More Than a Hotline Fling

Epilogue

Juneau's POV

"Damian!" I called, juggling the weight of the laundry basket in my hands. "Get your ass in here when you're done in the shower. I have something for your eyes only."

With thudded steps, he burst into our bedroom as if the room was ablaze. Water droplets dripped rivers down his naked body, the trails leading my eyes over the bumps of muscles and down to his swelling erection. One hand wrenched around the bathroom door handle and the other cupped his balls.

The heat simmering excitement in his eyes flamed out when he saw me fully dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. "Oh, I thought..."

"Don't worry, you'll get one last round." My biceps strained as I heaved up his present. "But I wanted to give this to you first."

He snorted at it, giving me an unamused expression. Shaking his head, he retreated to the bathroom and returned with a towel wrapped around his waist, the line of white dipping under his navel. His arms were still damp when he crossed them over his chest, also wet. "Seriously?"

"What?" I feigned innocence and set the basket down on our bed. Its contents rustled. "You didn't even laugh."

"Ha ha," he deadpanned, rolling those hazel eyes that snared me with one glance. "Like I'm not dealing with enough thinking about tomorrow's procedure."

"This will help you recover. Look, frozen peas..." I giggled and displayed my efforts with gameshow hands. "Mini 'No-Nuts' donuts, not that you'll eat them. A shirt that says 'One-hundred percent juice, no seeds.' Oh, and a cake. Snip, Snip, Hooray, Daddy."

Damian's distrustful eyes inspected the lopsided pile of cake. "Did you make that?"

My smile faltered. "Emily helped, Matty ate more of the batter than he poured, Peyton got a timeout, and Alex pretended that we don't exist. So..."

The black ink on my right wrist appeared when I gestured at the basket, October 21st. I got the date Damian and I married on my other wrist. It was fitting that one wrist showed the day I lost my family and the other the day I gained a new one.

Thank goodness I didn't get the kids' birthdays. My arms would be barcodes.

Damian's eight tiny footprints, inked opposite his own date stamp ink on his ribs, was enough. Our tiny clan marched toward his heart.

"I'll watch out for eggshells." His eyes shifted to me. "Do I want to know why Peyton got a time out this time?"

My hand raked through my hair, and I sighed. "Escaped out the dog door, ran barefoot through the garden, and let the chickens out again. She thought they needed more exercise, but they shit everywhere."

Damian palmed his forehead. "Fuck... And I thought girls were easy. Did the Bardslees..."

"Yep." My head bobbed because our neighbors' patience, even half an acre away, was thin. "All three ran right to his coop. Lined up like guys at a strip club."

"That's..." his eyes closed. "Not a mental image I wanted."

"Relax." A scoff tickled my throat, and I crossed my arms. "Operation 'Rescue Meanie, Miney, Moe' was a success... scratches, traumatized chickens, and sweaty kids aside."

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I groaned at next week's events. "Instructor Hotpants, don't forget, you're talking at Alex's class Wednesday. I'll try to remind you, but he's got a crush on Izzy in his class. Do not embarrass him. Emily's swim lessons start Monday - fuck, I still can't find her goggles. I might buy new ones. And the twins have that playdate with Jameson..."