridgette had been in the system for two years now and had met several couples who were looking to adopt. Each one that she had met had opted for a younger child, one with a less tragic past.
USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.
