I moved to them, all too eager to take my two-year-old son into my arms. The second I did, I bounced him, pressed a kiss to his forehead, breathed him in.
Joy.
Completeness.
Fulfillment.
“I missed you. Did you have so much fun last night?” I sang on a whisper.
Excitement widened his brown eyes. “I watched the dwagons!”
He said it like it was some kind of secret.
“You did, did you?”
“I wuv the dwagons.”
“How was he?” I asked, glancing at Kristina.
She and a friend of hers had watched the kids last night over in the second wing of the house. We’d all wanted them to be close by but tucked safely away from the craziness.
It wasn’t so hard to lure them with a movie-themed sleepover, Slurpie machine and all.
It wasn’t like Lyrik was gonna skimp out on the good stuff.
It was a little harder to get me to agree. After everything, it was difficult to let my kids out of my sight, let alone for an entire night.
But I’d wanted to be there for Tamar and Lyrik. Support what they were doing.
Maybe even feel normal for a little while.
All it took was a single thought of him to send tingles streaking across my skin. Hairs lifting on end as I was hit with the remnants of the intensity I’d been prisoner to last night.
The man in the attic.
A dark storm.
A white light.
A coalescence of energy that had quietly seethed.
If I was being rational, I knew that intense encounter should mean nothing. I should have already forgotten it. Yet somehow, it had marked me. Left me tossing and turning all night, then had me up long before the sun, unable to find sleep.
No.
It wasn’t insta-love.
It was insta-intrigue.
Insta-attraction.
And it’d left me insta-crushed.
Left with this little spec of what-if mangled inside me.
What if he would have stayed a little longer? What if I’d have asked a few more questions? What if I had pushed him a little harder—would it have led us somewhere we were meant to go?
What if he would have kissed me?
That roll of tingles turned into a flashfire.
What if he would have—
I gulped, unable to even bring myself to imagine it. Those hands and that body and that brooding heart.
He would have done me in.
No question.
What I’d done was dodged a speeding bullet.
A whole arsenal.
Hell, I’d probably avoided a landmine or two.
That man was written in mayhem. Tattooed in trouble. And I’d had plenty enough of that to last me a lifetime.
“Our Greyson here was a saint, weren’t you?” Kristina fussed, singing to my son, snapping me out of the daze.
My brows lifted in disbelief. “A saint, huh? Why is it I don’t believe you?”
Greyson might be the cutest thing on earth, but the child was a handful. So full of energy it was hard to keep up.
“Well, you should believe it. This one stole my heart. Even though he might have woken up twice in the middle of the night, didn’t you, stinker boy?” She tapped his nose. “But I’ll forgive you.”
She sent me a small wink while he was giving her one of his smiles, the kind that was all chubby cheeks and tiny teeth and I bet I can get away with anything adorableness.
“Hey, I thought it was me who stole your heart?” Brendon called from the other side of the kitchen.
He was all smirks and black hair and dark eyes, just like his daddy.
Nothing but a flirt.
Kristina barked a laugh. “Oh, you think so, huh, Brendon?”
“Now don’t go breakin’ my heart, Miss Kristina.”
It was hard to believe he was just shy of thirteen. The threat of his teenaged years was becoming more and more apparent with each day that passed.
As sweet and charming as could be, but there was no missing the flare in his eyes.
Something wild and unruly.
My ears perked up when another set of footsteps came trudging down the hall, slower than the rest, just like I expected them to be.
I looked that direction as the door swung open again.
Penny.
That overwhelming love slammed me anew.
Penny was my oldest child. Dark haired and brown-eyed. Stoic and willowy.
All things wonderful.
My sweet miracle because I was sure it was this little girl who had saved me when she was born. She’d given me something good and right to live for.
A purpose.
Set me on a different path than the one I’d been heading.
She shuffled down the hall long behind everyone else with her nose stuck in a book.
Surprise, surprise.
“Hey, Mom,” she mumbled, barely acknowledging me as she moved for the table without pulling her face from the book.
“Missed you, too,” I called as she passed.
She tossed an arm in the air in a whatever gesture.
So yeah, her teenaged years were lurking, too.
She and Kallie were both eleven. Thicker than thieves. Best of friends even though they lived on opposite sides of the country.
These gorgeous little girls who were getting ready to become bombshells.