...Comes From Some Other Beginnings End (Chris Evans A/U)

.39.

  "Please, baby, please," Chris whines as I pull his car into the parking lot of the oral surgeon's office.

  This man astounds me. He has been not only shot at, but actually shot and even stabbed. He's even told me of drivers that have nearly ran him over trying to get away from traffic stops.

But this? This takes the cake.

My dear, precious, handsome husband is afraid of getting his wisdom teeth out.

  "You're being an absolute baby, Evans," I tease, tossing the car in park. "You're going to be completely fine. This is something that you should've done years ago. But no. Someone decided a trip to Cancun was more important."

  He glares at me, still holding tightly to his seatbelt. He's totally regretting ever telling Jamison about the trip to Cancun when he was seventeen. How on earth the boy thought he could get one past his mom and dad if he skipped town and waited to tell them until he was already hanging out on the beach will always be a mystery to me. If memory serves correctly, they still had to pay for the cancelled appointment and told him he could deal with whatever issues the teeth caused in the future.

  Which brings us here today.

  We'd gotten back from our trip to the Florida Keys about eight weeks ago. It was a new starting point for our marriage. Coming back we'd decided that we would communicate better with one another, allow ourselves to have those days where we mourned the loss of our son and what we thought life would be like today.  However, the allowance came with a condition. We were never to go through those days and moments alone. If the urge to fall apart came over one of us, we were to contact the other. The option of closing ourselves off from one another is no longer on the table.

  We fought too hard to be together to let our mutual brokenness tear us apart.

  "If it wasn't for this damn infection I wouldn't be here at all."

  "No kidding. You'd save being a baby for another day." I open the driver side door, toss the keys in my purse and climb out.  By the time I'm at the front of the car, he still hasn't budged.

  With a roll of my eyes and growing agitation over his ridiculousness, I find myself reaching for the passenger door. As my fingers wrap into the handle, the lock clicks. 

  "Are you being serious right now, officer?"

  Chris stares straight ahead, the belt still across his lap along with his arms crossed against his chest.

  My fingers dig back into my purse, the fob tight between my fingers. I click the unlock button as soon as my other hand is on the handle. In his pouting state, he's not quick enough to uncross his arms and get to the lock again before I've got the door open. 

  "Get out."

  "No."

  "Christopher." My tone is sharp and short because I'm already too tired to be dealing with him and his immaturity over something so minor. 

  Pumpkin has been giving me a fit lately, always under my feet or in my lap when I manage to sit down. She's even refusing to sleep anywhere other than the bed which I don't mind when Chris is working nights, but she's messing with our cuddle time on the few nights we actually have together. 

  I'd already planned to catch a handful of winks while he's in surgery. My eyes are getting even heavier under the bright, blazing Atlanta sun. 

  The grown man child is still refusing to even unbuckle his seatbelt.

  Time for the big guns.

  "Okay, then. That's fine. If you want to act like a petulant toddler, I'll just make a call."