“Breathing on his own. No complications. He’s preterm—we still need to incubate,” the doctor murmurs.
“We want to see . . .” Brooke cries.
She lifts her arms and they tremble as she waits for them to clean the baby, and it howls in protest, and then, the nurse brings it over.
I’m staring in disbelief as Brooke holds it . . . not it . . . him. Our son.
Our son who stopped screaming when they placed him in her arms.
She ducks her head, her hair tangled, a sheen of sweat across her neck and face, our son wrapped in a small blanket and in her arms, and my body loosens as I bend my head to her, and to him, as a whole truckload of protectiveness, and love, and pure raw happiness slam into me.
“I love him, Remy,” she whispers, tilting her head to me, and I feel so f**king grateful for her giving me this, I just need to kiss her, feel her whisper against my mouth, “I love you so much. Thank you for this baby.”
“Brooke,” I rasp, protectively wrapping my arms around both of them. My throat is raw, and my eyes are killing me, and I’ve never had something so perfect, pure, and precious in my life than my little firecracker and a little part of her, with a little part of me.
“If he’s like me, we will support him,” I whisper to her. “If he’s like me . . . we’ll be there for him.”
“Yes, Remy,” she agrees, looking at our son, and at me, her expression so loving I feel renewed by it. “We will teach him music. And exercise. And how to take care of this little body. It will be strong and astound him and maybe frustrate him sometimes too. We will teach him to love it. And himself. We will teach him love.”
I wipe the moisture from my eye and tell her yeah, that yeah, we will, but I won tonight, and I still wish I felt worthier and I were different. I wish I were perfect for them. I wish I were perfect in every way so they’d never shed a tear for me, worry, or stress because of me. But I love them more than anything perfect ever could. I love them more than anything perfect ever will. Nothing perfect would kill for them like I would, or die for them like I would.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she stretches out her arm, and I realize I stepped back like some pu**y afraid to be rejected by them.
“Come here,” she whispers, and I come and bow my head to hers, and I’m not sure if the wetness on my jaw is mine or hers, but it’s taking all my effort to hold myself under control. “I am so in love with you,” she whispers as she nuzzles me, caressing me in a way that makes my eyes burn even harder. “You deserve this and more. While you fight out there, I will fight for you to come home to this.”
I growl, angry that I’m crying, and then wipe my tears and kiss her lips, rasping, “I f**king love you to pieces. To pieces. Thank you for this baby. Thank you for loving me. I can’t wait to make you my wife.”
PRESENT
SEATTLE
The way my wife looks today.
The way my wife smiles today.
The way my wife nuzzles our smiling son as she says, “Goodbye, Racer, be good with Grandma and Grandpa. . . . ”
“Gah!”
I pat the top of Racer’s round little head and kiss his chubby cheek. “That’s right, devil, you heard her.”
“Leave him to us,” Brooke’s mother tells us outside the church, while the team looks on from a couple feet away. Brooke’s sister, Nora, is clutching the bouquet she just caught to her chest, and Pete looks ready to puke at her side because of his feelings for her. Coach is grinning like he never does, while Diane is standing with her arm linked to his, and Riley can’t stop glaring at Melanie’s new boyfriend, who clearly doesn’t give a shit.
Me . . . I’ve had it with the suit, with being kept away from my bride in our own home, with kissing her meekly by the altar and without using my tongue and my teeth or putting my hands on her ass. As Brooke waves to Melanie and yells, “Racer, Mommy loves you!” I pull her into the back of the limousine and reach around her to slam the door, and I finally have her all for me.
She turns, panting, to look into my eyes, her cheeks blushed pink, her eyes sparkling in excitement, and no, I will never forget today.
I reach for her while she simultaneously tries climbing on my lap and I grab her waist to help her, but she squeaks as she tries flattening the billowing skirt of her dress and we fail to get her comfortably on top of me. “I loved this dress until this moment when it won’t let me get close to you,” she complains.
“Shit, I’m so hard for you, come here.” Sliding my hand under the fall of her hair, I grab her by the neck and dive hungrily for her lips, kissing her, my tongue anxious to be touching hers. I want more. And she instantly gives me more, thirsty for me, moaning softly.
Keeping our mouths attached, I gather her closer as she strokes my hair. “I can’t wait,” she breathes. “For you to tear this dress off me.”
“I’ll send those f**king buttons flying.” My mouth waters as I drag my thumbs down her cheeks. “And I’m going to feast on you like a f**king banquet.”
“Oh yes, please.” She sets her nose on mine and sighs, her fingers playing in my hair. “We’ve never left Racer for more than two hours before. I feel like a bad mother.”
I shake my head, nuzzling her as I do. “If we don’t want to leave him and go on a honeymoon yet, you at least have to let me steal you for an evening.” I kiss her jaw. “You’re the most tender, playful mother I know, Brooke.”
She laughs. “Oh, and how many do you know?” she teases, reaching up to poke both my dimples. “To compare me to?”
Really? I know none. But the mother of my son.
God, they’re so f**king perfect, and they’re both mine.
I sometimes watch them from across the room, and my chest swells as they play around with each other. Brooke has a canny sixth sense that always knows when I stare. She always looks up, her eyes warm and sparkling with happiness at me, and I come over and pull them close to me, kissing and nuzzling them both.
“I know my mother wasn’t like you,” I whisper to her now, kissing the tip of her nose.
“And you, there’s no father like you.” She caresses the bow at my neck. “I love you so much, Remington.” She presses her face into my neck and tries getting closer to my side, dragging in a deep inhale, her voice thick, “You look so hot in that tuxedo, I’m dying to have you all to myself.”
“I get you all for me too.” I tighten my arm around her waist as I buzz my lips over her hair.
Maybe taking a honeymoon currently is impossible, especially when neither of us wants to leave Racer, but I need my wife tonight.
Quietly I kiss her forehead and her nose. Running my eyes over her features, I tip her head and scrape my thumb across her lips. “I need this,” I rasp, and set my mouth on hers.
She rubs my tongue to hers and sighs as I slip my fingers into her hair and loosen the crystal clips scattered throughout. Pulling each raindrop-shaped crystal from her hair, I tuck them into my jacket pocket while I slowly savor her mouth and kiss her all the way to the hotel, until neither of us is breathing right by the time we arrive.
The moment we walk into the lobby, a dozen curious stares land on us, and they’re soon followed by claps and cheers as I take her by the hand and lead her to the elevators.
“Many years, man!” someone shouts.
“Cheers to the bride and groom!”
Brooke laughs, and I’m chuckling too as I pull her into the elevator with me and then bury my face in her neck, smelling her as we head to the top floor.
“I want to eat you,” I growl, sliding my fingers under her hair again. Her eyes darken as she reaches for my free hand and spreads it over her heart.
“Are you going to kiss me here?” She forces my fingers to curve around the round flesh of one perky little tit.
I nod.
Then she lifts that same hand to her mouth and sets a kiss on my palm. “And here?”
I nod again.
Her smile matches mine in mischief as she slides my hand down her abdomen and to the bell of her skirt, then she laughs and pushes up on her toes. “What about . . . there?”
I tip her head back. “Your pu**y is getting kissed tonight for sure.”
Her lips curve in pure delight and I have to take them and kiss her, stopping only when we hear the Ting.
When the doors roll open, I scoop her in my arms and she squeaks in surprise as I head to the double doors down the hall. “Remy!”
“This is what husbands do the first night. No?”
She links her fingers at the back of my collar and nods.
I duck my head low to whisper in her ear as we reach our door. “As your husband, I do whatever the hell I want,” I say, sliding the key into the slot while I add, “And right now, I’m going to do you.” I push open the door, take us inside, and kick it shut behind me, then I set her to her feet, facing the room.
I click on the lights, and Brooke lets out a soft, surprised gasp.
Rose petals of every color are littered across the carpet. A hundred vases are scattered throughout, bursting with red bouquets, white bouquets. I wanted a f**king rose garden for my wife, and this is what the guys could help me do.
As Brooke stares quietly around, every inch in the room is either green, yellow, white, red, pink, some roses in buds, some blooming, some with stems, some scattered on the furniture without them, I quietly come up from behind her and set my headphones on her head, and click Play on my iPod.