“They called you Bama’s own Romeo and Juliet,” Taylor said softly, her mood forgotten. “At the beginning, they said your story was famous around here.”
Laughing, Molly nodded her head. “That’s what the press began to call us. Because of all the trouble we had in being together—publicly, unfortunately.”
“With Daddy’s parents?” she asked tentatively, and that old stab to the chest ripped through me in an instant.
“Yeah, honey,” Mol replied as she slid her arm around my back, rubbing it up and down in soothing motions. I hated any reminder of my parents and the years of shit I suffered at their hands… especially the miscarriage. I never saw them again after the meeting in my daddy’s study that day. And they were both long gone now. My Momma drank herself into an early grave only two years after she left Bama and my daddy suffered a heart attack ten years ago while incarcerated. We’d decided long ago to always be honest with our children—well, as honest as their ages would allow. Our troubles had been well documented and we didn’t want them to hear any of our past from anyone but us.
“Go, Daddy!” Eli and Archie suddenly shouted from the sofa, completely ignoring our conversation, both jumping up and down excitedly, pulling our attention back to them. Our youngest boys ran to the front of the large TV, clapping and screaming as shot after shot of me playing football rolled: sprinting, passing, scoring touchdowns. We all burst out laughing when Eli, the youngest, ran full out at Archie, tackling him to the floor, screaming, “Boom!” and patting his chest, holding it to the sky, my—now famous—touchdown celebration.
Breaking from Mol’s hand and running at Eli playfully, I lifted him above my head, tackling him to the ground. Squealing and laughing, Eli wriggled on the floor as I tickled him and Archie then jumped on my back, wrapping his tiny arms around my neck. As I glanced up at the other two on the couch, Isaac threw down his iPad, piling on too. Even Taylor, who at first rolled her eyes at us, finally succumbed to temptation and, with a squeal, ran and jumped on top.
“Let me up, you monsters!” I shouted dramatically as I tried to throw them of my back.
“Never!”
“We got you pinned, Daddy!”
“We brought down the Bullet!”
We were a mass of arms and legs, giggles and screams. And then I looked up at Mol watching, laughing at us all, and then it went quiet as five sets of eyes zeroed in on her, and she quickly lost her smile.
Backing away with her palms held up, Molly warned, “Oh, no. Don’t you even think about it, I don’t have time…”
My eyebrows danced as I said, “Kids, Momma is getting away. Defense, are you with me? One, two, three, break…”
Yells of agreement echoed around the large room as the five of us launched to a chase. With a scream, Mol turned and ran toward the kitchen, beelining for the huge backyard. She’d made it onto the first patch of grass when I hit her from behind, protecting her from being hurt with my body as we tumbled to the ground, our four crazy children piling on top.
“Do you give?” I shouted as we all tickled her into submission, her body jumping and jerking on the soft grass.
“I give, I give!” She choked on hysterical laughter, unable to stand the tickles to her ribs—it was her weak spot.
“Kids, go get a pigskin. Me and Momma need to get everything ready for the party,” I ordered and, still hyper, all four of our beautiful kids ran to the game shed and out of our sight. Taylor glanced back at me and threw me a small, apologetic smile—we were good again.
Looking down at my hot and flustered wife, I pinned her arms above her head and straddled her hips. “Mmm… I’m kinda liking this position I got you in.”
Molly bucked her hips, trying in vain to throw me off, pursing her soft lips.
Shaking my head disapprovingly, I whispered, “You want it rough, baby?”
“Romeo!” she screamed again, and I cut her off by slamming my lips against hers, my tongue immediately plunging into her hot mouth. Groaning against the assault, Mol let out a reluctant whimper, and I pulled back, teasingly licking the edge of her cupid’s bow.
“Hey, Mol,” I said with a smile.
Feeling her racing heart against my chest, she answered, “Hey, you.”
“You gonna give up that lucky sweet kiss?”
Mol couldn’t contain her giggle at the use of our old pre-game ritual. “If that’s what you want.”
My face broke out in the biggest fucking smile, and I replied, “Oh, it most definitely fuckin’ is!” Releasing Molly’s trapped arms, I cupped her cheek, moving in for the softest of kisses.
But all good things never last, or should I say they get cut short by a loud-mouthed, friggin’ Texan. “Hot damn, guys! Get a fuckin’ room!”