Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE_
DOMINO
"Daddy Andre!"
I hear Riff's screams from down the hall while I do the dishes. A minute later, my wife appears from the direction of his bedroom.
"He wants you."
"Oh no!" I cry. "Then I won't get to finish these dishes."
Maggie shakes her head at me. "I don't know what you bribed him with, but it worked, so you better go pay up, Daddy Andre.”
My family refuse to call me by my call sign, Domino. With the other women I’ve been with, it felt … off to be called by my given name. Too personal. But with Maggie, it’s different. It always has been.
Maggie is everything I never knew I was missing in my life. Her exasperated smile makes me weak in the knees. Her loving nature makes me protective of her.
I kiss her on the cheek as I pass her, and her green eyes shine up at me in amusement. Her silky brown hair smells like vanilla, and the sooner I get the kidlet to sleep, the sooner I can take her to bed.
I lean against the doorjamb of Riff's bedroom and fold my arms. "What are we prolonging bedtime with this time?"
He giggles. Riff was only a baby when Maggie and I got together, so he's grown up with me as a father figure. One of three father figures he has in his life. He calls me Daddy Andre, while his older sister Kaylee only calls me Andre.
I see Kaylee as more than a stepdaughter, but I respect her decision to leave the dad monikers up to her biological dad and his husband.
"I want you to tell me a story," Riff says. He's so cute with his floppy light brown hair and bright blue eyes.
"Mommy couldn't tell you a story?"
"I like your stories. Yours have explosions and killing bad guys."
I put my finger to my lips. "Shhh. Mommy might hear you."
To say that when Maggie and I first got together I knew nothing about kids is an understatement, and even though everyone told me I'd get used to it—that some paternal gene would kick in—I'm still waiting for it to happen five years later.
And telling Riff about my days as a motherfucking badass and army ranger is at the top of the list of why my stories are not the most appropriate for children.
"But they're only stories. They're not true," Riff says.
At least he thinks they're all fiction.
I approach his bed and pull up his blankets before sitting beside him. "What tale did you want to hear tonight?"
"Umm ..."
"Ooh, what about the time I saved Mommy from a swarm of boyband fanatics?"
His lips purse. "Mommy says she's the one who saved you."
"I mean, I don't want to tell a six-year-old that his mommy lies, but she does."
He laughs. "I think you're lying."
I mock gasp and hold me chest. "Me? Never."
"Okay then. Tell me the story."
"To do that, I should probably go back to the very beginning. To the night we met."
Riff shifts and wriggles down to get comfy. "I'm ready."
"I'm sorry," Maggie says from the doorway, making us both jump. "Did I hear you say you were going to tell our son the story of how we met?"
"And how he saved you from Daddy’s fans."
She folds her arms. "Oh, hell no. If there's going to be a story. It's going to be told right." She joins us, sitting on the other side of Riff than me.
I smile over at her. "All right then. You want to go first or shall I?"
"Me obviously."
"Then by all means ..."