‘Lovely.’
Maddie shoots off, eager to help. It’s a great start to the new dynamics of our family. ‘Shall we?’ I ask, helping her lift him to her breast. He latches onto Ava’s nipple like a suction pad, his cheeks hollowing and pulling long sucks. ‘Fuck me, he’s definitely a breast man.’
‘Stop.’ Ava laughs, smacking my hand playfully before settling her head back down. If there is a more beautiful sight than this, then I’m yet to see it.
‘You’re a lucky man, John-Boy,’ I whisper, taking my face down close to his. His eyes are open just a fraction, but they’re on me. ‘I’m willing to share for now,’ I tell him, dropping a kiss on his forehead as Ava giggles softly. ‘But be warned, I’m only loaning them to you. I want them back. Understand?’ I stroke over his smooth head, smiling down at my new baby boy.
I swallow down the lump closing my throat and look up to the eyes that keep me alive. And looking back at me, her gaze soft and teary, is the beauty that is my life.
Epilogue
Eighteen months later
Ava
The sun is warm, the sky clear. Our house smells like cakes baking and potatoes roasting. It’s all mixing up with the drifting scent of charcoal from the barbecue floating in from the garden. It smells like home, our home, and the sounds are perfectly our home, too. Maddie’s music blaring down the stairs, Jacob smacking a tennis ball across the net. John-Boy squealing in the garden. I smile and peek out the kitchen window as I rub cream into my hands, seeing Jesse on all fours chasing him. I say chase. He’s making all the threatening sounds as he crawls after our lumbering toddler on the lawn. He’s just walking. Literally just. I was beginning to worry; the twins were both on their feet at twelve months, but John-Boy . . . oh, no. But then when he’s got four people to carry him around wherever he pleases, why the hell would he bother using his own two feet?
Taking my apron off and letting my hair out of its ponytail, I head for the garden to join in the fun now all the food is prepped.
As I make it to the back door, finding them rolling around on the grass, I can’t bring myself to interrupt their roughty-toughty fun. Besides, I’m hardly dressed for wrestling. So I stand at the door, my shoulder resting on the frame, and I do something I’ll never tire of. I watch them. Jesse and John-Boy. I watch them laugh, roll, squeal. My husband is on his back and currently has our toddler held in the air above him, swishing him from side to side like a diving fighter plane. He’s making the noises to match. John-Boy thinks it’s hilarious. I do, too. All that fear Jesse tried to hide in the early stages of my pregnancy was wasted effort. I understood his panic. Fifty is quite mature to be fathering a child. But, truth is, it’s given him a new lease of life. After everything that happened, John’s death, Lauren and my accident, John-Boy was a pure blessing in disguise.
I breathe in and take a seat on the steps quietly so they don’t notice they have a spectator. Jesse rolls over and places John-Boy on his unsteady feet, quickly moving back. ‘Can you catch Daddy?’ he asks, ruffling up John-Boy’s blond hair. It’s thick and gorgeous, just like his brother’s and just like his daddy’s.
‘Dada, noooooo!’ John-Boy bends at the waist and places his little palms on his knees, like he could be telling Jesse off. I stifle a laugh, grinning like an idiot as John-Boy stomps forward with outstretched arms and Jesse walks back on his knees, keeping the distance. ‘Dada, bad!’ He’s getting stroppy, his gorgeous little face twisting with displeasure. ‘Back, back, back!’ he shouts. ‘Back, Dada!’
‘You can go faster,’ Jesse tells him, getting to his feet. ‘Run for Daddy.’
‘John-Boy run!’ He waddles on, his pace picking up. ‘John-Boy, run, run, run!’
‘That’s it.’ Jesse walks backwards, his pace slow, even though John-Boy’s little chubby legs are now virtually sprinting. My breath catches when I see him stumble, his hands coming up in an instinctual move to save him before he hits the deck. He doesn’t need those hands.
‘Oops, there he goes.’ Jesse laughs, swiping John-Boy from his feet in one swift move. And then he is sailing through the air like a jet plane once again. Jesse’s always there for him. Always there for all of us.
I clap, laughing, winning both of their attention. I’m not sure whose green eyes sparkle more. ‘Good running, John-Boy!’ I call, holding out my hands for him to come.
‘Mama!’ He struggles free from Jesse’s hold and gets set on his feet. God, his little grinning face is just edible. Clomping on his way, he holds his arms out while Jesse keeps close company behind to catch him when he falls. Because he will.
About two of Jesse’s strides away, the inevitable trip happens. And once again he’s saved by Daddy, who swings him into my arms. ‘There he is!’ I sing, catching him from Jesse’s hands and putting my lips straight on his cheek, making him giggle, the sound so sweet.
Jesse lowers to the step beside me, his attention now on me. When his gaze meets mine, he smiles that roguish smile. ‘I like your dress.’
‘Of course you do. You chose it.’ I roll my eyes as I reach over to offer my lips. I don’t get a chance to poise them ready for his attack. He’s on me fast, delivering a smacker of a kiss. ‘Hmmm, you smell divine.’ I hum, feeling John-Boy pulling at the top of my black wraparound dress. That fresh water scent on my husband is still the best tranquilliser, my body folding under the smell, his breath always so minty fresh.
Pulling back a fraction, Jesse circles my nose with his. ‘Someone wants access,’ he quips, nodding to John-Boy wrestling with the black material of my dress. ‘Greedy little sod.’
‘Someone needs to get used to the fact that Mummy’s boobs aren’t at his disposal.’ I take John-Boy’s hands and push them away, making him whine and start slapping my chest in protest.
‘I know, mate,’ Jesse sighs, reaching for his chubby cheek and pinching lightly. ‘She’s a tease, right?’
I laugh, repositioning John-Boy on my lap, away from me. He’s having none of it, fighting to turn. I moan. This weaning business is exhausting, but with me now setting up my own interior design firm, it’s essential. Plus, he’s way too big now to be hanging off my boob. ‘Mummy will get you a bottle.’
‘Booby, booby, booby!’
Jesse falls apart, chuckling uncontrollably next to me while I fight off our relentless toddler. ‘Just let him have what he wants.’ Jesse places his hand on John-Boy’s head, rubbing lovingly.
I refuse to give in, and part of me is wondering if my conniving husband has a method to his madness, because he usually does. And this time, I suspect he’s cottoned onto the fact that with his son stuck to my breast, there’s no way I can go back to work full-time. Well, he can think again. He sulked for weeks when I told him my plan for my new business. Even laid a few of his fucks on me. They didn’t make a difference. I held my own, and he finally relented. He’s learning. ‘Jesse,’ I moan, looking for the back-up I need. Jesus, he’ll still be attached to my breast when I’m fifty, and I plan on having surgery way before then. Like as soon as these balloons shrink back down to their usual form, which basically means they’ll be spaniel’s ears again.
‘I’m sorry.’ My wayward husband snorts and gathers himself.
‘Why are you finding this so funny, anyway?’ I grumble, handing John-Boy over to Jesse. ‘I thought you wanted them back for yourself?’