Chapter 5 #2
“How about we take Fénix camping soon?” I suggest, brushing locks of his hair from his forehead.
He let his hair grow out, and I love touching it.
“October would be a great time. The leaves will have turned, and the weather will be cooler. We could teach him how to survive off the land like Brian in Hatchet. My only stipulation is that we sleep in a tent.”
“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t demand a tricked-out RV.”
“I’m still a small-town farm girl at heart.
I can handle the outdoors,” I assure him.
Just not the mosquitoes and spiders. And the outdoor smell that clings to your clothes.
I’ve gotten better at ignoring the compulsion to change clothes every time I venture outside, but I know I’ll probably pack three suitcases just to go on a two-day camping trip.
Speaking of camping, the thought of s’mores has my pregnancy hormones demanding chocolate.
“I think there are some brownies left from last night.”
“Should we wait for everyone to come home before fixing dinner?”
Family and home. Two very important and quintessential things made even better because it’s our family and our home.
“They’re fending for themselves tonight.”
A slow grin that’s both charming and sensuous curves his lips, and my heartbeat literally skips at the sight. “Dinner out on the back patio?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Aleksander jackknifes upright, picks up our journals, and pats the back of his shoulder. “Hop on, Songbird.”
I’m a grown-ass woman. I shouldn’t get this excited about getting a piggyback ride. That doesn’t stop me from quickly climbing onto his back.
“Don’t you dare drop me.”
Turning his head, he playfully nips my hand when I loop my arms around his neck. “You’re light as a fucking feather.”
I dare him to say that in eight months. I gained over seventy pounds when I was pregnant with the twins. It all went to my butt and my boobs, much to the guys’ delight.
Standing, Aleksander slides one arm under my ass, anchoring me to him with ease. “I think there’s some leftover spaghetti from last night.”
I nuzzle my cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, still faintly scented with his cologne. “I want a turkey and Swiss hoagie and brownies.”
“I think I can handle that. It won’t look Hendrix-pretty, but it’ll be edible.”
Hendrix can turn two pieces of bread and a slice of processed meat into a Michelin-star worthy meal, but food is food, and I’m starving.
“You’ll get style points for extra mustard and pickles,” I reply.
Aleksander backs out of the bedroom and carefully navigates around the toys and trip hazards Fénix left scattered in the hallway.
Undoing the lock to the child safety gate, he carries me downstairs to the kitchen.
The automatic lights flicker to life as soon as we enter, muting the slashes of orange and pink along the walls created by the setting sun through the window glass.
My bare feet lightly tap the cool tile when Aleksander lowers me to the floor, but before I can make a play for the plate of covered brownies, he sets the journals on the kitchen island and curves a hand around my waist, pulling me flush to his body.
I’m instantly singed by the heat that scorches between us, something that has always existed, but something I had been too scared to accept and fought every step of the way.
I spent years suffocating under enormous guilt, like I was selfishly betraying Constantine, Hendrix, and especially Tristan because I couldn’t stop my heart from falling for Aleksander.
I had the love and devotion of three incredible men.
My childhood best friends. My lovers. My husbands.
The fathers of my children. That should have been enough, and it was.
They were more than enough. I was fulfilled in every way.
Happier than I ever thought possible. But there was still this one missing piece.
Not just in me, but in Tristan and our family. And that piece belonged to Aleksander.
Once he slipped into place, my heart was whole, Tristan’s heart was healed because he was able to build a relationship with his brother, Hendrix and Constantine found a loyal friend and blood brother, and our children got a man who worshipped the ground their little feet walked upon.
It’s crazy how it all worked out the way it was supposed to.
I remember the hard conversation Alana and I had about poly relationships. How difficult it would be to sustain, and the judgmental attitudes we would endure because our relationship didn’t fit the norm of society. How all of it could affect any children we brought into this world.
It is hard. All relationships are. But nothing worth having is ever easy, especially love. True and lasting love is a gift you must be willing to fight for. Sacrifice for. Bleed for. And die for.
As for the judgmental attitudes? Those people can go fuck themselves.
I refuse to live in fear of what other people think, and I won’t teach my kids to live with that fear, either.
My scars made me an outcast growing up, and I had to learn real fucking quick to ignore the nasty remarks thrown my way.
Besides, I’ve already died twice and come back. There is no fear left in me.
“What are you doing?” I ask when Aleksander moves my left hand to his shoulder.
“Fulfilling your Dirty Dancing fantasy,” he replies, and I fly into a fit of giggles when he starts waltzing me around the kitchen.
My cheeks hurt from the huge smile cemented across my face by the time he dips me low to the floor. “I wonder what fantasies you can fulfill if I make you watch Fifty Shades of Grey.”
My body flies forward when he lifts me upright in his arms, and I catch the heated interest in his gaze. “Grey has nothing on me,” he says and kisses me breathless. “And Hendrix would be offended if he heard you say that.”
“True.” I peck a kiss to his nose. “Now feed me.”
Chuckling, he lets go, and I take a seat on one of the barstools while he rummages through the fridge.
Using a fingertip to slide his journal across the countertop toward me, I remind him, “Don’t forget the pickles.” He glances over his shoulder, and one eyebrow arches. “I know,” I say before he can. The man never forgets anything.
Opening his journal, I flip to the next entry—and am in no way prepared for the pain that greets me on the pages.