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SECTION BREAK
The only thing constant about life is that it changes.
And, sometimes, the bullet you thought you dodged comes back and hits you square between the eyes.
Six-ish Years Later
Chapter Twenty-Two
Damien
Gia moans softly into my mouth, as I run my hand up the back of her shirt and pull her closer to me. My lips brush hers and I inhale her scent for the first time in what feels like forever. God, I missed her.
We’ve been on the road for two weeks this time. I hate traveling without my girls, but it’s difficult with Astria’s busy schedule. Between school and her ever-growing list of extracurriculars, it’s nearly impossible for them to leave.
Not to mention, my wife is a complete badass. Gia’s one of the most sought-after photographers in the industry right now. It’s impossible to walk by a magazine in the checkout line at the grocery store and not see a photo my wife took. Each time my chest puffs out a little further. I’m so damn proud of her. I’m proud of us. Our lives are hectic and crazy, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
The Renegades are on a hot streak right now, and it feels good. Who doesn’t want to win? Personally, I think it hits different when you defeated death to get here. I’ve been proving that damn doctor wrong for nearly six years now. If and when we make it to the cup, I’m sending him box seat tickets.
I slide my tongue along her plump lips, and she opens for me. It never gets old. The feel of her lips on mine. The way her tongue slides into my mouth, and she takes what she wants unapologetically. If anything, it’s only gotten better with time, this fire that burns between us. This woman is the best damn kisser that ever existed, and I dare someone to try to tell me otherwise. Her body and her mind are completely in sync with mine. She is my home.
“Gross! Dad stop making out with Mom in the kitchen!” A shrill screech comes from the entrance to the kitchen, and I pull away slowly, reluctantly. We’re caught.
I kiss Gia on the nose and then the forehead before putting enough space between us that we’re appropriate for a viewing audience of one, not-quite-yet, pre-teen.
I look at my daughter curiously, did she say the words make out?
Astria’s getting closer to her mother’s height every day, it feels like she’s grown six inches in the last two weeks alone. “Whoa there, who taught you to say making out? Since when do we say that? You’re like five, right? You can’t walk around saying things like that out in the open for my sensitive Dad ears to hear.”
Astria scoffs. Her hair is braided in two French braids down her back, they kind of remind me of her mom’s braids at that age. Her backpack is slung over one shoulder. Always perfect timing, this one.
She’s just getting home from school; she rides the bus to our neighborhood with Camden Tolar. The Tolars live just down the street. I like that they’re getting to grow up together, but I’m also keeping my eyes on that boy. I know how this story ends already. One day they’re like your sister and the next you’re standing in your kitchen with a semi being chastised by your daughter for making out.
“Dad. Come on. I’m in the fourth grade, I’m almost nine. I know what kissing is. Please, just, whatever you do, don’t make another baby.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I choke. No way are we prepared for this talk. It’s a Tuesday. Sex talks in the kitchen do not happen on Tuesday. That’s more of a weekend topic. Actually, I need another thirty years, at least, before I’ll be ready for this conversation. Or never.
“Gia. Make it stop. My ears are bleeding.” I squeeze Gia’s hips in my hands and beg my wife to have mercy on me and get us out of this conversation and fast.
“Astria, honey, your dad was kissing me in the kitchen. This is my kitchen. If I want to be kissed in my kitchen I can be kissed in my kitchen. We are two consenting, married adults. If we want to make a baby, we will.” I widen my eyes at her in an attempt to make her stop, but she only smiles knowingly. “Just not in the kitchen.” Fuck. That’s not what I meant. I can’t think about making a baby while my eight-year-old stands in the kitchen next to us, judging our every move.
More like eight going on twenty-eight.
“Why not in the kitchen?” Astria asks, and now I know she’s just toying with us. She’s too smart for her own good. She looks more and more like her mama every day. So beautiful.
“We’re not having this conversation right now. Your dad just got back. I wanted to kiss him - in the kitchen. End of discussion.” Gia looks at our daughter with a raised eyebrow and dares her to test her again.
I stare at our daughter, slowly shaking my head back and forth. Don’t do it. Do not test this woman.
Astria crosses her arms over her chest, a small smirk lifting the corner of her lip. I know that look. Suddenly, I’m worried for her safety.
“Camden said his baby sister threw up all over him in the backseat last week. Hard pass.”
I hold my smile in. I have an odd sense of pleasure knowing that Camden has been getting his own dose of pre-teen birth control in the form of baby puke.
Sylvia and Carter added a second child to the mix a little less than a year ago. I can’t imagine starting over again at this point, honestly. Even if we are still young in comparison to most parents with a child Astria’s age.
The last seven years have aged me in ways that are hard to explain to anyone that didn’t experience them first-hand. It’s part of the reason I keep my circle so close.
