Jenny - 3 weeks
Perfect was a funny thing.
An unrealistic thing.
But it was a strong feeling, one that could overwhelm you completely, cocoon you inside the sweet sensations, make you think they were permanent, unchangeable.
But perfect was a live thing, something that ebbed and flowed, ever-shifting as the sea. It crested,completely enveloped you, drowned you in it. Then just as effortlessly pulled back away, leaving you cold and wet and hyper-aware of the loss.
The first time the perfection was pierced, I hadn't even been aware it was happening at first.
Sleep had claimed me as it so often did, wrapped up in Noah's arms, tucking into his side, resting on his chest, warm, body contented with orgasms and peace, freedom.
But my dreams weren't always a safe place to be. Unconsciousness was a vast, endless void that left space for memories to come back where they didn't find room to do so while I was awake.
Teddy haunted me in my dreams. Not every night. But enough. I woke up on a gasp more than a few times, quiet enough that I didn't startle Noah awake.
It felt wrong to keep secrets, even one as small as my occasional nightmares.
But I hated it when Teddy came between us. It was inevitable on occasion. Like how we were still not acting as a couple. At least not outside the walls of my house or - more often - his.
Quin's rule.
He was being careful.
He wanted to make sure that nothing ever came of Teddy's death.
Three months seems fair.
That was what he'd said when we'd had a meeting the week before.
Three months.
In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a long time. And just because we had an act to put on, it didn't mean we couldn't be together.
But it did mean that whenever I ran into someone outside the house, Teddy was always what they wanted to talk to me about, dragging him out, dusting him off, putting him right between Noah and me.
So I didn't want to bring him into our bed too.
Unfortunately, sometimes, you can't control the way your body acts to a bad dream, making you toss turn, talk, whine, cry. Enough to wake up the person in bed with you.
I startled awake with a gasp like I was used to at this point.
"Hey, it's okay," Noah soothed, reaching out to me.
"Don't touch me."
The words hissed out of me, low and lethal, a kill shot to Noah's good intentions.
He shocked back, eyes big, as I tried to pull in a few breaths, tried to remind myself that it was a dream.
Just a dream.
But dreams could feel so real.
Even awake, I could swear I felt the bruises pounded into me in the nightmare, making me feel sore, my body flooded with adrenaline.
"I'm sorry," I said, a cry in my voice when I realized how I had spoken to him. As though his arms disgusted me. As if I didn't want them near me ever again.
"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "I get it, sweetheart. I get nightmares too."
"I've never... I started to object.
"The mornings you wake up alone, those are the nightmare nights for me," he explained, reaching out to touch my knee softly, only squeezing when I didn't jerk away.
Those mornings were frequent.
At least three a week.
I had just figured he was an early riser, that it was from his military days, that it was against his training to stay in bed burning daylight when you could be up and accomplishing something.
It never occurred to me that he had a secret, that he had a mind that brought back ugly memories when it was supposed to be resting.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, trying to make sure my voice wasn't accusatory.
"Some shit in my past is ugly, Jenny. Didn't want any of it rubbing off on you."
I thought on that for a long moment as the adrenaline started to get reabsorbed, leaving me calm, my brain clear.
"I don't think we can be in a relationship - a healthy relationship - if we try to keep our ugly from each other."
"That's probably true," he agreed. "Having nightmares about the beatings?" he asked, point-blank, something he never did, shocking enough to make me stiffen a bit, having to actively force myself to calm back down again.
"Yes. It's not usually that bad," I added. "Why do you get out of bed? Are you afraid you might hurt me?
"Christ, no," he said, sounding like the very idea pained him. "I just can't get back to sleep after one. And I've found I am less likely to have back-to-back nightmare nights if I don't stay in bed and harp on it, if I get up instead and get something accomplished. Workout. Go into the workshop. Something. What?" he asked when a completely inappropriate smile pulled at my lips.
"We're quite a pair, huh?" I asked, shaking my head.
His arm reached out, dragging me back to his side. "Our demons recognize each other," he said, kissing my temple. "I think that is a good thing."
And it was.
Smith - 5 weeks
"Get your ass in here," Quin's voice snapped in my ear, making me fold up in bed, wiping at my dry eyes as Jenny rolled over, looked up at me.
"Something wrong?"
"Quin has his 'what the fuck' voice on," I told her, leaning down to press a kiss into her temple. "I will call as soon as I know something."
I climbed out of bed in Jenny's house, shrugging into my clothes, then making my way out.
We switched.
My house and hers.
Spreading our newfound relationship everywhere that we were allowed to.
The air outside had the chill of winter with the promise of spring. And as I made my way to the office, I couldn't help but think that maybe in the summer, Jenny and I could walk around Navesink Bank holding hands instead of pretending we were just boss and employee still.
Though, to be honest, Jenny got off on the boss.employee thing in bed sometimes. So there was a silver lining in every cloud.
"Any idea what is going on?" I asked Jules as I stepped inside the office, seeing only the wide eyes, the worry line across her forehead.
Whatever it was, it had Jules worried.
It had to be big.
"Everyone is in Quin's office," she told me, pressing a mug of coffee into my hands and shooing me away.
I walked into Quin's office - one almost as familiar as my own, finding our team standing around, arms crossed, brows furrowed.
My gaze sought Quin.
Who was standing out front his own desk, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Why the hell wouldn't he be at his own desk?
On that thought, my gaze shifted to where you would usually find him.
And I found out why he wasn't seated there.
Because someone else was.
And she was leaned back in his chair, her feet kicked up on his desk, tossing his quartz paperweight up in the air over and over, looking very much like she hadn't a care in the world.
She was maybe in her mid-twenties, dark-skinned, dark-eyed, long of leg which she had clad in simple black skinny jeans that met her red Chucks. Her black hair was freely curling around her shoulders, shifting around her white tee as she tossed the ball.
"Everyone is here now," Quin said through gritted teeth.
"Oh, now that is not a good way to start out relationship, is it, Quin? By lying to me," she clarified, shaking her head at him.
Across from me, Gunner looked like he was actively trying not to laugh, and I couldn't help but wonder if he knew more about her than I did, or he simply found the entire office of fixers and ex-military being held captive by a young woman hilarious.
Yeah, it was probably the latter.
This was Gunner we were talking about.
"Who isn't here?" Quin shot back.
"A big man from an even bigger set of woods," the unknown woman supplied.
"You showed up here an hour ago," Quin reasoned. "It takes over two for him to get here."
"That would be true if I didn't know for a fact that he is already here. His car passed through the tollbooth about twenty minutes ago. Because you have a meeting set up with him. So, the way I see it, you are lying to me and you didn't text him at all like you pretended to, or the text tipped him off. Let's see, shall we?" she asked, pulling out her phone, tapping away at it for a long moment while the rest of us shared looks, no one knowing what the fuck was going on, but not exactly worried enough yet to draw weapons. "Here it is. Our friend Quin here texted Ranger one-hour-and-three-minutes ago saying: Wolf in the henhouse. Window building next door. Rifle. Just in case. Well, now, that is definitely not how we forge friendships."
"Babe, don't even know who the fuck you are, what the fuck you're doing here, or why the fuck you think I want to be friends with you. So you'll excuse me for being cautious. Now how the fuck do you have access to my or Ranger's texts?"
"Call off the sniper attack, bring in your Babysitter, and we can talk," she told him.
And since we had no idea who she was or what she wanted - or, quite frankly, what she had on us - Quin had no choice but to follow her demands, call off Ranger, tell him to come in.
He did about five minutes later, seeming to take up half the room, the rifle still in his hand, though not aimed at anyone in particular, just there in case he needed it.
"Happy?" Quin asked, tone low, furious. For a man used to being in control, being the one in power, being made to bow and kowtow and follow orders was clearly grating on him.
"Getting there," she said, putting the quartz ball down, but keeping her feet on the desk, looking around the room that seemed to see too much, know too much, something that had me stiffening.
"So, Quinton Baird. Should we start with you?"
"Start with me how?"
"You have quite the record, don't you? And that wife of yours too. Killed a man. You'd never know that by looking at her. Your woman either," she went on, looking right at me. "Socialite darling husband killer. Your woman, of course," she said, looking over at Gunner, "is clean. She'd have to be with how - what's a nice way to say 'uptight' - she is."
"Gunn, no," Quin demanded as Gunner pushed off the wall, ready to go at her. You didn't fuck with our women. And in Gunner's case, you didn't even get to talk shit about Sloane's personality."
"Good boy," she cooed at him with a smile. "Does he know how to give his paw and roll over too?" she asked, looking back at Quin.
"Enough with the theatrics, lady," Quin shot back, hitting his breaking point. "We get it. You have shit on us. We all know what we've done. We don't need a history lesson. So get the fuck on with who you are and why are you here. Are you blackmailing us?"
It wouldn't be a bad set of people to do it to.
All of us made a nice sum of money.
And some of our women had even more.
Sloane and Jenny, of course.
"Is he always so moody?" she asked, rolling her eyes at Miller. "Anyway. Fine. Ruin the fun. My name is Nia. And I'm your newest employee," she informed Quin, making his brow raise, surprised only for a second.
Quin was the boss for a reason.
He recovered quickly from surprises.
He saw opportunities where others saw complications.
And he had this uncanny fucking way of knowing people's specialized skill sets.
So that was how Nia joined the team.
She had a nickname that day too.
The Hacker.
Smith - 4 months
Quin kept me off active duty while I was still working on Jenny's case. He'd call me in on the occasion that someone else needed a hand with paperwork or some surveillance or something, but I didn't have any cases for myself all that time, allowing Jenny and I to create this secluded little life.
It was good in a way, I guess, that he finally decided it was time for me to get back to work.
We couldn't live in a dream world where we could spend just about every waking hour together, where we were the only two people in the world.
I was going to need to work.
Jenny was going to have to find ways to fill her days.
We couldn't live in a fantasyland forever.
She'd understood, had given me a smile saying she was behind on her Etsy orders, that it was good that she would have a few days to catch up.
I'd had Miller and Lincoln come in, help me put in a new security system in her house even though we had changed all the locks and passwords a while back. I was being paranoid, but I didn't like the idea of leaving her all alone in that giant house by herself. I'd offered my place instead, but she had paled a bit and admitted that she was freaked out to be there all alone with the bears and coyotes roaming around.
Lincoln assured me that he would check in on her. Bellamy offered to drop in and teach her to play poker though she had never shown any interest in learning that particular skill. Miller told me that she would drop in, figuring maybe Jenny would be sick of all the testosterone stinking up her place.
I'd kissed her, packed a bag, and headed out.
It was hard, at first, to focus, to keep my mind on the job instead of wondering what she might be doing all alone in that house, if she was getting work done, if she was having bad dreams without having me there for her.
Then, of course, shit heated up.
And no matter how in love you might be, that is not on the forefront of your mind when you're alone against five-to-one odds in a street fight. Then, it is all about the adrenaline, the training, the instincts, the sick sort of pleasure I still got at times for bashing some heads together.
The job hadn't been the simple ass-kicking assignment Quin and I had originally figured, had become this whole thing between rivaling gangs, needing Kai, Lincoln, and Miller before, in the end, Bellamy and Finn needed to be called in instead, leaving me behind to ensure that everything went to plan, that the client was happy, that there was nothing that could trace back to any of us.
Then Finn headed out on a flight.
The next day, so did Bellamy and I.
And we were supposed to be heading home.
To Navesink Bank.
To my woman who hadn't seen me in two weeks, who I had only gotten three short phone calls with in all that time.
But this was Bellamy we were talking about.
I should have known better than to look away from my fucking drink.
I woke up half a day later facedown in an unfamiliar bed in some luxury hotel room, a white envelope sitting next to my face.
"That fuck," I growled as I forced my arm to move, to reach for the letter, finding all the muscles slow and weak, making my fingers grab for - and not close around - the envelope four times before they finally got it, flicked open the fold, and pulled out the white postcard.
Welcome to Hawaii.
Hawaii?
I rubbed my tongue around my mouth, trying to swipe away the dry, cotton feeling of my tongue, gums, and roof of my mouth from whatever he'd used to knock me out, as I flipped the postcard over to find Bellamy's scrawling script.
You're welcome.
He thought I'd be grateful for being drugged and kidnapped and deposited on an island instead of letting me go home to my woman?
On a grumble, I flopped heavily over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, waiting for all my muscles to remember how they were supposed to work.
There was a knock at the door, making me sigh, forcing my lazy body upward and across the room, reaching for the locks, then pulling it open.
And there she was.
In Hawaii.
With a lei around her neck.
And a small, uncertain smile on her lips.
"At least he didn't drug you," I said with a smile of my own, reaching out, dragging her against my body.
"Is kidnapping something I was supposed to mentally prepare myself for?" she asked against my chest as she took a slow, deep breath, drawing me in like she often did. She said I smelled like sawdust and campfire.
She smelled like sugar cookies and clay, her unique, perfect scent.
"It never used to be," I told her with a chuckle. "But then..."
"Bellamy," she filled in for me.
"Yep. Bellamy," I agreed.
But after weeks away from my woman, getting an island vacation with her where we didn't have to hide anything, could be exactly what we were - a couple very newly, but very deeply in love? Yeah, I was okay with it.
So, well, we mentally prepared ourselves for future kidnappings.
Because... Bellamy.
Jenny - 10 months
The apartment sold without a hitch, actually going into a bidding war, getting me a solid hundred-grand more than the listing price.
I'd found a new finance guy - one with no links to my former father-in-law. I gave him some of the money to invest, and socked the rest of it away.
I was busy with my jewelry business. Well, busy by online clay jewelry selling standards. I'd sold over two-hundred pieces.
But prices at only about ten to fifty dollars a piece, I wasn't exactly raking it in.
It felt good to make my own money.
But I was being practical, careful with what came from the sale of the apartment, Teddy's car, the expensive furniture I hated.
Not because I was living some big, grand, expensive life, but because I had a future to think about now.
One with Noah.
One that maybe, possibly, hopefully included children. Who I would want to have the chance at having any kind of education they might want. I never wanted to have a child who would feel like they had to settle down, a daughter who thought her only choice was to marry to have an easier life. I wanted them to have dreams and goals and plans for themselves before they settled down. I wanted them to be sure of themselves, so full of confidence and the knowledge of their own self-worth that they would never settle for abuse of any kind. In fact, would never settle for less than they deserved.
Meaning everything.
I wanted to sell the house.
But the real estate agent told me that with the tragedy surrounding Teddy's death, it might be a good idea to wait a year or two since that information would have to be disclosed to potential buyers.
For some reason, if time has passed, they are less likely to turn away because of a body.
The house would be worth another two million at least, some of which I was thinking of using to build on to Noah's house, make it livable for a family. Put on a garage so I could get in my car without worrying about bears. It was the right place to raise children. Surrounded by the wilderness in a house their daddy built with his own two hands, filled with furniture three generations of Smith men had carved. Maybe if we had a son - or a daughter - Noah could bring them to his workshop, teach them how to work with the tools, make things that could last too, be passed down to future generations.
Bertram had left me alone.
For the most part.
I'd gotten a note about his upcoming election campaign that, in very careful wording, told me to butt out.
Which I was happy to do.
I was so far beyond that. Beyond him. Beyond the woman he once knew me as.
I was simply waiting for the day when he thought he no longer needed to have any contact with me at all.
I had a feeling it would be after the ring on my fourth finger had a new ring sitting with it.
We weren't in a rush, though, to be married. It was all paperwork.
I loved him.
He loved me.
That was what was important.
Invitations, centerpieces, cakes, bands, that was all the superficial stuff.
We'd get around to it. Eventually.
I was, though, a bit anxious for a new last name, if I were being perfectly honest.
I would become Jennifer Smith. A more average, unassuming name I couldn't have come up with myself.
No more tires to politicians, to old money, to big corporations.
Just a woman. A wife. A, hopefully, mother.
The front door opened and slammed, making me walk out of the kitchen, finding Miller walking through my entryway, making me follow to find her throwing herself down on the couch in the great room like she was a weighted, boneless mess.
"Bellamy?" I asked with a knowing smile.
"Bellamy," she agreed with a pained whimper as she pressed her palms into her eyes, likely banging with her hangover.
If we had children, what an odd, ragtag group of aunts and uncles they would have with this group of people that were so close we couldn't call them anything other than family.
I noticed as she reached for the coffee and pain medicine I handed her that there were little pig noses clinging to her earlobes.
And the smile then was huge.
Smith - 1.5 years
"What? I thought you would be happy!" Nia said, rolling her eyes.
"That you hacked into doctor records, invading not only my - but Jenny's - privacy?" I shot back.
Nia wasn't great with boundaries.
Any information that could be found, to her, meant it should be.
Most of us didn't live in that world. We knew that some shit was private, some issues were meant to be brought up between couples, not to one party, betraying the other.
"I just thought you would like to know," she said, shrugging a shoulder.
"You're saying that as though Jenny wouldn't have told me herself."
"But if she was going to tell you, wouldn't she have told you before she set up the appointment?"
Alright, that was a sound bit of logic. It didn't make her snooping any less invasive, but it did raise some questions.
Like why Jenny set up an appointment with her gyno without telling me.
Sure, we had shit pop up that we didn't always talk about the second it happened. It wasn't like I knew the date of her last breast exam or anything. But this was different.
This was an appointment to get her IUD taken out.
Next week.
And she hadn't discussed it with me.
That was, well, not like her. Not like us.
We didn't do things behind each other's backs, make plans without comparing notes.
So, yeah, Nia needed to learn to keep her nose out of our medical records, but it also looked like I needed to have a talk with Jenny.
A few hours later, long enough that Nia wouldn't think I was rushing home to confront my wife even if that was exactly what I was doing, I made my way to our house.
Formerly, my house.
Half of it was tented, something I worked on in my off time. The addition. Off the side. Then eventually up. We'd have to take over the spare bedroom for the staircase, but we'd be gaining new rooms on the second floor, so it was a sacrifice we were willing to make even if Jenny had been using that as her workspace since moving in after the wedding.
"Jenny?" I called as soon as I opened the door.
"You're home early," she said, walking out of the bedroom with furrowed brows. "Is everything alright?"
"Is something wrong with your IUD?"
Okay.
So that wasn't the smoothest way to bring up a touchy subject, but I hadn't really found a better way to open the dialogue from the somewhat short drive from the office.
At that, she jumped back slightly, her eyes going big.
"Um... no?" she said, shaking her head. "That is a weird question."
"Why are you having it removed then?"
"What? How did... Nia," she said, sighing.
She'd been good.
Accepting my crew. Now our crew.
As invasive and unusual as they could be at times.
She'd taken it all in stride, pulling them into the fold, telling me how nice it was to have so much warmth after so much cold in her life, that their quirks were endearing.
Even when they involved kidnappings or illegal records scanning.
"Damnit," she grumbled, turning, and walking away from me.
She still wasn't great with confrontation, that time with Bertram aside, not even after a year and a half away from a life that would have assured her a busted lip if she even tried to use her voice.
Feeling a pit settle in my stomach, I followed her down the hall and into her office, finding her digging through the closet.
"Jenny, I'm sorry. I know this was sudden. But we kind of need to talk about these things. If you are going on the Pill or if I need to start buying condoms again... it's just good to know, y'know?"
"Here," she said instead of answering, producing a large decorative box, putting it into my hands. "Open it," she prompted when I didn't immediately move to do so.
My hands fumbled a bit. Ridiculously. Almost afraid of what might be inside.
I certainly hadn't been expecting a supply of mismatched baby items. Onesies. Toys. Blankets.
"Jenny..."
"Six weeks ago, I was at Target. And I was going to the electronic section to get a new set of headphones. And I passed the baby section. And I just... I couldn't leave the store without this onesie," she said, showing me the soft white one with a lamb on the front. "Like... I couldn't make myself put it down, Noah," she said, rolling her eyes at herself. "And then it just kept happening. Anytime I saw something like this," she added, holding up a blanket, "I had to take it with me. I know we haven't in-depth talked about a family, just that we both want one. And I was planning on making you dinner. Or, more likely, ordering in when my attempt at dinner burned," she added, smiling at her complete lack of culinary skills, no matter how many times she tried. "And then show you the box, explain, talk about removing my IUD, about starting to try. I should have mentioned it sooner, but it felt like such an odd subject to broach out of the blue."
"While I don't ever want you to feel awkward about talking to me about shit, I kinda get that. It's been on my mind too," I admitted.
"Having a baby."
"Yeah. Wondering when was the right time. After the renovations were done, I figured I would bring it up. I know you've been through a lot. Just got your life back. I wasn't sure if it was too soon."
"So, what I am hearing is... if I am ready, you are too."
"I guess that is what I am saying," I told her, smiling. Big.
And Jenny, yeah, she threw herself at me, holding me tighter than her small arms should have been able to.
"I love you," she told me, reining kisses up my neck, over my cheek, seeking my lips.
"I love you too," I told her against her lips.
She pulled away a long time later, smiling up at me.
"I bet Nia knows the sex before we do," she told me.
And she was right.
Jenny - 6 years
"Bellamy!" I yelled, throwing open the door to his apartment, very thankful I had insisted on having a key years before. "Where is my son?" I demanded, hearing my heels click over his hardwood floor, hoping I was gouging some holes in it.
Because he deserved it.
No mom should have to sit outside the elementary school, waiting for her son to appear along with all the other smiling-faced kids. Only to realize... he wasn't there.
He wasn't there.
And he was supposed to be.
My heart lodged in my throat, I hiked Maisie higher on my hip, her little skirt meaning her diaper pressed against me. It needed changing, but it would have to wait.
Because my son was missing.
"Mrs. Smith, take a breath," the principal said, voice soothing. "Your son was signed out right after lunchtime."
"Signed out by whom? Not me. And my husband is out of town."
"You have an extensive emergency list," he reminded me, still clearly annoyed by that fact. It had been a fight to get more than the usual three names. Noah and I had an unsuccessful meeting with him, coming back with the entire crew, explaining in painful detail why it was important that - should Noah's work infringe upon our personal lives - any member of the team, whoever was closest, could scoop the children up from school and get them to safety.
"And who from that list signed him out?" I demanded to know, teeth gritted in annoyance with him, but my heart spasming in my chest at the idea that there was the kind of danger that would require my child being taken out of school that I hadn't heard of yet.
The principal produced the clipboard, turning it to me.
And as my eyes scanned for my son's name, a part of me already knew.
Then my gaze met a familiar signature.
And then, yeah, I was pissed.
"Jenny, honey, angel," he said, moving into the living room, giving me his signature carefree smile. "Why so tense?"
"Give. Me. My. Son."
"Do you want some wine? Chocolate? A massage?"
"I want my son that you signed out of school without permission."
"I had permission," he insisted. "You made me sign a form about it and everything."
"For emergencies," I reminded him, losing a bit of the anger.
My son was safe.
That was what mattered.
And when it came to Bellamy, sometimes he needed to be reminded of things that other, normal people just knew without it being explained to them.
It wasn't his fault.
He was from a different world.
His own one, to be exact.
He did what he wanted, when he wanted. No matter where he was, who he was around, what the possible consequences.
I mean this was a man who routinely drugged and kidnapped his friends. Without seeing anything wrong with it.
I had thought we had covered all the basics when we'd had the kids.
No, they can't have a sip of your beer, wine, whiskey.
No, you can't take them on a rollercoaster.
No, it's not okay if they fingerpaint with actual wall paint.
The list was endless.
But we'd never thought to say that, hey, kidnapping one of our offspring and scaring the life out of us was inappropriate.
"Why did you take Cal out of school?"
"That new talking dog movie hit theaters today," he told me, brows drawing together like I was an idiot for not knowing this information offhand.
"Okay... and..."
"And Calvin wanted to see it."
Alright, so I was vaguely aware of that fact. Kids wanted to see everything. And wanted to buy everything. And eat everything. Sometimes, it became a bit like background noise.
"Okay. But the theater is open after school. And on weekends."
"Yeah, but if we went at one on a school day, we would have the place to ourselves. He loved it."
I bet he did.
And Cal had a great attendance record, so it wasn't even a big deal if he missed half a day.
But still...
"Bellamy, you have to run this by one of us before you do it."
"We were supposed to be back," he told me. "Meet you at the pick-up and tell you all about our adventure."
"What happened?"
"Well..." Bellamy trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
"Bellamy," I tried, voice getting firmer.
"Jenny, honey, it's not my fault you have a terrible child," he said, barely able to hold back his smile.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!" he said, holding up his hands.
"Where is he?"
"The bathroom."
I brushed past him, going into the bathroom to find my son.
Covered.
Arms.
Legs.
Neck.
Face.
In black permanent marker.
"Where did he get a black marker?"
"Now, see, that is a great question. But someone seems to have stolen your son's voice. Because he can't seem to answer that one."
"Soap and water isn't going to work for this," I told him. The where didn't matter so much. As if you would ever get a straight answer even if he was willing to talk about it. "Do you have rubbing alcohol? Acetone? Hand sanitizer."
Half an hour later, I had a clean son, and Bellamy had bopped my daughter to sleep.
"I'll take that wine now," I told him, dropping down onto a stool in his kitchen.
Smith - 10 years
There were a lot of ways to measure time.
One marriage.
The third addition to the house.
The fifth vacation to Cape May to go in the water, build sand castles, go to the arcade, get ice cream.
Four children.
Calvin.
Maisie.
Fielder.
Aviva.
Nine.
Five.
Three.
Two.
All I knew was no matter how it was measured, it went fast.
One day, I was walking into a murder scene, helping a woman I didn't know make it look like something other than what it was. It seemed like the next I was falling madly in love with her.
Then I blinked.
And we had a house three times its original size in the woods with four extra and full bedrooms, one office for Jenny, a workshop for me, a giant, sprawling treehouse connecting five trees in the yard.
We had Thanksgiving dinners with the entire, ever-growing crew from work, their husbands and wives, their children.
We had soccer practices and Girl Scouts and karate classes.
We had sleepless nights.
And hundreds of interrupted sex sessions.
And love.
So much fucking love.
"Cal, stop sticking your finger in her ear," Jenny called in that half-defeated mom-voice. You know the one. The one that said she knew her words would have no impact, but she had to say something.
"Mama, puppy," Aviva said as she looked up at Jenny with her big blue eyes, so wide and innocent and really fucking hard to say no to.
"No puppy," Jenny said in a soft voice before looking over at me. "I'm gonna K-I-L-L Gunner," she told me in a singsong voice so the little ones didn't know how mad she was at their uncle for telling them the last time they were at his house that they should ask their parents for a dog.
"Puppy," Aviva demanded.
"No puppy, Avvy. We have Squeaky," she reminded her, referring to the guinea pig Maisie had conned Miller into buying for her along with the whole setup, knowing that if they showed up with it, neither Jenny or I would have the heart to tell her to bring it back.
One year in, and about all interest in the squeaky little creature had all but faded.
He poops when he walks, Cal had told us when we asked why he didn't play with him anymore.
And, well, the kid wasn't lying.
"Mama?" Aviva said again, slow blinking up at her mother who looked in desperate need of a back rub and a whole bag of potato chips - a perfect combination.
"Yes, Avvy?"
"Widdle puppy?"
"They're very cute," Jenny agreed. "Oh, thank God," she said when the doorbell rang.
I moved toward it, pulling it open to reveal Kai and Jules who had agreed to babysit for a few hours.
"If either of you tell these kids to ask for another creature, I will smother you in your sleep," she told them as she grabbed her purse and was out the door.
"So," I said after giving Kai and Jules a little rundown on the food I had already prepared, climbing in the car with her. "Are we stopping by Gunn's place so you can threaten him too?"
She sent me a tired smile at that as I backed out of the driveway, steering the car in the usual direction. Most parents wanted to go to movies that were meant for grown-ups, go out to eat at a restaurant without having to pack a bag of items to distract impatient kids with.
Not us.
We grabbed coffee, Chinese, and got a hotel room.
To take a long nap.
Without being woken up by screaming, by someone bouncing on our bodies, without worrying that the house might burn down.
We allowed ourselves the luxury once a month.
It was something everyone on the team was okay with because we all did it for one another. We all got a break, and we all got the chance to do the babysitting.
We were walking out of She's Bean Around when we saw a familiar face.
"Hey Eli," Jenny said, giving him a smile that no longer had any pain in it. It took a good three years of knowing him personally to get there, to lose the guilt, for there to be nothing but love there. "Celen," she added, giving the teenager a smile as well. "I swear you grow a foot each time I see you. What are you guys up to?"
"Heading to the pet store," Eli supplied. "They're having a rescue day."
"Oh, no. Did your..."
"No," Celen cut her off. "He's getting old though. We think maybe a friend might pep him up a little."
"Avvy has been begging for a puppy for two weeks straight," Jenny admitted, shaking her head. "We won't keep you. I know the puppies go fast."
We were naive in that moment.
Thinking Eli would never pull an Uncle Eli moment on us, on our kids.
That was until we got home after our nap to find him and Celen in our living room.
With two dogs.
One hideous thing for them which was, apparently, some kind of household tradition.
And one cute as fuck lab mix thing with a bow on its neck.
"Mama!" Aviva shrieked. "Puppy!" she added, putting an open-mouthed kiss to the puppy's ear.
It was something we would have cringed at a decade ago.
But after you came upon your kids licking mud pies they made in the yard, you learned to take that shit with a grain of salt.
"Yes, Avvy. I guess we have a puppy now," she said, giving Eli small eyes that he simply grinned at.
It was the moment I knew for sure that those two were completely beyond their past, that they were simply friends, nearly family members, no hard feelings, no uncertainty, nothing holding them back from being genuine with each other.
"I hope he sleeps through the night," she said later after putting the puppy in its crate with a small bone to gnaw himself to sleep with.
"Well, either Avvy or Fielder will have us up at least twice. Letting him out won't be so bad. Maybe it was a good thing this happened now. If we finally got to the point where we got to sleep through the night uninterrupted, adjusting to house training would probably be all the worse."
"That's true. And, hey, now you have another project to work on," she told me as she curled into my side, taking a deep breath.
"Hm?"
"Well, you've built all the beds, nightstands, dressers, toy chests... you were out of projects. Now... you can build a dog house."
And sometimes, that was how life worked.
Sometimes seemingly bad things gave you exactly what you needed.
That was how our story started after all.
In an extreme situation.
Born out of darkness.
But because of that abyss, all the light was so much brighter.
And our life, as sleepless as it might be at times, was the brightest thing I had ever seen.
Jenny - 22 years
Maisie was sitting across the table from me at She's Bean Around, her hand wrapped around her mug of tea - the only one of our children who preferred tea over coffee like me, her hazel eyes bright, rolling.
"So that was when he said that if his wife made more money than him, he would find it hard not to be intimidated," she told me, speaking of her boyfriend of the past three years, having met in college at a party which she insisted was the new norm. "And that," she went on, giving me a chin lift, "was the moment I dumped him."
"What?" I asked, shocking back at that, never expecting that. She'd been head-over for him since she met him, something that I often worried about, having hoped she wouldn't get serious about a guy until she was older.
"Mom," she said, shaking her head, "if I am going to be a CEO before I'm thirty, I can't have an anchor like that holding me back."
And that, right there, was how I knew the cycle was broken, that the past would never repeat itself, that everything that had happened in my life had happened for a reason.
Teddy.
His death.
Noah stepping into my world.
Falling in love.
Starting a new life.
It all led to this.
This amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman who knew exactly what her worth was, what she was capable of, who she could be, what she would and would not accept in life, from men.
"Uh-oh," Noah said, moving in at my side with his coffee. "Why is Mom crying?" he asked Maisie as he wrapped an arm around me, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I leaned into him, pressing my head against his shoulder, feeling the tickle of a beard that was all steel gray now.
"We did good," I told him, voice so full of love it cracked.
His free hand went to my knee, giving it a squeeze.
"We sure did."
XX