The Legacy (Off-Campus Book 5)
The Legacy: Part 3 – Chapter 22

Part 3 – THE HONEYMOON

The Day Before

Nothing humbles a man like fatherhood. I used to walk the cobblestone paths of Briar University in my hockey jacket while starry-eyed chicks threw themselves at me. Now, I’m walking through our Boston suburb at the beginning of June with a miniature person in pink bedazzled ruffles leading me by the hand. Then again, I could be the dinosaur’s dad. All over this indoor playground, the costumed characters that have inhabited our kids like demon possessors fight mythical battles and create complex societies in their secret language that both perplexes and alarms.

The other dads and I are huddled in our corner, watching the children play. Most of the men are in their thirties, which makes me the youngest dad of the bunch. When they found out I had Jamie at twenty-two, half were impressed and the other half asked what I had against condoms. I get it, though. Raising a kid is exhausting.

“Christopher’s six weeks into his dinosaur phase,” Danny, the dinosaur’s father, says when someone finally asks about the stage-worthy outfit. “First he stopped using utensils. Now he eats with his mouth straight off the plate because ‘dinosaurs don’t use hands.’” He punctuates with air quotes and exasperation. “His mom has all the patience in the world, but I’m gonna draw the line at serving my three-year-old raw meat on the floor.”

The rest of us burst out laughing.

Considering the alternative, Jamie’s princess phase is light work. Gluing rhinestones back on every night after she’s spent all day wreaking havoc in that dress is not the worst daddy detail I could get.

When Jamie saunters over a couple of hours later, eyes heavy and wavy auburn hair falling out of her ponytail, I notice she’s short a few accessories.

“What happened to your tiara and jewelry, little darlin’?” I scoop her up because she’s liable to fall asleep on her tiny feet. “You lose them in the rope tunnel?”

“I gave them away,” she answers, resting her cheek against my shoulder.

“Now why would you do that?”

“Because Lilli and Maria wanted to be princesses too, but they didn’t have any princess stuff so I gave them princess stuff.”

“Aw man,” Danny says to Mark. “How come he gets the sweet princess, and I get the kid who tries to eat the dog?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind parting with your things?” I ask Jamie.

“Nope! There should be more princesses.” Then she snuggles closer, and I almost melt into a goddamn puddle.

She’s such a sweet kid. I hate having to say goodbye to her tomorrow. I’m going to miss the heck out of her, but this honeymoon is long overdue. It’s been a month since the wedding. A whole damn month. But now that Sabrina’s officially graduated from law school, I can finally pry her away for some adult alone time.

My plan is to spend the next ten days making my wife come six ways to Sunday.

“See you in a couple weeks, fellas,” I tell the other dads, before picking up Jamie’s pink sequined bag and carting my sleepy daughter out of the building.

When we get home fifteen minutes later, my mom’s car is parked in front of the bar. Doesn’t matter how many times I see that sign—Tucker’s Bar—I still get this surreal feeling washing over me. I opened this place right after Jamie was born, and in nearly three years I’d already turned a profit and opened a second location near Fenway. What I hadn’t gotten around to doing yet is moving my little family out of the upstairs apartment. I mean, there isn’t anything wrong with living on top of a bar, and sure, our loft space has plenty of room for the three of us. But I want Jamie to have a yard. I want Sabrina to have a proper office. Maybe one for me too.

Now that Sabrina’s done with school, it might be time to do some house hunting. I make a mental note of it as I carry Jamie upstairs via the narrow staircase at the side of the brick building. I hear Mom and Sabrina in the kitchen when we step through the front door.

“We’re back,” I call. I put Jamie down, and she groggily waddles toward the sound of her mother’s voice.

“She usually wakes up between seven and eight,” Sabrina is telling my mom, standing at the kitchen island. “She’ll tell you what she wants for breakfast. She’s got cereal and oatmeal in the pantry. Some yogurts in the fridge. I precut fruit for the next couple days, or you can slice some bananas on top. She’ll tell you she wants toast or a muffin, which she can have, but she’ll only take a couple bites and then demand the yogurt, so you may as well have it ready.”

Sabrina hardly notices me. On autopilot, she lifts Jamie in a seat to make her a snack before her afternoon nap.

“We’ll get along fine,” Mom assures her with only a little annoyance. Sabrina can get kind of high-strung about this stuff.

The closer we’ve gotten to our trip, the more intense Sabrina has become about planning for Jamie’s routine. Our house in plastered with sticky notes reminding Mom where stuff is and when Jamie’s bedtime is and whatnot. It’s a lot. Thankfully, my mother is taking it in stride.

“This isn’t our first rodeo. Right, kiddo?” My mother ruffles Jamie’s dark red hair and gazes down adoringly at her granddaughter. Mom loves this kid as much as we do. Maybe even more. I mean, hell, she relocated from Texas to Boston to be near us, this woman who hates the winter. Like, loathes it.

“Where’s all her stuff?” Sabrina asks me after noticing Jamie’s accessories are gone.

“She wanted to share with her friends. Mom can take her shopping for more.”

Her frown tells me she isn’t satisfied with that answer, but the kid’s falling asleep in her fruit and veggie plate, so Sabrina picks her up, and I follow them down the hall toward Jamie’s room.

“I don’t think Gail’s heard a word I’ve said all morning,” Sabrina whispers, tucking Jamie into bed.

I fight a smile. “They’ll be fine, darlin’. They always have fun together.”

“For one night. But ten days is a long time. This was a bad idea.” Sabrina bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I know what I was thinking. I was thinking we’ve been married for a month, and I haven’t been able to properly fuck my wife because little ears hear everything that goes on in this apartment. And Sabrina won’t let me lock our bedroom door because she has nightmares about Jamie trying to run in to warn us the house is on fire and not being able to. Like she’s a golden retriever. I’ve been good at not voicing my frustrations, though, because I know how difficult the months leading to graduation have been for Sabrina, especially when she had to juggle law school with motherhood. She works so hard to be superwoman, it feels wrong dumping my shit on her too.

“Come here.” Outside Jamie’s room, I pull her into my arms and sweep her dark hair away from her face.

I stand there, momentarily mesmerized by her bottomless dark eyes.

“What?” she asks, smiling at me.

I lick my suddenly dry lips. “You’re beautiful, you know that? We hardly get five minutes to ourselves these days. I think I keep forgetting how gorgeous you are.”

Sabrina rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

“Seriously. Fucking gorgeous. And this isn’t a bad idea. You need this trip, darlin’. You’ve barely had a single day off in years. Same goes for me.” I shrug. “We need this.”

“Do we?” She’s still stressing.

“Absolutely we do. Sun and sand and sleeping in as late as we want,” I remind her.

It sounds like heaven saying it out loud. Ten days in St. Barth’s at Dean’s family vacation home. The plane tickets courtesy of Mom’s wedding present. It’s going to be the perfect cocktail for rest, relaxation, and generally screwing Sabrina’s brains out because having a tiny human running around this place has been a nonstop cockblock. Like, I love the kid, but Mommy and Daddy need to do dirty things to each other.

“Trust me,” I assure her. “It’ll be magical.”

She arches an eyebrow. “I don’t know. It’s been a while. You might not want to overpromise.”

“Ha. If anything, I’m under-promising.” I take her around the waist and bend down to kiss her.

Sabrina kisses me back, then pulls away and draws a breath. She closes her eyes. Exhales. “You’re right. We deserve a getaway. This’ll be good.”

It’s become a mantra. Convincing herself to take some time away, that her world won’t collapse if she does. While planning this trip, she’s careened from excitement to dread at least six times a day. If I can get her out the front door, I’ll consider it a win.