“He gave me something amazing, though,” I said.
“Your eyes,” Tommy said.
I shook my head. “You. I know it was your father who orchestrated it but my father being who he was, that was part of it, too. I never thought I’d say it, but my Dad and your Dad, their history? All of it got me you. I love you so much, Tommy.”
Tommy squeezed me a teensy bit too tight, then, kissing me with so much emotion I felt it in my bones. He loved me. He wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect, either. He was who he was. He was mine. My Ice Cream Parlor Hottie, my Dominator, my baby’s daddy, my hero, my husband. My forever.
Tommy
“Oh,” she got a weird look on her face.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Um, I think I either peed myself or maybe my uh… my water just broke.”
Oh shit.
Epilogue
Tommy
2 Weeks Later
Pop was who he was and because of that, and because of all I’d seen and done, I am the man I am today. It meant a lot of things, some of it bad, but not all of it. But, I was also who I was because of the way I lost my Ma. I was the sum total of my experiences, I guess. But my Pop being who he was and Greg O’Connor being who he was? The sum total of that meant that I met and married Tia. And made a family with her.
Maybe I’m a little more like my father than I’d wanna admit, but I could’ve been my Pop in so many other ways. He fell in love with Tia’s mother and she couldn’t take his darkness. In the end, he lost her. In the end, he lost everything. I wasn’t gonna let that happen. I counted myself lucky that he did or I wouldn’t have Tia. I counted myself lucky because not only did I have her but she was also able to withstand my shit. Not that I wanted to keep testing her like that.
I somehow escaped karma for the shit I pulled by getting the most beautiful girl in the world to fall in love with me and put up with all my bullshit. Or maybe karma gave her to me to make up for who I was born to, watching my Ma die, what I put up with as a little kid.
But karma clearly ain’t done with me yet. God saw fit to punish me for my sins by making me a father to a beautiful baby girl that's as breathtaking as her mother.
My eyes. Tia’s cupid’s bow mouth. Chubby cheeks and skin like peaches and cream. This tiny little baby? She takes my breath away. She makes my chest hurt. Strong little fists that clock me on a regular basis and she also has a strong set of lungs on her that keep us up half the night.
We named her Carina, which Tia wanted after finding out it means beloved. No, I never had a Carina in the past and even if I had, I wouldn’t say a word about it. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
She didn’t get a middle name. With a name like that, she doesn’t need one. I didn’t want her to have to live up to anyone else’s ideals by being named after anyone we know.
Some people name their kids for their loved ones out of respect. Or, like my father, they name them after themselves with some high hopes that their kids will live up to. We just want her to be who she is gonna be.
And I pray that she’s gonna wanna be a nun. My karma? She’ll be a drop dead gorgeous race car driver or stunt woman so that I live out the rest of my days downing antacids and drowning in stress.
Tia said she doesn’t even wanna think about when she’s old enough to date. I’ll probably drop dead. I said I’d hang the first fucker that came sniffing around from a tree on the front lawn as a warning to scare the others away, for fuck sakes.
Where was I with my demons? My existential crisis?
I'd given up my birthright as heir to the dirtiest parts of my father’s not-so-legal empire, but I was still a man and had come to the conclusion that, yes, I wanted to be a man my daughter would look up to.
I would never put my kids in the position Pop put us in. I’d never put Tia in the position Greg put her in. But the man I am, it meant holding onto just enough of the world Pop bequeathed to make sure I wasn’t powerless. I had enough power to take down my enemies and protect what belongs to me.
Tia
The cradle in our room was empty. My heart dropped but then my gaze moved to the bed and I could see Tommy cuddled up with our sleeping baby on the bed. He was on his side, shirtless and sockless, wearing a pair of track pants. She was cradled against his chest, his hand supporting her back. He was looking at her little sleeping face, an expression on his face that I couldn’t describe other than to say that seeing his face like that? I was growing more and more in love with him than I had ever been.
Seeing him, gorgeous with that messy hair, five o’clock shadow, and whisky eyes, how he looked at our newborn daughter who was held close to the tattoo he’d inked on himself to promise to keep trying to be worthy of love? I felt so lucky. He looked at her like she was a miracle. She was. Our miracle.
Babies were born every single second around the world but this little girl was our world. He’d wrap her up in pink blankets only, even though we had so many others. He’d stare at her for hours. He would give her anything i
n the world she wanted. I knew that last part just by watching how he was with her.