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“That’s right. Avery tells you all the time. You can’t give me 100% of you every day. I don’t expect you to either. I want you to be happy.”
“Happy wife, happy life. Right?” I say with a giggle.
“No, baby girl. I just want you to be happy. It has nothing to do with me. Well, wait. I do get the benefits of you being happy, but I love you. I just want you to take care of yourself before you take care of me. Rebecca is not going to be okay if her mom is not. Trust me when I tell you I will figure some things out with you.” He turns to look at our daughter, slumbering as she finishes her bottle. “And some things I can handle without you. Get your gorgeous ass back in bed. Daddy will be right there to tuck you in.”
I lean in for one more kiss, losing myself in the way he loves me. The way pleasure explodes all over my body every time he kisses me reminds me why I love being loved by him and in love with him. Rex and Rebecca—my entire world fits in his lap.
“I love you so much, Daddy.”
“I love you too. So lucky to be loved by you. Go on now. I’m going to burp her and change her before I put her down. I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Owen’s finally getting out of witness protection, right?” I push myself off his lap and he stands up right behind me, holding Rebecca against his chest.
Rex gently rocks our daughter up and down, tapping her bottom lightly until she gets rid of her gas. What a sexy thing to see. This hulking man of muscle and conviction is standing in the middle of a nursery, holding our daughter until she burps.
Rex continues to whisper, “He’s supposed to, but from everything I know now, he’s been running from one courtroom to another. I’m glad I sold the firm when I had the chance. No one wants a criminal defense attorney who turns their clients in for crimes they’ve committed.”
That makes me laugh unexpectedly. He shoos me out of the room, and I leave him with Rebecca cooing and out like a light in his arms.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
REX
Ten Years Later
“Psst. Daddy.” A tiny voice beckons me out of my sleep. The shaking from the tiny hand that belongs to that tiny voice is a lot stronger than I remember.
One eye cracks open to see college football playing on the TV. I turn over to look at the play area just outside the den to see an insane amount of toys on the floor, but most importantly, Raina’s markers are scattered about.
Fuck.
“What did you do, Rock?” I ask, Raquel, our seven-year-old who’s hellbent on getting me off the sofa.
“Nothing, Daddy. Swear it. But the babies–” Her voice trails off while I sit up and wish for my wife to come home so I can get a decent nap.
My feet swing over the edge of the couch, anchoring me to the light hardwood floors that cover the entire first floor of our sprawling home just outside of Colwood. I hated to give up my old house, but after Raina got pregnant with Riley, our five-year-old, it was time to get something bigger.
We’re still on the same property but further back from the road, and we rent out the old house for events from time to time. Mostly, it’s for whenever one of our friends needs a break from their kids or either of us needs some peace and quiet.
I can take some peace and quiet right now as I follow my little narc. Raquel has me by the hand and is leading me into the kitchen where Rebecca is making sandwiches for the little ones and chastising them.
“Mom’s going to be so mad at you two for playing with her markers.Again,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. It feels like yesterday I was holding her with a bottle wrapped in her mother’s shirt to feed her. Now, look at her in full big sister mode. She nearly drops the sandwich when she spots me. “Sheesh! Dad, you scared me. Good, you're awake. You can help clean them up before Mom gets back.”
I turn to see the three-year-old Reagan. My little man is the baby of our brood and still has the evidence of his crime in his hand. I look at his sister, Riley, with evidence of doodles up and down her arms.
I wrap my hand around my mouth to stop myself from cursing and laughing all at the same time. Raina doesn’t do tattoos, but she loves drawing them, especially for the marketing campaigns she puts together for tattoo shops across the tri-state area. She’s become a marketing guru and loves it.
I let out a sigh, scooping down to pick Reagan up from his chair. “Hey bud, it’s not nice to use Mommy’s things without asking, right?”
“But, Dadda, Ryeee says she want a tattoo. Look I make it pretty like Mommy,” he says pointing to his sister’s doodles. It looks like a Picasso painting crawling up her arm.
“Okay, who’s in the bath first?” I ask them. Every sibling points to a different one.
“I can’t, Dad,” Rebecca states. “I just took a shower and Maria’s mom is coming to get me for softball.”
“I have ballet. Jane and her mom are coming to pick me up at two,” Raquel says, folding her arms across her chest.
“So you two older ones let the little ones get into Mom’s markers and now you’re bailing on me?” I ask them.
