“He’s not comfortable enough standing,” I told Peter on our way back home two and a half hours later.

My father/uncle/friend figure nodded as he steered us down the street that would spit us out closer to our neighborhood. “I know. I’ve talked to him about it over and over again. I’ve talked to his striking coach too, but they aren’t working on it enough. He’s relying too much on takedowns when he isn’t consistent enough with them either. His submissions are weak. He relies too much on brute strength and doesn’t think enough. I might ask Gus to come see what he thinks.”

It sucked when fighters from our gym lost. I felt like I lost when they did, and I hated losing. It happened. It was a part of life, but it still sucked.

Yet, I could safely say that we knew a minute into the amateur MMA fight that Carlos, who I was fairly certain had ratted me out to Noah, was going to lose. All the yelling Peter and I had both done—so much that my throat felt raw and his sounded hoarse—had been ignored. Every “Elbow!”, “Watch the arm!”, “Grab the leg!”, and “Level changes!” had been ignored. Every. Single. One.

I almost felt bad for the kid. Peter was going to rip him a new one tomorrow for not listening. I knew some fighters totally zoned out everything going on around them, but in MMA especially, you had to keep an ear out. At least it was the smartest thing you could do if you were in a pickle. Someone might give you some advice you could actually use. They could also piss you off, but you had to let things slide off your back sometimes.

“Maybe he needs a new striking coach,” I suggested as the car turned onto a familiar street. Grandpa wouldn’t be interested in doing more than giving Peter advice on what to do. Carlos didn’t have the personality that my grandfather would want to work with.

“He needs something, but I don’t know if a new coach will be enough. He’s too cocky.”

I couldn’t argue with that. He was right. “Speaking of needing things….” I trailed off. “Grandpa didn’t finish telling me what happened with that lady after I left.” I called her that lady on purpose. She wasn’t really my grandma.

Peter made the slightest face, which was really the equivalent of a huge gesture coming from anyone else. “Not much. She asked why you laughed at her, didn’t like what he told her, and then she left.”

I hummed and crossed my ankles, sneaking another glance at him. He was still making a weird expression. “Are you okay with her showing up?”

“I wish she hadn’t. If it were up to me, you would’ve gone the rest of your life without meeting her, but—” He glanced over with those dark, dark eyes. “—Lenny, you know it’s Gus who kept her away, don’t you?”

I was an adult, and these two men I loved so much were still trying to protect me. And they always would, I knew. Always.

But even knowing that it was her divorce from my grandpa, and the reasons behind it, that had kept her away, didn’t change shit. If Mo had a daughter, there was nothing that would keep me away from her. Nothing.

So I told him the truth, most of it at least. “I know, and I wish she hadn’t come either. I don’t want her to cause either of you any problems.”

I didn’t know what to think of the silence that followed afterward as he parked the car and we headed inside. I knew her appearance worried him and my grandfather. For multiple reasons.

And as much as I didn’t want to make this about me, it was hard not to. She’d shown up to talk to Grandpa. Not to see me. That hadn’t even been in the plan.

So fine. Fuck her. Shoving Rafaela aside, I followed Peter into the house.

All the lights downstairs were still on, which wasn’t surprising. But not for the first time since we’d left, I wondered how it had gone between Jonah and Grandpa Gus. I kind of regretted we didn’t have a camera set up in the house so we could spy on them.

But at least, if Jonah had fucked up, Grandpa Gus would give me a play-by-play on what happened.

The first thing I heard was the sound of the television on softly in the living room. I peeked inside, unsure if someone was going to be hiding or just sitting there. But Grandpa wasn’t trying to scare the shit out of me yet. He wasn’t alone either.

On the floor, Jonah was stretched out beside Mo—eight times her length, it seemed like—who was sitting up, smashing colorful blocks together.

The thing that struck me the most was the little smile on his face as he spent his time looking at her instead of the replay of a boxing event playing on the television. He looked… happy? Did he already really like her? He should. She was amazing, but….

Grandpa Gus, on the other hand, was sitting in the middle of the couch, arms stretched out to both sides, eyes straight on the television.

“We’re home,” I called out as I took a step forward and stopped being a stalker.

Two sets of adult-sized eyes moved, and Mo shrieked.

I had read in a book that right around her age she might start getting clingy with people coming and going, but she hadn’t. She was still so happy to be reunited after some time with me and Grandpa Gus. It killed me a little and made me feel guilty for leaving her alone so much.

At least she was always with someone who loved and cared for her. That’s what I told myself.

But if I had any doubts that someone was still holding a grudge that I had left him with a visitor, the expression Grandpa Gus shot me would have confirmed it. It almost made me laugh, but I figured he was already going to make me pay for it without making it worse. It would still be worth anything he put me through, though, even if I pissed my pants.

“How’d it go?” he asked grudgingly as Peter stepped up behind me.

We looked at each other.

“He lost,” Peter answered with disappointment.

I walked over to the other side of Mo, got down on my hands and knees and blew a raspberry on her upper arm before aiming for each of her cheeks so I could ask, using every bit of strength inside of me not to laugh, “How’d it go here?”

I glanced up to find Grandpa shooting me the same face.

Yeah, someone was going to scare the fuck out of me at the very least.

“Well, I think. Changed my first dirty nappy.” Jonah glanced at me with a slight smile on his face. “It was… something special. It didn’t smell like I thought it would.”

I looked down at my girl so he wouldn’t see me grin at what he’d gone through. He didn’t need to sound so happy about it either. “Did it get out of her diaper and go all over her back?”

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw his head tip up. And when I glanced back at him, his expression was serious as hell, and his voice was stunned and slow as he asked, “Is that possible?”

From the couch, Grandpa snickered, and I couldn’t fucking help but snicker too as I nodded at the beautiful man. “Yeah.” I cupped my hands and made an exploding gesture with them.

His blink made me laugh.

The things this man would learn. Honestly, part of me couldn’t wait to see his hands full of shit for the first time. Maybe Mo would throw up on him at least once. That would definitely make my day.

Jonah laughed, and I highly doubted it was my imagination that it sounded a little nervous. “I know what to expect now, I suppose. I never would have guessed someone so small could do such a thing. Is every child that… capable?”