Rowan 39.
Steve shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden stool in the corner of our bedroom. I imagine his ass is stinging quite a bit. Good. I cannot believe he…
“Daddy?” I hold up a finger to silence him. I need a minute. You’d think reddening his ass would soothe my ruffled feathers, but I can’t get the image out of my head of him at gunpoint. My time with him being cut short by some psychotic diva. Not to mention, lying by omission, leading me to believe he’d never used a firearm before. He and Chase both!
His execution, literally, was so smooth. Flawless. His body was poetry in motion, like the gun was an extension of him. Deadly accuracy. I was hard in an instant and pissed the fuck off. Then he goes into shock and passes out in my arms.
“Do you understand why you were punished?”
“Yes?” I stare unimpressed at his answer. He squirms more. “Yes,” he states more surely, shifting and wincing. “I withheld information from you regarding my experience and skill with firearms.” I nod. He sits up straighter, happy he got it right. “I put myself in danger rather than letting you handle the situation, despite you not having a clear shot.”
Ok, when he phrases it like that…no. I’m right, he could have died! I could have lost him, and I will not tolerate that. “You aren’t allowed to die!” His lips twitch, but he stills the motion quickly. Smart boy.
“I’m sorry, Daddy, that I upset you.” There’s a “but”, always a “but”.
“Mmhmm.”
“But…” there it is, “I am not sorry for finding my backbone and eliminating a threat against my family. That bullet was inches from your head! I’m not allowed to die? YOU aren’t allowed to die!”
“So, we’re just going to live forever?” I shout back. He’s standing now, and we’re nearly nose to nose.
“YES!”
“Together?”
“Why? You got someone else to spend eternity with?” He spins around, theatrically looking for this other person. “Where are they? Do I have to k-k-kill them too?” I catch him as his knees give out, tears pour from his eyes. “I killed him. I’m a murderer!”
“No, baby.” I take us to the ground, laying him over my lap, I hold him to my chest and rock us back and forth. “Shh, baby, no. You aren’t a murderer. You stopped someone from harming anyone else. You protected Em, and Chase, you protected me.”
“Then why are you so mad?”
“Because I’m scared. I’m not mad at you, I’m scared,” I admit, my voice hoarse, my throat tight with emotion.
“So am I.” He arches his neck and meets my eyes. His tears threaten the tight leash on my emotions. “We can be scared, but we can’t allow it to control us.” So wise, my boy. “I only want you controlling me, nothing and no one else.” I chuckle as I lower my mouth to his and kiss him softly.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”