50. Dominic
(Two years later)
I guide the SUV up our winding driveway, the engine purring beneath us. The late afternoon sun catches on the endless expanse of grass stretching out on either side. Fifty fucking acres of it.
"Your turn to mow," Connor says from the passenger seat, a smirk playing at his lips.
"That shit takes forever." I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. "Last time I did it, my ass went numb from sitting on that tractor for six hours."
"Take that up with our wife." Connor chuckles. "She's the one who insisted on all this land."
"For the horses," Isaac pipes up from the back seat. "And the dog. And whatever other strays she keeps bringing home."
The white three-story house comes into view, wrap-around porch gleaming in the sunlight. Home. After two days away on a job, the sight of it settles something in my chest.
A golden blur races down the front steps, barking excitedly. Petey. That damn dog nearly knocks himself over, his tail wagging so hard his whole body shakes.
"Speaking of strays." I park the car. "Remember when she brought him home? Covered in mud, missing half his fur?"
"Now look at him," Connor says. "Spoiled rotten."
I climb out of the SUV, and Petey launches himself at me, front paws landing on my chest. His tongue lolls out in a doggy grin as I scratch behind his ears.
"Down, boy." But I'm grinning too. "Where's mama?"
The screen door bangs open and tiny feet thunder across the porch boards. Our daughter Paislee races toward us, her black pigtails bouncing with each step, crayon-covered papers clutched in her hands.
"Da's!" she squeals, launching herself at Connor first. He catches her easily, swinging her up into his arms.
"What've you got there, Princess P?" Connor asks as she thrusts a paper at him. From this angle, it looks like her and Connor and Petey looking at a computer.
"Made you pictures!" She wiggles until he sets her down, then runs to Isaac. "This one's yours, Da!"
The drawing shows what I assume is meant to be Isaac's signature shaved head, complete with his Celtic cross tattoo rendered in wobbly green crayon. He scoops her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It's perfect, love. Looks just like me."
When she reaches me, I lift her high above my head, making her giggle. "And what masterpiece did you create for your old man?"
She hands me a paper covered in swirls of purple and black. "It's you and your motorcycle!"
The screen door creaks again, and there's Tatum, looking gorgeous as ever in cutoff shorts and one of my t-shirts, our son Theo propped on her hip. His dark curls are still damp from what I'm guessing was a recent bath.
"Look who finally decided to wake up from his nap," she says, bouncing him slightly. His tiny fist curls in the fabric of her shirt as he blinks at us sleepily.
"Da Da Da!" he calls out, reaching pudgy arms toward us.
Isaac bounds up the porch steps, his face lighting up at the sight of our son. "Give me bruiser!" He scoops Theo from Tatum's arms, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek. The baby squeals in delight, grabbing at Isaac's ears.
"Missed you, love." Isaac pulls Tatum close with his free arm, kissing her deeply before heading inside with our boy.
Connor follows behind, Paislee perched on his shoulders and still chattering about her artwork. He pauses to cup Tatum's face in his hands. "Beautiful as ever, mama." His thumb traces her bottom lip before he claims a kiss of his own.
"Inside, monster." He swings Paislee down. "Show Da the rest of your pictures."
I hang back, drinking in the sight of our woman standing there in my shirt, those long legs on display. Two days felt like forever. The screen door slams behind Connor and Paislee, leaving us alone on the porch.
"Get over here," I growl, pulling her into my arms. She fits perfectly against my chest, her curves molding to my body as I bury my face in her hair. Vanilla and something uniquely her fills my senses. "We missed you, mama."
Her fingers slip under the back of my shirt, tracing patterns on my skin. "Missed you too, Da." She tilts her head back, those green eyes sparkling. "All of you."
"Get inside," Tatum tugs at my shirt sleeve. "Paislee helped me make dinner. She even set the table all by herself."
"Speaking of the munchkins," I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close. "James and Tinley are coming to pick them up for a sleepover tonight."
Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively as she spins out of my grasp. "Is that so?"
"Mhmm." I land a playful swat on her ass as she heads for the door. "Did you buy another one of those mob gowns I love so much?"
She throws a wink over her shoulder. "You know it."
Inside, the scene before me stops me in my tracks. Connor sits at the head of the table, Paislee perched on his lap as she shows him how to properly hold her stuffed unicorn for their pretend tea party. Isaac has Theo in his high chair, making airplane noises as he tries to convince our son to eat his mashed carrots instead of wearing them.
Ten years ago, I was breaking kneecaps and running protection rackets. Now I'm watching my daughter serve imaginary tea to one of the most dangerous men in Brooklyn while another teaches my son table manners.
Tatum slides her hand into mine, squeezing gently. Her green eyes sparkle with understanding as she takes in my expression. Sometimes it hits me all at once – how fucking lucky I got. How this beautiful, fierce woman chose not just me, but all of us, giving us a family we never thought possible.
"Da!" Paislee waves frantically. "Come sit! Mr. Sparkles wants to tell you about his day!"
I press a kiss to Tatum's temple before joining our little tea party. Yeah, I'm grateful as hell.