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Fuck me if I didn’t feel exposed. I didn’t like it one bit.
My chest felt weird, and my stomach tightened.
Over the years, he’d put up with so much of my shit. My cowardice, my denial, my embarrassment. Then after the accident, he’d cranked it up even more. My staying with him had become permanent. He’d taken care of me through doctor’s appointments, rehabilitation sessions, my bursts of rage, and my depression. I’d been bordering on suicidal, and he’d pulled me out of the darkness.
I swallowed hard and rubbed at my chest. I didn’t need to get emotional, for chrissakes.
Lucian cleared his throat and withdrew his hand. Traffic was easing up a little. “You know, I’ve been so focused on making things right with Cam that I’ve neglected?—”
“You haven’t neglected shit, baby.” I had to make that crystal clear.
“Nevertheless—I want that too, KC.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Can you leave it to me?”
I frowned, confused. “Leave what? Don’t go planning a collaring ceremony. I just want…I don’t know. Something.”
“And leave that something to me, please. I assure you, there won’t be any alligators or planes to jump out of.”
I felt my mouth twitch. “Well, now you’re taking all the fun out of it.”
He shook his head in amusement and kissed my hand again.
* * *
It was a sweaty Colt wearing only a pair of basketball shorts and a mustache who opened the door for us, and I didn’t complain about the eye candy one bit. Wait—he could lose the stacks of toys he had in his arms. They were in the way.
“Why can’t you always walk around like this?” I asked.
“Same reason you can’t,” he replied, not missing a beat. “We’d stop traffic wherever we went.”
I chuckled. Always a charmer.
“Daddy, please don’t!” Kit yelled from somewhere in the house. “I’m gonna play with them, I swear!”
I lifted my brows, and Colt sighed and shook his head as he let us in.
“That’s not the deal, and you know it, Kit!” Colt responded. Then he turned around in the hallway and wrestled the toys into a big trash bag.
“Is there something wrong with them?” Lucian wondered.
“Not at all,” Colt said. “There’s somethin’ wrong with a brat who hides credit cards around the house, though.”
Ouch. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Thankfully, Noa had an angel named Cam on his shoulder who warned him not to go nuts.
Kit came storming out into the hallway and scowled at Colt. “They’re my toys, Daddy!” He spared us a quick glance and composed himself a little. “Hello, Sirs. Nice to see you.”
“You too, brat,” I said. “You keeping your Daddies on their toes?”
“He keeps us runnin’ to the nearest donation box,” Colt corrected. He tied the bag together and faced his boy. “You ain’t winnin’ this fight, baby boy. If you buy a new toy, we donate one from your stash. That’s the deal.”
Kit huffed and stalked away. “When do I ever win fights?” he muttered to himself.
I smirked.
“I take it he’s been shopping,” Lucian deduced.
Colt wore a don’t-get-me-started expression. “It’s those goddamn Squishmallows. They’ve taken over the whole house.”
Lucian and I exchanged a brief grin. I supposed we were technically to blame for the start of Cam’s and Noa’s collections, considering we’d bought them. On the other hand, Colt had crammed at least a dozen toys into that bag, so I was guessing Kit’s pile of stuffies was larger.
