One with two bedrooms.
“We can't afford anything bigger in Shoreditch,” I'm thinking out loud. “We might have to move out East.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Plaistow?”
I make a face. “Stratford maybe. Or Romford.” It's one thing to move closer to his mum, another to live right on her doorstep. As much as I love Tina, that would drive me crazy.
“I'll call some estate agents tomorrow.”
Taking advantage of Max's slow return to wakefulness, I roll over and close my eyes. Alex spoons into me, his arm slung across my waist. It feels so natural, so easy. Very different to the awkwardness of the past few months. The perfect contrast to the arguing, the bitterness.
He's grown up. We both have.
“How are you feeling?” he murmurs, lips pressed against my neck. “Have you been to the PND group recently?”
“I went last week after I heard about Lawrence’s son. I feel so much stronger now, I think I’m going to be okay.”
His lips press against my skin. “Yeah?”
“Mm.”
He runs a finger down my spine, lingering at the sensitive base. “That's a shame. I've got a really good cure for depression.”
I'm smiling as he says it.
“All you have to do is swallow three times a day.”
“Piss off,” I say in good humour.
“Seriously. It cures everything. Depression, stomach ache, you name it. I'm a walking bloody miracle.”
“You are.” I reach behind and punch his side. “Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep.”
“It's good for that to—” His retort's cut off by Max's cry. I watch as he clambers out of bed, boxers slung low around his hips, revealing curling vines that climb up his side. He reaches down, scooping Max into his arms, grinning at his son who smiles toothily back. “Hey, Maxie.”
The baby’s wails melt into babbles, and he reaches up to grab Alex’s ear, tugging hard enough to bring water to his eyes. I simply sit and watch, pleased that for once I’m not the one bearing the brunt of the injuries. Then Alex carries him back to bed, putting Max between the two of us, so his pudgy soft baby skin is pressed into ours. It’s warm. Smooth.
“We made this,” Alex whispers, looking over Max’s head and right into my eyes. “The two of us, we did this together.”
His words choke me enough to fill my throat and wet my eyes. Because he’s right. Max is amazing. He’s everything.
“The job isn’t done yet,” I say. Max rolls over, grabbing hold of my pyjama top; he scrambles to his knees, ready to lunge. Before he can, Alex sweeps him up again, holding him above us, swooping him up and down like an aeroplane. Love for them both rushes through my body. It marks me, burning me, because they’re my boys, my men. The two people I can’t imagine being without.
I don’t want to waste a single minute.
“We’ll never be done. I wouldn’t want to be.” He pulls Max in for a kiss. Dark stubble rubs against chubby cheeks, making Max cry out. His tiny nose wrinkles and he pushes Alex away, indignant.
When Alex kisses me, there’s no pushing away. No anger, no cries, only the tiniest sigh that escapes my lips, whispering across his own.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you.”
Max clambers over us, giggling delightedly at this climbing frame made of flesh and bone. Our eyes meet again and I see mirth buried deep beneath the brown, a wrinkle of the skin, a curl of the lips.
“Shall we stick to the one baby?” I ask.
Slowly Alex shakes his head. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”