Rebirth (RAW Family 3)

“No,” I agreed quietly, fighting a smile.

The evening went on without a hitch. Everyone had eaten. The kids finally warmed to each other and played inside all night as little Mia slept through the noise. The conversation was a fountain, flowing and never ending, full of joy and laughter, and as the night slowed, I didn’t want our friends to leave.

Lily joined me in the kitchen as the guys continued catching up outside, and as we loaded the dishwasher, somebody tugged my shirt.

Startled, I looked down at my son. His eyes were stuck on the little girl wearing a tutu and combat boots. He didn’t address either of us as he spoke gently. “She didn’t tell me her name.” His voice was far away. “What’s her name?”

He was acting strange. I was momentarily dumbstruck.

Lily’s eyes darted between us until she uttered, “Her name is Angela. We call her Angie.”

A small smile stretched his lips. “Angie,” he murmured dreamily. And when he peered up at me and said what he said, my heart stopped. He spoke quietly, sincerely, and he held such determination in his tone that I found myself believing him. “I’m going to marry that girl.”

My mouth gaped. So did Lily’s.

But A.J. didn’t notice. He only had eyes for the dark-haired, green-eyed girl who had apparently stolen his heart. Before either of us could speak, A.J. floated away, back to the group of kids playing by the sofa, leaving both Lily and me dumbstruck.

When I found my voice, it was weak. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

Lily jumped on that. “Right. He’s just a little boy.”

“Exactly,” I forced out on an awkward laugh. “Oh my, kids definitely do say the darndest things.” I licked my lips and faltered. “But still. Maybe we should...”

Lily added gently, “...not tell the guys about this?”

I was so glad we were on the same page. “Yes,” I rushed out.

And she nodded, swallowing hard. “Agreed.”

“Great.”

“Cool.”

And as we conversed politely, I couldn’t help but notice that neither of us could take our eyes off of the peculiar way Angie and A.J. sat together on the sofa. Angie held her handheld gaming console in her hands, talking non-stop, explaining the aim of the game, and as she yammered on, A.J. watched her closely, his eyes searching her face, smiling softly to himself. And my chest ached.

Oh, shit.

My son was in love.

The house was quiet. That was a rare event in itself. Sure, it was early, but silence was not as calming as it had once been. Especially not when I had to endure the time without my son as I had. Silence was daunting, and as I crept into his bedroom and found him fast asleep, my heart uncoiled and I allowed myself to breathe again.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, I looked down into the angelic face of the boy who almost never came home. My hand moved without prompting, and as I touched his hair, I reminded myself that we were good.

We were good.

Being as quiet as I could, I let him sleep a while longer because he wasn’t broken in his dreams.

Barefoot and pregnant, I made my way to the fridge and poured myself a glass of orange juice, then went in search of the man missing in action. It wasn’t often we woke separately, but when we did, I became restless.

It didn’t take long, and when I pushed open the sliding door and stood in the open doorway dressed in only my nightie, he peered up at me a moment before continuing what he was doing. And with every second that passed, the mirth crept up my throat, dangerously wishing to escape. But I kept it on lock.

Instead, I leaned against the doorframe, and uttered, “Once upon a time, I thought you were a god.” I sipped my juice. “And now look at you, doing laundry, hanging up my panties and bras.”

I held the laughter down as much as I could, but when his eyes crinkled in laughter, he pointed at me in warning, and five of my bras hung from his forearm. I lost the battle, tipping my head back and let my light laughter free.

He shook his head, but I didn’t miss the way his lip twitched. When he muttered, “Fuck you, baby,” it sounded more like, “I love you, baby,” and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

With my heart full and my baby kicking, I made to leave, and as I did, he called out, “You could help, you know.”

I paused in the doorway, gazing over at him, and my brows rose.

This guy.

“I’ve done laundry for six long years, honey.” I started to close the sliding door between us, and as I did, I sassily stated, “It’s officially your turn.”

He mock-glared at me through the glass.

I blew him a kiss.

He went on clipping my panties and bras on the clothes line. And I’d never been more content in my life.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Months turned to years.

The old oak in the backyard, the same oak I had carved the name of the boy I swore I wouldn’t forget at the age of seven, now bore the names of each additional family member we welcomed into our brood.

It had become tradition.

Later that year, another name would be carved into the Falco oak.

And my heart and soul settled as my family grew.

The soft cries coming from the nursery had me shooting up in bed, momentarily confused and fretful enough to make me sweat. But he was already up and out the door. And when he returned with the little bundle, I switched on the lamp as he set her down gently between us.

Her nostrils flared and her mouth pulled down, her lips trembling as her little arms attempted to break free of her muslin restraint. No. She wasn’t happy, our little dame. And we both knew why.

Blinking sleepily, I reached up to unhook the front of my bra and lowered the cup before gently lifting my sweet little girl and holding her to my breast. She latched on quickly, my little piggy, and did her thing as her father leaned on his side, propping himself up drowsily on his elbow, watching us both lovingly as she ate her fill.

My husband stroked the wispy hairs at the back of her head, and whispered sleepily, “Slow down, Fia. Momma’s not goin’ anywhere.”

>

My heart could barely take how much love I had inside me. It was strong, overflowing, and as it settled over me like a warm blanket, I wondered if it would ever get old.

Chances were, it wouldn’t. And I was okay with that. In fact, I was counting on it.

Twitch was somewhat of a voyeur these days, especially when it came to his children. He loved to watch A.J. do his homework, priding our eldest on his smarts. He adored watching Matteo fall on his little tush, trying in vain to stop his little legs from falling out from underneath him as he attempted to run before he could even walk. But, most of all, he treasured every moment of Sofia’s feeding.

His little princess, he called her. Daddy’s girl.

I had a premonition she would be the apple of her father’s eye.

Heck. She already was.

So much he’d missed out on with our firstborn. He was making sure he didn’t miss out on another single second of their precious childhood.

Scars.

We had them in spades.

But those scars had shaped us into the people we were today. And although our wounds had started out painful, the marks they left were permanent. Everlasting. And I was grateful for the reminder of how hard we had worked to be together.

It told me a lot about us.

Failure was never an option. Twitch and I would be together or die trying.

There were days when I would sit back and watch my family thrive with such sentiment that I would silently excuse myself and weep in complete quiet, in secrecy, because the sheer force of the emotion was absolutely crippling.

We had made it.

Every day was a gift.

We had made it, against all odds, taking the road less traveled.

It was us against the world, and I would protect this family with every last fiber of my being.

Which brings me to my point.

A word of warning to those meaning to harm my family.

My name is Alexa Falco. And I am not afraid anymore.

Come for us.

I dare you.

I will take you the fuck down.

The End.