Counterfeit Love

And it was.

Beautiful.

Every part of it.

Even the ugly furniture that kept creeping its way into our house.

Finch's one hand moved forward and down, slipping between my thighs, working my clit as his body got faster, more demanding, as he made mine equally as desperate.

"Come, angel," he demanded, working my clit just so as he thrust harder, deeper.

And just like that, we both flew over the edge together.

We wouldn't know it until six weeks later, but we'd gone ahead and let our love create something new and unexpected.

See, the universe liked to laugh at plans.

Even my plans.

My very detailed and backed-up plans.

It didn't care that I had started a birth control that was ninety-nine percent effective, saving me from any more embarrassing trips to the convenience store to pick up condoms. Or, worse yet, trips to Costco with Finch, who would get the giant pack of them, proudly slamming it down on the check-out belt while he grabbed me and kissed me dramatically.

But that one percent: I guess I hadn't planned for that.

And then nine months later, our love overflowed into a new life.Finch - 6 Years"Take a deep breath, love," I demanded, snagging Chris around the waist, pulling her down onto my lap, refusing to let her go when she tried to stand up again.

We were at the park.

And Chris's anxiety was at an all-time high.

Because Chris was the very definition of a helicopter mom. Not because she didn't want our little girl to fall and skin her knee, or get bullied from some other kid hanging around. But because Joss had brought a whole new outlet for her fears into the world.

Namely, that someone might come across the black-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful little girl, snatch her, and subject her to hell on Earth.

It was an understandable fear. One I personally thought a lot of parents never considered. I guess I maybe never would have thought about it much if I hadn't been around Chris and Ferryn and all the people at Hailstorm who threw statistics at me that made me sick to my stomach.

Dr. Clark and I had worked on ways to try to lessen Chris's anxiety. We'd even decided it would be wise to invest in one of those ankle bracelets that came with wifi and tracking. They were designed for children on-spectrum who had a tendency toward running away, so that parents and police could easily locate them and get them home safe.

And the first time we put one on Joss when we were about to go shopping, Chris had let out a heavy sigh of relief.

But little by little, over time, her anxiety built once again, making it nearly impossible to take even a few steps away.

I knew that if I wasn't there, she would be right by Joss's side, going up the steps with her, across the drawbridge, down the slide.

"It's important for her to build some independence, doll," I reminded her. "And she is never going to make friends if her mom is always at her side."

"I know I am being irrational," she told me, taking a deep breath. "But I can't seem to stop it."

"I know that."

She tried. She really did. I could see her start to take a step forward then pull herself back when Joss was out of sight for a short second.

"I keep thinking one day I am going to realize that this is over the top and let it go."

I think we both knew--as did Dr. Clark--that it wasn't going to get any easier. Because Joss would get older, would start to hit her teens, would remind Chris of her own teens, about what happened to her when she was that age, and then send her scrambling to figure out any way she possibly could to make sure her daughter didn't go through what she went through.

Which was why our very young daughter was already taking martial arts. And she would continue to do so as she got older.

Like Ferryn.

Like all the children of the extended family I now belonged to.

Joss would be trained and confident and able to handle just about anything life threw at her.

"Can I remind you of something, dollface?"

"I know. I know. Our friends are here."

And by that she meant that about a dozen of our closest friends and family were around, keeping their keen eyes on everything going on.

If a shady character even considered being at the park this day, they would run away real quick once they caught sight of the Henchmen cuts and the various badass women standing around like mama lions protecting their cubs.

"Look," I said, pointing past her body. "Joss made a friend."

Joss had, thus far, taken much after her mother when it came to social situations, but with my complete and utter lack of physical self-preservation. The kid was bumped and bruised more than she wasn't. Which meant her mother got the constant joy of replenishing the first aid supply.