Epilogue 2
BECKETT
Four years can change a hell of a lot.
I used to think of home as the place I came to recharge after work—quiet, crisp, controlled. I’d sit at my kitchen table, hunched over reports or planning the next week’s drills, obsessing over whether I’d left the station one percent more efficient than when I arrived.
Now? Now I pull into my driveway after a ten-hour shift at the firehouse, and the second I kill the ignition, I know I’m in for it. And I couldn’t be happier.
The entire front porch is littered with sidewalk chalk and tiny pink flip-flops, and there’s a suspicious smear of glitter on the door handle.
I brace myself and step inside.
Instant chaos. The air hums with toddler giggles, something squeals—could be the pig, could be the dog, hell, maybe the cat—and there’s a high-pitched soundtrack of “Pretty! So pretty!” echoing down the hall.
I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.
Exhaustion? Gone. I barely get my boots off before Elsie waddles up the hall, belly-first, her hair in a wild mess and cheeks flushed.
She’s eight months pregnant, all curves and attitude, and she’s absolutely gorgeous.
Jesus, I never get tired of seeing my girl like this. Glowing. Fierce. Mine.
She closes the distance and tips up on her toes to press her lips to mine.
The kiss is soft, sweet, but there’s a wicked spark in her eyes when she pulls away.
Her hand drops to her belly, fingers splayed, and she eyes the absolute disaster zone behind me like she’s about to charge into battle. “You ready for the chaos, hottie?”
Damn right, I am. I slide my palm over her bump and grin down at her, heart thundering. “Bring it on, Hot Doc. You know I live for this shit.”
I drop my bag next to the door, toe off my boots, and follow the ruckus straight to Ember’s bedroom.
Her door’s half-shut, but the commotion seeping through the crack is pure, unfiltered mayhem.
A unicorn light casts stars across the warzone.
Stick-on gems sparkle from every available surface.
There’s a plastic mirror on the floor, reflecting a pile of abandoned glitter tubes and ten thousand hair clips.
My three-year-old daughter, Ember, is jabbering away to the three captive animals.
She’s got her mother’s wild red hair, which is currently held back with a neon pink headband and at least four mismatched barrettes. Her blue eyes light up with mischief as she talks away, completely absorbed in her work.
And her “clients?” Absolute fucking masterpieces.
Pork sits on a tiny tea party chair, belly out, tongue lolling in defeat.
He’s got a full hot-pink tutu wrapped around his middle, wings made out of construction paper taped to his back, and a tiara perched between his floppy ears.
The very image of canine humiliation. He blinks at me, pleading for rescue.
Beans, on the other hand, is in heaven. No shame whatsoever—he’s parked on a princess sleeping bag, stock-still except for his little corkscrew tail that’s wagging like a metronome.
He’s wearing a hot-pink vest covered with stickers and a gold medal that says “#1 Best Pig.” Ember is carefully pressing a new sticker right above his left eyebrow while Beans preens, a blissed-out smile on his bristly face. Show animal. Born for this.
And Mr. Snugglebutt—oh, man.
The orange devil perches on the edge of Ember’s toddler bed, looking like he’s in hell.
There are at least twenty hair clips jammed into his fur.
Neon stripes. Butterfly barrettes. Two tiny fake roses.
One actual bow tie. And wrapped around his tail is a pink scrunchie.
His eyes meet mine, and I see true, pure feline misery.
His face says, “Please kill me. Kill me now.” His self-respect is long gone, buried beneath layers of my daughter’s hard work.
I bite my fist to keep from howling with laughter.
Ember doesn’t look up. She’s laser-focused, eyebrows knitted in concentration as she gently pats Beans on the noggin. “Almost done, buddy!” she singsongs. “Beanie, you look SO sparkly!” She spins, noticing me for the first time. “Daddy, look!”
“Gorgeous, angel baby.” I pull my phone out and snap a photo, because this has to be immortalized.
Elsie comes up behind me, soft and warm, and wraps her arms around my waist. I shudder at the rush of her touch.
I’m still grinning like an idiot as she presses her cheek to my back, belly bumping against my ass.
“You see what your daughter did?” she murmurs, laughing low in her throat. The sound goes straight to my cock.
“Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” I drag her arms tighter around me, loving the way her hands splay across my ribs. Fuck, I’m obsessed with this woman.
She kisses my shoulder, breath hot through my T-shirt. “You’re the sucker who bought all the play makeup.”
“Worth it,” I rumble, voice so low it barely escapes my chest. The only thing better than coming home to this chaos is knowing it’s mine forever.
I twist, needing her closer, and crush her lips to mine.
She melts for me. I palm the back of her neck, holding her tight, and take her mouth like I own it.
Elsie moans against my lips, her round belly pressing hard against my abs, and all I can think about is how fucking perfect she is.
My crazy, sassy, brilliant woman. Her hands clutch my shoulders, nails digging in just enough to remind me she’s always been a fighter.
God, I love it when she grabs me like that.
Behind us, Ember is shrieking with laughter, tossing a fistful of hair clips in the air like confetti.
“Daddy, look! Beanie’s SO BUTI-FUL!” She lunges for another sticker and nearly wipes out, but manages to catch herself at the last minute.
Beans just grunts as she leans across his bristly side.
Pork blinks, tiara crooked, silently begging me to end his suffering, while Mr. Snugglebutt hisses out a sigh and slumps onto his side, eyes rolling back in his head.
Typical fucking perfect day in the Hot Home.
“Go put your feet up, Hot Doc. I’ll handle the chaos.” I nuzzle her cheek, loving the way a shiver runs through her curvy body. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my girl.
She grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, that mischievous blue spark dancing in them—the same look that knocked me sideways the first time I saw her at the clinic.
Her lips curve upward, revealing the tiny dimple on her right cheek that only appears when she's truly happy.
"Thank you," she murmurs, voice honey-warm. “You’re so freaking perfect.”
God, I fucking love her. I can’t keep it inside.
“You have no idea how obsessed I am with you,” I rumble against her neck, voice rough and raw.
“Every single day I wake up next to you, I can’t believe how damn lucky I am.
” My hands shake as I cup her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
She’s flushed and happy, lips parted, eyes shining like I just handed her the universe.
“You’re everything, Elsie. My home. My heart.
My fucking world. I love you more than anything. More than air.”
She blinks, tears glimmering, and I kiss her hard, deep, filthy, like I’m staking my claim forever. Mine. Always.
“I love you, too,” she breathes against my lips before leaning over, one hand bracing against her lower back for support, and places a lingering kiss on Ember's wild copper curls before whispering, "Be good for daddy."
She straightens up and winks at me, then disappears down the hall in a slow-motion waddle, mumbling something about “needing to soak her ankles for a hundred years.” I can’t stop staring at her ass as she goes, round and perfect in those soft maternity shorts. Goddamn, I love my woman.
Behind me, the chaos cranks up another notch. Ember’s shoving more barrettes at Mr. Snugglebutt, determined to break his will. He’s barely conscious. The cat’s basically gone catatonic, eyes glazed over, accepting his fate as a living craft project.
Life doesn’t get any better than this.