The safety bar locked into place, and then the car began its slow ascent, each rise providing a better view of the busy carnival grounds. The scent of deep-fried food, popcorn and sugar permeated the evening air. The sun had just set, and the bright neon lights on the rides down below twinkled in the dusky night.

“I wish she were here too,” he agreed. “But she had to work.”

Miranda had been pretty bummed about it. Normally she didn’t start work at OMG until seven or eight, but the club was hosting a private party that had begun at five o’clock, so she’d headed over there right after she finished up at the school. Since this was the last night the carnival was in town, Seth had offered to take the twins himself and now he was glad he had. The kids were having a great time. And honestly? So was he.

It still amazed him, how different things were. How different he felt. Telling Miranda about Adam had been the most liberating thing he’d ever done. The second he’d given her that article, voiced his fears and insecurities, it was like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Miranda had said it wasn’t his fault. A tiny part of him even believed her. But a bigger part knew she was wrong—he was responsible for Adam’s abduction. That certainty hadn’t changed.

But Miranda had made him feel like there was hope for him after all. Her trust in him made him want to trust himself.

“Soooo pretty,” Sophie gushed as she peered down at the lights.

Her small hand slipped into his, and his chest tightened with emotion. Shit, he was starting to care something fierce about these rugrats. Sophie was the smartest, sassiest little girl he’d ever met, and Jason was so damn energetic, so eager to please and quick to smile.

Five months ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed that he’d be atop a Ferris wheel with a six-year-old nestled against him, yet here he was, doing exactly that—and actually enjoying himself.

When the ride came to an end, he lifted Sophie into his arms and made his way to the games area. Didn’t take long to find the rest of their party. Jason had abandoned his quest for a goldfish—he and Dylan were at the shooting gallery now, whooping up a storm and shooting BBs at a slew of metal chickens that rapidly popped up as they flew along a motorized loop.

“Where’s Claire?” Seth asked, looking around.

“Restroom,” Dylan replied without taking his eyes off the targets. “Even bee-otches need to pee.”

Jason looked curious. “What’s a bee-otch?”

“It’s a word you’re going to forget and never mention again,” Dylan said cheerfully.

“Sef, come shoot!” Jason begged, promptly forgetting about his pursuit of the definition of bee-otch.

“But I wanna see the pony,” Sophie whined, pulling on the collar of his T-shirt.

He set her down on the ground. “We’re going to the petting zoo when we’re ready to leave,” he reminded her. “Because it’s all the way on the other side of the carnival near where we came in, remember?”

She pouted. “But I wanna go now.”

“Soon,” he promised, playfully pulling on her ponytail. “Right now, why don’t we shoot some chickens with your brother? It’ll be fun.”

“But I don’t wanna shoot chickens.”

He stifled a groan. “Then you can watch us for a bit.”

“But I don’t wanna—”

“Jase didn’t want to ride the Ferris wheel but I took you anyway, remember?” Seth said gruffly. “So now it’s your turn to let your brother do something he wants, and then we’ll all go to see the ponies together. Cool beans?”

After a beat, Sophie grudgingly said, “Cool beans.”

He lifted her up on the counter right next to the shooting station and handed her the bag of cotton candy. “You can witness firsthand what awesome aim I have,” he told her.

Seth gave the kid manning the booth a five-dollar bill and reached for a rifle. For the next ten minutes, he and Dylan showed Jason how it was done. The air was alive with metallic ping noises as BBs spat out of the weapons and collided with the targets. Jason was cheering loudly, having declared himself on Team Seth, while Sophie took pity on Dylan and rooted for him.

The two SEALs didn’t miss a single shot, so the contest eventually became about which spot on the chicken they could hit.

“Now hit the beak!” Jason ordered.

Seth pulled the trigger with ease. Ping. Perfect beak shot.

Dylan nailed it too.

“The feet!”

Ping. Ping.

After every shot, he’d glance at Sophie from the corner of his eye to make sure she wasn’t up to any funny business. Every quick look revealed a flash of pink—her T-shirt and the cotton candy she was stuffing in her mouth.

“Sef, show me how to aim better,” Jason demanded.

He squatted down. “First thing, you have to hold the rifle properly. We take this hand—” he reached for Jason’s right hand, “—and put it here, and your other hand here on the undergrip of the weapon. And we want the butt—”

Jason giggled.

“The butt of the rifle,” Seth said, rolling his eyes. “We want to rest it here, on your shoulder, and not in your armpit like you were doing before. Now…”

He gave Jason a few more tips about how to better aim, then stood up and watched as the little boy took a shot. Ping. Jason hit a chicken dead center.

“Sweet!” Dylan raved.