Epilogue Two
Tiny
“ J esus, these kids are going to give me a heart attack,” Ghost grumbles as we all stand on the edge of the field behind the clubhouse.
“Blame Razor for this one, boss,” Tex chuckles as he watches his daughter, Lilly, turn and fling dirt and sand all over Razor’s son, John.
Razor had the bright idea of getting all the boys four-wheelers for Christmas. It’s not the boys that are stressing me out. No, it’s the fact that Emery found out all the boys were getting four-wheelers and pitched an absolute fit that the girls weren’t getting some, too. So what did her pushover of a dad do? Bought every single girl a four-wheeler, too.
I have to agree with Ghost here, though. I can feel my blood pressure rising. Every time Jilly even gets within five yards of someone else, my stomach drops out of my asshole.
“And you guys don’t understand why Lilah and I never wanted kids,” Ringer laughs, shaking his head as he watches all his nieces and nephews tear into the dirt.
I can’t believe how many kids there are between us. We went from not having a single kid in the club to this. I think we’re up to seventeen or so now.
Brody jumps off his bike and runs up to me. “Did you see that, Dad?” he shouts as if the helmet on his head would make it so I couldn’t hear him.
I nod with a smile. “I see you, buddy. You having fun?”
“This is the best Christmas ever!”
“I don’t like driving myself, Daddy,” a sweet little voice says behind me, and I turn to see Ghost bent at the knee as he fixes Mara’s helmet. “Can I ride with Brody, please?”
Ghost raises a stern brow and looks at me. I lift my hands and pretend like I need to check Brody’s helmet.
Ever since these two were in diapers, they have been attached at the hip. Brody’s a boys boy. Kourtney constantly complains about the many bugs he enjoys catching, and he nearly always has a scabbed knee or two and bruises from head to toe. Jilly never gave us any issues, but we’ve been in the ER with broken bones four or five times with Brody. He’s only seven.
Kourtney claims every gray hair on her head is named Brody.
I chuckle when I catch a glimpse of Mara pouting her lip at her dad. He absolutely hates the fact that she’s obsessed with my son.
She is the complete opposite of Brody. His little girl hates dirt, and she always looks like a dress-up box threw up on her. Take now, for example. She is clad from head to toe in a princess dress. She even has satin gloves from her elbows to the tips of her fingers. The helmet Ghost got for her even has a built-in princess crown. How the two of them can be so opposite yet be glued to each other baffles me.
“Brody,” Ghost calls.
My son spins on his heel and looks up through his helmet at Ghost. “Yeah?”
“Can Mara ride with you? You guys can ride right over here, away from everyone else.”
“Pushover,” I cough under my breath.
Ghost flips me the bird.
“Hell yeah!” my son shouts, and I pretend to be mad that he just cursed.
Kourtney hates his potty mouth, but I think it’s hilarious. He never curses at people and uses the words correctly, so who am I to be mad? I’m sure I heard once that people who curse a lot are very intelligent. So, I’m holding out hope.
Brody hops on his bike and scoots forward, waiting for Mara. Ghost lifts her on the back, and I can hear Kourtney from behind me, “Oh my gosh! Nathan, you better be taking a picture of that!”
Rolling my eyes, I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture before Brody takes off. Mara lets out a squealing giggle as they fly across the field.
I say fly loosely. I know how much of a daredevil my son is, so his four-wheeler is definitely set on low.
Arms wrap around my waist, and I turn to find my wife tucked under my arm. I kiss her head as she watches the commotion through her mirrored sunglasses. “This is giving me gray hair,” she grumbles.
“Everything Brody does gives you gray hair, honey.”
“Tell me about it. That child will be the death of me.”
“I happen to like your gray hair.”
Kourtney’s hand slams to the top of her head, and she gasps. “You take that back!”
“Kourtney, you are blonde. You don’t have any gray hair.”
“Yes, I do. I pulled one out the other day.”
I hold up a finger in front of her face. “One? One singular gray hair?”
“Oh, shut up.” I laugh and pull her in for a kiss.
Ten years later, and I love this woman more than I could’ve ever imagined. She’s given me everything I could’ve ever wanted.
She made me realize how dull my life was before her. She has filled my life with so much since she came into it.
My mom and Evie moved into a house down the street, and Kourtney’s parents even bought a house to spend the winters with us so they can be involved with their grandkids’ lives.
Oliver is currently down on his knees looking at Jilly’s four-wheeler as she rambles on about whatever it is nine-year-olds ramble about. If we thought Oliver spoiled his wife and daughter, they have nothing on his one and only granddaughter. That girl hung the moon in my father-in-law's eyes.
“Even if you were full of gray hair, I’d still think you were the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I kiss her. “Besides, look at Mama and Papa Walker,” I nod toward her parents, who are in their later sixties and still blonde as can be. Not a gray hair to be seen. “I think with those genetics, your odds are good.”
“Suck up.”
“You know it.”
Kissing my wife, I turn her in my arms so her back rests against my chest as we watch the chaos ensue. Jilly turns to look at us, and she sticks her tongue out as if she is disgusted like she always does when she sees us being what she calls ‘all gross and lovey.’
I chuckle, sticking my tongue back out at my baby girl.
Pressing a kiss to the back of Kourtney’s head, I sigh. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you too, big guy.”
The end