Jack grinned and clapped his hands as if my newborn were going to launch herself into his arms. Though, if she was anything like her brother, we didn’t have much longer until she was doing just that.
With abnormal cycles and spending the majority of her adolescent and adult life on birth control, Remi had feared that it would be difficult for us to get pregnant. I’d crunched some numbers while she’d called me a nerd and come to the conclusion that we should start trying to conceive about a year before we expected any results.
Nope! Four weeks later, she’d thrust the most incredible pee-covered stick in my face while Clyde and Sugar had raced around sporting I’m a big brother T-shirts. Nine months after that, she’d given birth to my clone, Jackson Paul Michaels. No, seriously. It had freaked me out at first how much he looked like me.
Remi was a natural at the whole motherhood gig, even with as klutzy as she was. You should have seen her with a newborn. The woman could suddenly walk across lava barefoot and tiptoe through a dark nursery like a ninja without ever stubbing a toe. I’d relished in watching her with our firstborn. The sparkle in her eyes even when exhaustion had clung to her lids. The connection she had with him from day one had allowed her to decipher the slightest difference in his cries to determine his needs. The way she couldn’t stay away, perching herself on the arm of the rocking chair as I’d read him a book each night at bedtime.
I’d loved her with every fiber of my being before—yet somehow, I loved her more each day.
Having a second child hadn’t been a hard decision for us. We had always discussed having two kids. If it were up to me, we would have had an entire baseball team, but she had been pretty adamant about only two. As it turned out, fate had other plans for us—once again.
I let out a huff and ever so gently transferred my sleeping princess into her grandfather’s arms. Turning on a toe, I marched toward the house, calling over my shoulder, “Fine. I’ll just get Oliver.”
“Don’t you dare wake him up!” Remi yelled, chasing after me.
That’s right. We had twins.
“I’m not going to wake him up, I’m just checking on him.” I never broke my stride as I shot her a wink over my shoulder.
I’d barely made it through the door when she caught up with me inside. Her hand landed on my forearm, slowing my progress, but it was the slap on my ass that made me stop.
“Woman,” I growled, turning to hook her around the waist and drag her to my chest.
She let out a loud laugh that against all odds had become the soundtrack of my life. “If you wake that baby up, he’s never going to sleep tonight. And you know what that means?”
Oh God, did I know what that meant. My already limited opportunities to see my wife naked were about to shrink exponentially.
“Ohhhhh-kay,” I relented, swaying her from side to side. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take the entire night shift tonight.”
She cupped a hand to her ear. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll take my shift and your shift while you get eight full, uninterrupted hours of blissful slumber.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as she let out a moan. “Say less. It’s a deal. I accept. I accept.”
I chuckled. “You don’t even know all the terms of the agreement yet. You might be biting off more than you can chew—or ride, as it turns out.”
“Oh, put it on my tab. You know I’m good for it.” She winked. “My line of credit has never been declined with you.”
“And it never will be.”
We both jumped like we were already naked and had been caught in the act when the back door suddenly swung open.
“I gotta pee!” Jackson yelled, racing into the house, soaking wet with floaties still on his arms.
Potty training was not going the smoothest, so neither of us was willing to stop him to get him a towel. If I’d learned anything in my tenure as a father, it was that mopping up a trail of wet footprints was the least of my worries.
With a sigh, I rested my forehead against hers. “You know, fate is not always my friend.”
She laughed. “It would appear not. Though I think she’s been pretty good to us.”
