Our Endless Love

Chapter 31: What Family Means

Warning; Mentions of sexual themes.

December 14, 1987
Nicole's POV

"Michael!" I groaned as my husband emerged from the black abyss of the closet. I have this irrational fear of falling down a hole at night, or somebody jumping at me. Michael, ever the tease, loves to accentuate that fear. I just wanna take a foam bat, and wack him upside the head for that.

"Oh, somebody's jumpy." He squeaked.

"Just the wife who's condemning her husband to the couch." I retaliated. The goofy smile faded into a small pout. God, he's so childlike sometimes, it's hard to stay angry with him. "Or the wife who lets her husband sleep in their comfortable bed leaned up against her while she rubs his head." He rambled.

I blinked silently trying to take into my tired mind what he just said. "Michael, I'm exhausted." I dragged, pressing my nose between my index finger and thumb. "You're sleeping on your side." I turned around to walk back to our bed when Michael swooped me off my feet.

I gasped, and latched onto him. "Wha-?" I was cut off by his silky lips meeting mine. Wrapping one arm around his neck, and another going through his curly locks, I pressed myself deeper against him. Yes, I forgot why I was upset, and let him take me into an ecstasy filled makeup session at two in the morning.

It had been a while since we've had this much passion, and my body ached for him. Well, if it weren't for the scattered knocks at our bedroom door. I rolled my eyes as Michael let me back on my feet. Since I was wearing a nightdress that stopped just below to pelvis, I walked into our conjoined bathroom to grab my silky, white right road.

Michael unlocked the door, and peaked his head out. He bent down on his knees, and wrapped his arms around the figure. It wasn't tall enough to be Corey or Sierra, so I figured DJ somehow got out of his crib. My suspicions were confirmed when Michael stood up, and picked the figure up. He came into the somewhat lit room to reveal my son shivering.

"Baby, he's pretty warm. You think he might have gotten what Sierra had?" Michael questioned, caressing our son's sweaty forehead. I pursed my lips, and shrugged. I walked into the bathroom once again, and began digging through the drawers. Finally, I found the white plastic piece.

I walked back into the bedroom where Michael cradled DJ as if he were a newborn. Michael glanced up at me, and I handed him the thermometer. DJ tiredly blinked as the piece was pressed against his ear. He let out a soft whine. My heart plummeted for my little boy. I absolutely despised it when any of my children were sick. Recently, Sierra came down with influenza, and she had to be put on antibiotics.

I tried to quarantine her to her bedroom, and wipe down every spot in the house. Well, I guess you can't win the sickness battle every time. I ran my fingers across his forehead collecting the sweat seeping from his pores. Then, I placed a kiss on his forehead. Michael took the temperature telling contraption, and read it.

"102.7." He wistfully sighed.

"That's not dangerous, but we should get him a cool washcloth or something." I suggested. DJ seemed comfortable being cradled in his father's warm, protective arms. That guilt when one of my children don't feel well was present.

"Yeah. Here, take him. Do I wring it out?" He asked, slowly handing me DJ. "Yes." I placed one arm underneath his legs, and the other nestling his head against me. Michael kissed my forehead before tumbling into the bathroom after he tripped on a pillow that I threw last night.

I cringed as his mass hit the floor. "You okay?" I asked, my breath cutting in and out from bouncing in my spot. Michael former an "ok" sign with his fingers. I stood up, and stepped over him as he crawled out of the bathroom.