She swallowed like she was fighting tears, but she nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” I said with some force, “because I don’t want this negative shit filling your head. And if it continues to do that, you come to me and talk it out again. Now, as for everything else you said, you need to know only one thing going forward: I am one hundred fucking percent committed to our family. What that means is if you don’t have enough energy to do shit, I will do it. If I come home to chaos and screaming kids, I’ll deal with it. And as for coming home later, there’s no fucking way in hell that will ever happen.” I put my finger under her chin and angled her face up to ensure she looked me dead in the eye as I added, “You need to know I spend half my days trying to figure out how to get home sooner to you and the other half of them trying to figure out how to stop thinking about fucking you. You’re always on my mind, Harlow.”
She blinked through the tears that were now streaming down her cheeks. Taking hold of my face, she kissed me. Long and hard. I felt every bit of her need and worry and hope in this kiss, and I gave it all back to her.
When she ended the kiss, she said, “Thank you.”
I shook my head. “Don’t thank me. Fuck, it’s what a husband does, and if he doesn’t, he’s not fucking worth having.”
She drew closer to me, sliding her leg over mine and gripping my bicep. “I love that you put up with my lapses in confidence and reassure me that everything will be okay. You need to know, though, that this’ll probably happen again before the baby is born. Like, it’s highly probable it will happen a few more times. Just warning you now.”
I held onto her eyes, not letting them go. “Yeah.” I fucking hated that she had to deal with this hormonal shit and would do anything to take it away for her. The least I could do was listen and try to ease her mind. “We agree right now to not handle shiton our own. You come to me whenever you need to vent or cry or whatever the fuck you need to do. Okay?”
A smile spread out slowly across her face, giving me what I needed. It was all I needed from Harlow any day—a smile to let me know she was okay. “Okay.”
Shifting her leg off mine so I could reach for her panties, I said, “Is there anything else you need to talk about before I lose the ability to comprehend anything you say?”
At the shake of her head, I slid my hand into her panties and growled, “Thank fuck because I’m not sure I can last much longer without getting my mouth on this pussy.”
8
SCOTT & HARLOW
SCOTT
This scene takes place just after Gunnar & Chelsea’s book.
“Don’t worry about things here,” Griff says over the phone, “I’ve got everything handled. Stay with Harlow as long as she needs you.”
I exhale a breath. “Appreciate it, brother.”
We end the call and I look at Harlow asleep in our bed. She gave birth to our son, Keaton, five days ago and has been struggling with exhaustion. She wasn’t well the week before she gave birth and never recovered her strength. I’ve stayed home with her and the kids while Griff keeps the club running. Thank fuck we don’t have much going on right now.
Keaton starts crying in his cradle next to our bed, waking Harlow. He needs a change of nappy, so I take care of that before bringing him to her. She’s sitting in bed waiting for us, her face lined with exhaustion.
Reaching her arms out to me to take Keaton, she says, “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.”
“You need to sleep, sweetheart.” I sit next to her on the bed as she brings our son to her breast.
“I know, but you’re just as tired as me. I want you to get some rest now.”
“We can both sleep for a while once he’s down. Aurora’s asleep.” It’s just after 9:00 p.m.
Harlow nods. “I’d like that. I miss you next to me.”
I’ve been up and down for the last two days while Aurora’s been fussing. I fucking miss being next to her too.
“Thank fuck he’s got that figured out,” I say as I watch her breastfeed. Aurora struggled with this, so I wasn’t sure how Keaton would go, but he hasn’t had any issues.
Harlow smiles before glancing down at her son. “He’s just like his daddy.”
I cross my feet and rest my head against the bedhead. “Griff’s got shit handled at the club. I don’t need to go in until you’re back on your feet.”
“I should be good tomorrow. I slept a lot today.”
“I’m not going back tomorrow. I want you to have a few days of rest to really recover.”
“Scott,” she starts, but I cut her off.
