“No. Like a boxing class. I want to learn how to fight like a real boxer. No backdoor lot stuff either. The real thing.”

Finally, his face breaks out in a grin from ear to ear. “Oh baby girl, I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rafe

Six months later

Murph and I round the third mile, and I get to the point in our daily runs where I start to tell him how much I fucking hate him. Murph is bigger than me, older than me, and even though he’s only been a dad for a few months now, he’s starting to soften up and grow into his “Dad bod.” Nevertheless, he kicks my ass on these daily jogs.

But in his defense, running was always his outlet. It’s only been mine for three months.

This was what Dr. Hightower wanted, and I hated to give him what he wanted, but I have to admit, they help. Other than the occasional boxing workout, I don’t fight anymore. The last man I punched was Ezra. And I’d like to keep it that way.

We pass two ladies about ten years younger than us in nothing but sports bras and tiny shorts. They smile and wave as we pass, and I glance over at Murph who only shakes his head.

“A year ago you wouldn’t have been shaking your head,” I tease him.

“Yeah, well now all I can think is that if I catch Charlie jogging in that when she’s their age, I won’t let her leave the house.”

Charlie is only four months old, and she’s already got Murph growing gray hair. She’s not even my kid, and she’s changed all of us. Sierra’s looking at Logan with stars in her eyes that scream baby fever now, and I’ve grown to a whole new level of protectiveness. We were already a family, but bringing in a kid...we’ve grown closer than ever.

“You know…” Murph says as he finally slows to a walk (thank God), “you could turn back and get one of their numbers. Or both, whatever.”

“Pass,” I answer quickly.

“It’s been six months, man. You have to get back out there. You’re not getting any younger, and the doc said you’re clear to start new relationships. Give it a shot.”

“He said I was clear to start slow. Plus...those girls don’t look like what he was referring to.” I nod back at the two blondes who are now long gone.

Murph laughs. As we reach the boardwalk, we stop into the shop and I can tell there’s something else on Murph’s mind. He tosses me an ice cold water bottle from the fridge in the back of the break room.

“If you’re holding out for her, that’s fine, but don’t wait forever.”

“Where is this coming from?” I ask, throwing up my arms. Murph isn’t exactly the talkative type, especially when it comes to feelings, you know, like love. Logan is the young, poetic one.