I wasn’t sure if they’d be up or not. Beckham’s schedule was still pretty sporadic.
At two months old, she still got up every three to four hours like clockwork to eat…and that was if she even went to sleep afterwards.
I found my two girls watching TV.
Well…Beckham was in her swing, swinging away while she stared at the TV.
Blake was on her back on the couch, arm thrown up over her head while she slept.
She looked beautiful, even if she was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and was sporting a giant white stain on her chest from what’d I assumed to be spit up.
Beckham cooed as I walked over to her.
Turning the dial off to stop the swing, I picked her up and cradled her against my chest.
She smelled like baby lotion. The one in the purple bottle that was supposed to help her sleep. Yet, here the girl was, at 1:35 A.M. Still wide awake while her mother sacked out on the couch.
Not that I blamed Blake.
She did a great job taking care of Beckham.
Even worse, she’d started back at her job this week and she was exhausted. Which was why I also overlooked the drool that was leaking out the corner of her mouth.
Beckham and I went to her room where I changed her, read her a story, and then laid her down in her bed.
She only ever went to her bed when I was there to put her in it.
She was Daddy’s little girl for sure.
Turning on her mobile that projected stars on the bedroom’s ceiling while it turned, I flipped off her light and closed the door quietly.
Then I went back for my other girl, finding her in the exact same position.
Smiling, I started stripping off my things, starting with my gun, badge, and Kevlar vest.
My boots soon followed, followed by my pants and shirts.
Everything was piled high on the floor, but I left it there to get later.
My next step was to bend down and gather Blake into my arms.
She was only slightly heavier than she’d been before she had the baby, but to me, she was still perfect.
If anything, she was even sexier now with the added cushion on her ass and thighs.
Her breasts were bigger, too.
Exceptionally so.
That was thanks to the breastfeeding. Something that was a serious turn on for me, yet I’d never admit to it.
“Hey,” Blake said sleepily, turning her face into my chest to kiss it. “I missed you.”
I smiled as I walked into the bedroom, sighing when I saw the bed was full of unfolded clothes.
“I missed you, too. I put Beckham to bed,” I told her before she had a chance to ask the question I could see brewing in her eyes.
Laying her on my side, I walked around to the opposite side and shoved all the clothes into a large pile, then scooped them up into my arms before depositing them on the dresser.
Those we’d get to later, too.
“How was work?” She asked softly as I sat on the bed and started removing my prosthesis.
I looked over at her to see her turned towards me, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Long. The man who was responsible for the call we ran held the woman hostage with a BB gun. We spent four hours there because there was no way in without putting the woman he was holding hostage in danger. Then to find out the gun that we’d been fearing all night was fake was a major blow. Needless to say, we were not happy. Nico missed his anniversary dinner,” I said, laying everything on the floor before I fell in bed beside her.
Blake scooted over the moment I got into bed, curling into my body.
“I’m glad it was a stupid call, if it had to be any at all. It’s the bad ones that make my heart scared,” she whispered, voice heavy with the beginning of sleep.
“I’m sorry,” I said honestly. “I don’t mean to worry you.”
She patted my belly lightly twice in answer before she fell asleep on me once more.
And once again, I was left feeling so full I could hardly stand it. Full of love for my wife. For my child. For everything.
There was not one single thing I’d change.
Not one.***3 years later
Blake
“Mom,” an insistent voice said urgently. “I have to pee!”
I sighed, closing my eyes as I prayed that my daughter would forget that she ‘had to pee’ and just be still for another three minutes while we waited for Foster to get there.
Today was Foster’s thirty fourth birthday, and I had an incredible party planned out.
Right this second, we were waiting for my uncle to bring Foster in from the car.
My daughter, however, had different ideas.
“I’m going to pee on daddy’s rug, and you know how he doesn’t like that,” Beckham scolded me.
Chuckles from the other men and women in the room surrounded me in the darkness, and I had to stifle the urge to laugh myself at the ridiculousness of it all.
“Fine,” I said, standing up with Beckham’s hand in my own. “If you don’t go to the potty, though, I will spank your little hiney.”
Snorts sounded out among the room, I’m sure finding it humorous that I would even say that. The irony of it all was staggering.
Foster was the world’s worst person when it came to punishing, and usually it was me who did all of it…which didn’t happen all that often.
I just hated when Beckham cried, and she had the softest, most sensitive heart in the world. It was hard for anyone to scold her, let alone spank her.
“Mommy,” she said softly. “I can’t see.”
I sighed and started searching for my phone, but Luke, who’d been sitting beside me, flipped his lighter open and turned it on.
Which was followed by the rest of the men in the room, including my grandpa.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“No problem, my dear,” Grandpa said.
I smiled inwardly, pulling Beckham in my wake as I made my way to the potty where it was inevitable that we’d miss Foster’s entrance.