Jay's POV
If someone had told me years ago that raising three kids would be harder than surviving Section E missions, I would've laughed.
Now?
I wasn't laughing.
Not even a little.
Because my daughter — my firstborn, my sweet, brilliant Keira Serina Rose Watson — was dating.
And not just dating.
Dating Thyme.
Eighteen-year-old, too-handsome-for-his-own-good, polite-but-terrified-of-Keifer, straight‑A student Thyme.
And my husband?
Was ready to bury him.
Literally.
The Living Room War
"Mom," Keira groaned, pacing back and forth, "Dad is being RIDICULOUS."
I sipped my tea. "He's being a dad."
"He's being a menace."
"Same thing."
She threw her hands up. "He threatened to sharpen his knives in front of Thyme!"
I blinked. "He did what?"
"AND he told the twins to 'keep an eye on him.'"
Oh no.
I turned toward the hallway.
"KAYDEN! KADE!"
Two identical sixteen-year-old heads popped out of the kitchen.
Kayden grinned. "Yes, mother?"
Kade smirked. "We're just doing our duty."
"What duty?"
"Protecting our sister's honour," Kayden said proudly.
"By stalking her boyfriend?" I asked.
"Surveillance," Kade corrected.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Where's your father?"
"Sharpening his knives," they said in unison.
Of course he was.
Keifer's Overprotective Meltdown
I found him in the garage, sitting on a stool, sharpening a blade like he was preparing for war.
"Keifer," I said.
He didn't look up. "I'm calm."
"You're sharpening a knife."
"This is me being calm."
I crossed my arms. "He's a good kid."
"He's a boy."
"He respects her."
"He breathes near her."
I sighed. "You're impossible."
He finally looked up at me, eyes softening just a little.
"She's our baby, Jay."
"I know."
"She's eighteen."
"I know."
"She's dating."
"I KNOW."
He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
"I'm not ready."
I walked over and wrapped my arms around him from behind.
"You don't have to be ready," I whispered. "You just have to trust her."
He leaned back into me, exhaling.
"I trust her," he murmured. "I don't trust him."
I kissed his cheek. "Then give him a chance."
He grumbled something that sounded like absolutely not, but before I could respond—
There was a knock at the front door.
Thyme Arrives
Keira froze.
The twins perked up like guard dogs.
Keifer stood so fast the stool fell over.
I sighed. "Everyone behave."
Kayden whispered, "No promises."
I opened the door.
And there he was.
Thyme.
Nervous. Holding flowers. Wearing a button-up shirt that was definitely ironed by someone who cared. Standing up straight like he was about to face a firing squad.
"Good evening, Mrs. Watson," he said politely.
"Hi, Thyme."
He swallowed. "I… uh… I'm here to speak to Mr. Watson."
Behind me, Keifer muttered, "Oh, this should be good."
Thyme stepped inside, cleared his throat, and faced Keifer directly.
"Sir," he said, voice shaking but determined, "I know you don't like me."
Keifer raised a brow. "Correct."
"Dad," Keira hissed.
Thyme continued anyway.
"But I care about your daughter. A lot. And I want to prove that I'm worthy of your trust."
Kayden whispered, "He's gonna die."
Kade whispered back, "At least he's brave."
Thyme took a deep breath.
"I'm not perfect. But I'll treat her right. I'll respect her. And I'll never hurt her. Ever."
The room went silent.
Keifer stared at him.
Long. Hard. Unblinking.
Thyme visibly sweated.
Then—
Keifer stood.
Walked toward him.
Stopped inches away.
And extended his hand.
Thyme nearly fainted.
Keifer's voice softened — barely.
"Don't make me regret this."
Thyme nodded rapidly. "Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. Never, sir."
Keira let out a breath she'd been holding for ten minutes.
I smiled.
The twins groaned.
And Keifer?
He glanced at me, eyes warm.
He was trying.
For her.
For us.
And maybe — just maybe — he liked the kid a little.
Not that he'd ever admit it.