Christmas Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 2.50)

The way things usually go down when King comes home after being away is we have a marathon session of sex and then I sleep for most of the next day while he hangs out with the kids. So I understand where he’s coming from, but Goddammit, I want him.

Now.

Tonight.

For the entire night.

I need to be with my husband in the way that truly connects us.

Pushing my body against his, the words “I need this” fall from my mouth in an urgent and fierce rush. My eyes search his, wondering what’s gotten into him. In all our years of marriage, I can’t recall one time he’s held back like this.

He turns silent for a beat, and I see the conflict he’s struggling with.

Fuck, maybe we should spend tonight talking.

The thought fl

itters away as fast as it came. I know him as well as I know myself, and King needs a couple of days at home after being away before he’ll start talking.

Finally he nods and says, “Let me finish this and then—”

He’s cut off when Travis’s voice floats down from the back deck. “Mummy, I’m sick.”

King’s head jerks up to look at our son. “Fuck,” he mutters as he lets me go and makes a move to head upstairs.

I grab his arm and stop him. “You finish the swing set. I’ll take care of Travis.” I say this like taking care of Travis will be quick, but we both know it won’t be. Travis is the needy one of our children; when he’s sick, he demands our complete attention.

King looks at me with regret, his eyes communicating what I already know: there won’t be any sex now.

He nods. “I’ll be up soon.”

I leave him and run up the stairs to Travis. Scooping him into my arms, I take a good look at him. “You don’t look well, baby. What’s wrong?”

His little hands come to my neck and he grasps me tightly. “My tummy is sore.”

I only needed to take one look at him to know he’s going to vomit and he’s just confirmed it, so I take him into the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bath, I deposit him on the floor and say, “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?”

He nods, his lips quivering. “Yes.”

I turn him to face the toilet and say, “Okay, we’ll wait here and see—”

Before I finish what I’m saying, he retches violently into the toilet and then starts crying, his tiny body shaking.

I move behind him, rubbing his back and holding him.

He vomits three more times, growing more upset each time. Once I think he’s gotten it all out of his system, I clean him up and then carry him into his bedroom.

As I lie him down, he grabs for my neck again as tears stream down his face. “Don’t leave, Mummy! My tummy’s sore still.”

I sit on the bed with him and try to calm him. “I know, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” The tremble in his voice slays me. I hate watching any of my children go through sickness.

I nod. “I promise. Wiggle across so I can lie with you.”

A minute later, he’s cuddled up to me and I’m pretty sure I’m not far off passing out now that I’ve stopped and lain down. King’s right: I’m absolutely shattered.

I don’t fall asleep, though. Travis is agitated, so I sing his favourite songs to him in an effort to get him off to sleep. I have no idea how long I do this for but it feels like quite a long time. It’s not until King steps into the bedroom that I stop singing. Travis is asleep but I kept going because he has a habit of stirring easily if I stop straight away.