Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
CASSIUS
Life had continued since getting back from Chicago. With our schedules and routines remaining the same, nothing had changed since our time away. When Dylan worked, I cared for Mikey, and when he was home, we did the day-to-day chores while spending quality time together.
With one pretty incredible exception.
My mouth was on his—heck, on any part of his body—whenever I got the chance. Not only did it make life sweeter, but I was happier than I ever had been.
Heading into the backyard where Dylan pushed Mikey on the swing set we’d installed last year, despite him being too small to play with it last summer, I paused on the back deck.
A grin stretched on Mikey’s face as he leaned back, staring up at the sky, swinging back and forth without a care in the world.
Thankfully, it was a swing with a strap of sorts, so there’d be no falling.
One arm fracture earlier on in the year had been enough to age both Dylan and me, and I hadn’t even been living here and parenting.
I had no idea how Dylan had done it. And pretty much by himself.
Of course, he had Mom and Pop, but day in, day out, he’d been here, the sole carer for Mikey.
Not for the first time today, the thought made my heart hurt.
When Dylan called my name, I shoved my melancholy and guilt as far away as I possibly could.
What was the point in rehashing the time I’d missed or how many days exactly I’d held back the truth from Dylan and Mikey?
“Hey, I’m going to head to the store and pick up some onions and tomatoes for the salsa.”
“Not without laying one on me first, you’re not.”
At his teasing tone, I grinned, my heart tumbling with affection for the man who continued to show me every day how incredible he was. More specifically how incredibly right for each other we were.
And as I stepped into his space and leaned down to press my mouth to his, seeking more than just a whisper of a kiss, I embraced him, just as I’d made an unconscious decision at some point over the past couple of weeks to no longer question what was happening.
Acceptance was my mindset of choice, and it was a hell of a thing.
I sighed into his touch and melted into his kiss. At Mikey’s giggling and calling our names, we pulled away with smirks and heated cheeks. Getting lost in Dylan was easier than sinking a layup on an open court.
When we turned to Mikey, he indicated he’d had enough by lifting his arms and saying, “Out. No more.”
I undid the strap and pulled him out, taking the opportunity to hold him close and press kisses all over his face. Contagious, glorious giggles escaped, a sound that was in my top five favorite sounds ever.
“I’m heading to the store. What are you going to do with Dada?” I asked, smiling internally at the name Mikey settled on calling Dylan. Try as he might to get our boy to call his dad “Daddy,” Mikey refused, the name never sticking.
“Me come.”
“To the store?”
“Yes.”
“The store’s not all that exciting, Mikey,” I challenged, somehow holding back my smile.
Our kid was no fool. He also played me better than a seasoned point guard orchestrating the perfect play.
That I was in the habit of picking him up a treat of some sort whenever we went to the store together I suspected had a lot to do with his request.
I was also a sucker and struggled to say no.
“What do you think, Dyl?”
If I was expecting a rescue from him, I should have known better. His far-too-innocent smile wasn’t fooling me. Hell, did he whisper that a trip to the store on a Friday evening sounded like fun into his son’s ear?
“Just think of the extra shower time I can have if I have the whole house to myself.” The teasing tone in his voice did nothing to distract me from the heat in his eyes.
Fuck yeah.
He’d just come off his four-day roster yesterday and had been exhausted at the end of every shift. On top of that, Mikey was just getting over a rotten summer cold, meaning he’d been miserable. That meant we’d all been miserable.
So tonight, I hoped Dylan wouldn’t be asleep by eight thirty and Mikey got a full night’s rest. Fucking my husband into the mattress would be the perfect way to spend the evening too.
Not that our mutual hand jobs two nights ago weren’t spectacular—I’d blown my load with a smile on my face and captured Dylan’s groans with scorching-hot kisses. But since sex was on the cards, it was difficult to think of anything but the sensation, the absolute bliss of being buried inside him.
I cleared my throat, pulling my heated gaze away from Dylan, and willed my cock to behave.
“Looks like you’re coming with me to the store, kiddo.”
“Yay.” He wriggled in my arms to get down.
As soon as his feet hit the grass, he bolted to the house.
Probably to get my keys. The kid did like to organize shit.
When Dylan had commented on it and compared him to me, I’d swallowed down the bittersweet feeling of him liking to organize parties for his dolls and teddies.
“Take as long as you want.” Dylan bounced his eyebrows up and down.
I shook my head, then claimed another kiss, gripping his butt and squeezing before I pulled away and smacked his ass for good measure. He grunted as I dipped my voice low. “Such a fucking tease.”
“And you love it.”
“Yeah, I do.”
A crackle of awareness zipped between us, the words caught up in the small space.
Shit, should that have been “you”?
“Weady!” an eager Mikey hollered from the patio, keys raised in one hand, one of the canvas bags we used for shopping in the other.
I chuckled as I took in his triumphant expression. Mikey really was an extraordinary kid.
“And that’s my cue.” I pressed a chaste kiss to Dylan’s mouth, allowing a brief glance to read his expression. His smile was soft, and while the heat was no longer evident, affection seemed to be lit from within.
All that emotion was currently directed at me.
“I’m going to own you tonight, Mr. Britton.”
Startled, his brows shot high. Not giving him time to respond, I threw him a smug smirk and got out of there before he could call me out that not once had we discussed either of us changing our names or taking on each other’s.
But fuck if I didn’t love the idea of him taking mine. Dylan and Mikey.
It didn’t take long to get to the store, Mikey chatting the whole way about the drawings he’d done earlier while relentlessly talking about the pet dog on a show he loved and what we should call our pet dog.
I snorted at the name choice as I released him from his car seat. “You think we should call a dog SuperKitty?”
With a grin, he nodded. “Yeah, and we gets mask.”
“Uh-huh.” Setting him down, I reached for his hand before locking my SUV and heading into the smaller of the two stores in town. There tended to be fewer people here, and usually locals, so there was less chance of folks asking for autographs or a selfie.
While it could be invasive, I’d always just grinned and bore it, recognizing it was a part of the job. If it wasn’t for fans, I wouldn’t have this job or be living my dream of playing B-ball.
But having Mikey, though, stepping up and being his dad, I finally understood why Pearce and Eddie got frustrated by people approaching them when they were with Lottie.
People approaching me when I was with Mikey, honestly, it pissed me the hell off. Not that I ever caused a scene, though there were a couple of times I calmly told them I was with my son, so it wasn’t the time.
The lack of boundaries made my blood boil.
We entered the store, and I held a little tighter to Mikey’s hand. He was a good kid, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a slippery creature and make a run for it, thinking it was hilarious for me to chase him.
“How about you keep working on names that aren’t going to give this imaginary dog of yours an identity crisis?”
I smiled at an older woman in the shop and continued on our way toward the fresh produce.
“What’s ibempipy cwisis?”
I chuckled. “Identity crisis… well, it’s when the dog might start thinking it’s a cat and get confused.”
Mikey stopping in his tracks pulled me up short. I peered down, our gazes connecting.
“You okay?”
“We needs a kitty so no ibempipy cwisis. Doggy and kitty.”
I bit back my laughter just imagining how that request would go down with Dylan. “Perhaps that’s something we need to talk to your dad about. We might need to wait till you’re a little older too.” I absolutely threw Dylan a boon, slipping the age proviso in.
“I’s free now.”
We stopped before the tomatoes, and I released Mikey’s hand to grab a plastic bag. “I know you are, kiddo. I was thinking maybe eight or nine.”
“But kitty and doggy now.”
Shit. With his bottom lip sticking out, Mikey looked the picture of defiance.
“How about you help me count out five tomatoes?”
His expression didn’t change. Correction: a more stubborn set of his jaw made it crystal clear what he thought about counting tomatoes.
“I can’t do this alone, Mikey. Tomatoes and onions, then how about a little treat?”
Since bribery was always a winner, when he shouted, “No,” so loud it echoed around the small store, I blanched in surprise.
“Hey, now.” I scooted to his level. “You don’t want to help me?”
“No.”
Well, at least he didn’t scream the word this time.
“No worries. Two minutes and we can be out of here.” Plastic bag in hand, I angled to gather the tomatoes, not paying too much attention to which ones I grabbed. The threat of Mikey entering DEFCON Toddler Mode had me swiping up five before snagging another bag to throw some onions in.
The kid’s tantrums were thankfully few and far between. But hell, when the kid had a meltdown, it was like he was possessed by a gremlin or something.
“Done.” And not a moment too soon. The kid was eerily quiet, meaning he was building up to a—
My heart punched a deep, loud thud just as my stomach bottomed out.
Where the fuck is Mikey?