Chapter Fifty-One Tyler
Chapter Fifty-One
TYLER
SENSING I’M NOT alone, a tiny squeak pulls me into consciousness seconds before my son’s blood-curdling squeal rings in my ears.
When my eyes pop open, Larissa appears in my line of sight, arm secured around our bobble-headed son’s middle as she lowers him onto my chest. Maniacal laughter bursting out of her when he shrieks a second time, leaving my ears ringing.
“That’s just cruel,” I croak through the sludge in my throat as I grip my boy under his arms to relieve her.
“I warned you,” she chimes.
“That you did,” I say, sleep-coated eyes glittering over my son. “Morning, Alexander the Greatest.”
“So you say,” Larissa harrumphs, and I catch her eyes briefly before stating his case.
“Son, did you know the fearless warrior you were named after became a king at age twenty?”
“Meh,” Larissa dismisses, making big eyes at Macey before pulling her from her car seat.
“By twenty-two, he’d crushed the greatest army in Greece, and at twenty-six, he took Persia. The largest empire the world had ever known.” I give Larissa a wink just as she piles Macey onto my chest. “And he did all of this outnumbered,” I emphasize as both babies wriggle in my hold.
“Because he was a lunatic,” Larissa fires.
“Because he was passionate,” I counter.
“Daddy believes too much of the fiction,” Larissa coos, plucking Alexander back into her arms as I press a kiss to Macey’s cheek in greeting.
“This was before Christ, so a lot of it is fiction.” I catch Larissa’s gaze as I speak.
“But like all other folklore, you have to decide what you want to believe.” The feel of my daughter in my arms acts as a temporary balm to the pain radiating throughout me, as does the sight of the beauty inspecting me.
“Like I believe your eyes are telling me that I look like shit.”
Her lips lift in one of her sultry smiles. “Not fiction, and you have twenty minutes to do something about yourself before we open presents.”
I eye the bedside clock, noting I got nearly five hours of sleep before her words register. “You want me there?”
She pauses her bounce of Alexander on her hip. “I want you with them, if you want to be.”
“I want to be, thank you,” I say, lifting Macey to hover over me, her mother’s honey eyes peering back.
“Morning, daddy’s girl,” I murmur as Larissa pffts in protest. My lips lifting as the inevitable favorite-parent competition begins.
It’s in Macey’s eyes that I see her start to register that something isn’t quite right. “Oh, no, is Daddy scaring you?”
The slight hesitance in her expression threatens to break my heart, but just as quickly disappears as she paws my beard.
“Man, that recovery was lightning fast,” I say, “and that’s all Mommy.” I glance up to Larissa and wink with my good eye. “She’s made of tough stuff.” I lift my chin. “Merry Christmas, little mobster.”
“Merry Christmas, Tyler,” she grants freely as we both dwell in the genuine exchange.
An emanating warmth filtering between us and our babies as I take them in, along with my surroundings.
Keeping the ‘I could get used to this’ idle on my tongue.
The strange new reality that my life is now wholly my own for as long as I want it to be sinking in a little more.
Which makes more mornings like this possible, if I can earn them.
“Think I can manage passable in twenty minutes?” I ask as more images stir, these ones a lot less PG, as I take in the look of the woman hovering over me—twin buns twisted and pinned on her crown, lashes painted dark, lips thoroughly glossed.
“Honestly? No, but being humiliated all day by the mafia’s elite is better than a blowtorch, right?”
“Not by much, but you’re worth it,” I admit in a blanket statement, noticing their matching light green pajamas and red slippers. “These are cute … I’m guessing they didn’t have my size?”
She rolls her eyes, lips threatening to lift as she doles out her order. “Drink that”—she nods toward a glass full of thick yellow liquid I hadn’t noticed sitting on the dresser—“and then get dressed.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I eye the glass of what looks like sunshine-colored baby shit. “What’s in it?”
“Enough codeine, juice, and B vitamins to make you feel invincible for a few hours,” she states. “Unless you’re allergic?”
“If I were, I’d drink it anyway, with how I feel. Thank you.”
“See you out there,” she says, securing both babies in their car seats as I lift to help her, wincing at the stab in my ribs. With it, deciding that one day in the future, Daniello is fucking going down.
“I’ve got it.” Larissa waves me off.
“I can help,” I say, managing to get to my feet.
“Uh, maybe you should help that.” She nods toward the full salute in my boxers, and I glance down before palming my smiling jaw.
“I would apologize, but it’s entirely your fault,” I joke, covering my junk. “Sorry.” I shrug. “It’s been a while.”
When she pauses her lift of the car seats, I jump on her hesitation, hoping it’s curiosity I’m addressing. “No one, since you,” I issue freely. “I thought I made that obvious.”
“It’s not my business.”
“Larissa,” I sigh in a call of bullshit.
When she looks back at me, the remainder of the sleep clears from my eyes.
It’s then I remind myself that voicing the words she’s continually summoning from within can’t replace the actions I need to take to make her believe them.
“Go, be with your family. I’m right behind you. ”
She picks up the babies, doing so with ease despite their weight, stopping just short of the door in afterthought before glancing over her shoulder. “About what I said that night. I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did, but it’s on me to change your mind, and I want to. See you out there,” I manage, chest lighting with the hint of forgiveness in her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, her parting words continue to resonate as I stalk through the sprawling home, noticing that all of the Christmas décor is similar to that in Larissa’s villa.
Heart continually warming with each room I pass, as I realize how much painstaking effort went into the details.
In recognizing the time it took her to decorate, the why rings clear.
Though the twins are far too young to remember their first Christmas or even the next several, she’s already making sure they’ll have a memorable home.
That knowledge propels me toward her as I realize just how much being here has improved my state of being.
Even with the rocky start, I’ve already managed a few breakthroughs in less than a day.
Sleeping hours longer than I have since I left, and gaining a little more clarity.
Things I couldn’t at all manage after weeks of intensive mixed therapy—because of her.
As I increase my pace, my day-to-day plans start to multiply.
Each step growing lighter as the throbbing in my head dulls.
As the pain dwindles, my anxiety ramps to get to her, to thank her.
The need to lay eyes on her becoming overwhelming as I follow the sound of booming chatter.
Mixed Italian voices guiding my way. My emotions heightening before freezing my footfalls just outside the entrance of the great room.
Chest pounding unbearably, I become fully paralyzed in recognition of just how much she’s done to help and protect me.
Confounded by the undeserved grace she’s continually shown me after the fact.
The gravity of it forming a lump in my throat.
She could have ostracized me today, or, at the least, kept me hidden.
Instead of punishing me, she’s made every effort to keep me from feeling like an outsider.
Nursing me both last night and this morning.
Waking me warmly with our babies and very nearly apologizing for hurting me.
Once again giving me better than I deserve.
Guilt and shame overwhelm me as I bend at the waist, resting my hands on my knees in an attempt to reel myself in. Eyes burning in reminder of all she’s sacrificed and suffered for a man who’s done nothing but hurt and terrify her.
“Fuck,” I croak as visions of her fill me, the loud chatter in the living room ramping the anxiety consuming me.
The need to reach her, to convince her of my gratitude sending my chest heaving in an effort to collect the needed breath to do so.
Gasping for it, I begin to choke on the sting spreading from my throat as the burn coating my chest wreaks havoc.
A clear image of her eyeing that bottle damning me.
What in the fuck have you done?
Alexander’s telltale squeal pierces my heart, booming laughter following as I cower on the other side of the wall.
Willing myself to get it together just as the shakes set in.
Taking calming breaths, I begin to reason with myself that I know what’s happening and why my body is responding the way it is.
All my efforts failing as salty defeat threatens to spill from my eyes.
Just then, I recognize I’m not alone and turn to see Larissa standing feet away, watching me.
Immediately holding up a shaking palm for her, along with my lie. “I’m okay.”
“Is it the codeine?” she asks, her beautiful face riddled with panic.
Unable to speak, to even begin to explain myself or the truth and depth of what’s happening, I shake my head. Stinging eyes now burning with her concern for me as the noise escalates to a riot inside that I can’t quiet.
“Tyler—”