Drawn to Him

thirty - nine (final chapter)

Roman's POV

"Ivy!" I shouted. "Ivy!" Isaac then shouted. "I'm here", her weak voice called. A few feet away I saw her hand go up. Elise had her eyes closed and I swear my heart dropped again.

"Elise", I shook her.

4 Hours Earlier

I adjusted my grip on the bowling ball, the weight familiar but still slightly awkward in my hand. The thump of bass-heavy pop music pulsed in the background, competing with the satisfying crash of pins and the buzz of laughter from nearby lanes.

I stood just at the edge, focused, not on the pins, but on the moment. Elise was behind me, talking with Ivy about something funny our youngest had said earlier that morning.

Isaac was heckling someone a few lanes down over a gutter ball, ever the extrovert even in a borrowed pair of too tight bowling shoes.

This was good. This was needed.

I drew back and rolled. The ball curved, as always, a little too far to the left, clipping only a few pins.

"Nice try, DadForce," Isaac called, emphasizing the ridiculous name I had typed into the scoreboard earlier, grinning like he'd been waiting for a chance to say it out loud.

I turned and held up both hands. "Hey, at least I'm consistent."

Elise laughed and bumped my shoulder as she passed. "Let me clean that up."

And she did, graceful and casual, her ball sailing straight down the middle with surgical precision, scattering pins like it was nothing. I couldn't help but watch her, not just the strike, but the way she lit up in the glow of the victory, the way she smiled back at me like she knew she still had it.

I sat back down next to Ivy, who was halfway through a story about a disastrous date she'd gone on a few weeks back, complete with terrible sushi and a man who wouldn't stop quoting movies.

"You know what the worst part was?" she asked.

I raised an eyebrow pretending to show interest. "Worse than quoting Anchorman during appetizers?"

"He made me Venmo him half for the Uber." She sipped her soda like that was the final nail in the coffin.

I winced. "Brutal."

Behind us, Isaac bowled, too much power, not enough control. Another near miss. He threw his hands up like a sports star appealing a bad call, and Elise gave him a slow clap. I chuckled.

Then my phone buzzed. A text from Elise's brother. "All good here. Both kids asleep. Grayson asked if he can have chocolate for breakfast if he dreams about it tonight."

I smiled down at the screen then showed it to Elise, who leaned in and giggled.

"You think he'll remember that in the morning?" she asked.

"I hope not," I replied, slipping the phone back into my pocket. "But if he does, he's got my vote."

The game rolled on. We shared greasy fries and laughed until our sides hurt. Elise and Ivy got competitive in the final frames, egging each other on with mock trash talk. Isaac somehow convinced a staff member to play one round with them, just for fun, and lost spectacularly.

But what stuck with me wasn't the game, or even the score.

It was the way Elise looked when she was relaxed and laughing, not half-distracted by toddler clothes or the next load of laundry. It was Isaac's ridiculous commentary, Ivy's sharp wit, the warmth of people who knew each other well and weren't afraid to be a little goofy.