Every April, right before Easter rolled around, Carrie would hound him to hold an Easter egg hunt in the office. Since the only shorties who could possibly enjoy such a hunt belonged to her and Mike, it made better sense to hold it somewhere else. Anywhere else.
And since he had no need for candy-filled, cheap plastic eggs made from questionable sources in China, they battled it out for days, Ash always coming out the victor. Easy to do when you were the boss. Until the other boss got himself one of those shorties.
Today was Easter Sunday.
And the first annual Scorpio Securities Easter egg hunt.
It wasn’t mandatory, but thanks to a wheelbarrow of candy, a case of beer, and bottomless glasses of Coleson Creek’s finest, the adults outnumbered the kids, ten to four.
Poor Annabelle, only eight months old and already running roughshod over the Gleeson household, was no match for the three upright and mobile Mendoza boys. But thanks to Carrie’s ingenuity and Sam’s arm reach, his chubby pork chop successfully found the pastel eggs hidden high above the boys’ line of sight, though all she really wanted was to eat the forbidden chocolate found inside—along with her fingers, the hem of her frilly lavender dress, and the collar of her daddy’s shirt.
That curly-haired girl put anything she could get her hands on into her mouth, and truth be told, it worried Sam.
“Is this normal?” he asked Ali, as they all congregated in the lobby, sneaking candy from baskets when Mendoza moppets weren’t looking. “Everything she touches goes into her mouth, no matter what it is. Maybe we’re not feeding her enough.”
“I mean no offense, you guys,” Grady interjected. “But based on those thigh rolls, I’d say she’s meeting an adequate calorie count.” Sam laughed and Annabelle giggled back, showing a mouthful of chocolate. The only bite her mommy allowed. “Or maybe cut back.”
“It’s normal. She’ll grow out of it,” Ali said, swatting Grady. “But she’ll probably start back up with it in her late teen’s, early twenty’s. College boys can be demanding.”
Sam looked apoplectic, as did the other men in the room. “That’s not funny.”
The women laughed in unison, Ali, Carrie, Hope, and Liv sharing a smile.
Liv.
If somebody told him last year at this time he’d end up with his wife back in his arms, living the dream they’d always wanted, he would’ve given him a beatdown for dangling the unattainable.
Yet, here he was, robbing an innocent child’s candy basket using distraction techniques and sleight of hand to curb his wife’s latest craving. If she wanted chicken wings or apple juice, she was shit out of luck.
Leaning into him, she whispered over the dull roar of the room. “Do you have any apple juice here? The brand with the yellow label, not the white.”
Fuck. “No, but there’s a vending machine on the first floor. I’ll run down and check.”
Once widely referred to as the biggest, baddest soldier in the Eastern and Western hemispheres, skilled at flushing out any target, no matter how remote the hole they were hiding in, he’d been reduced to finding apple juice with a yellow label at his wife’s whim.
And happy as a goddamn lark doing so.
“No,” she said, tugging him back. “I’m okay without it. My bubbly will do.” She held up a wine glass filled with sparkling water. “Hey, wanna taste my candy?”
A gleam in her eye, she stood on tiptoes, giving him a chocolate-covered kiss.
An excellent side effect to pregnancy, not only did she crave candy and juice, sex was up there in the top three. Hella convenient for them both, since he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
The house in the suburbs was shaping up. They’d bought a lawnmower, a stroller, and a silver SUV last week. Because he’d had a nagging fear high-waisted khaki’s might replace his worn Levi’s if he didn’t unleash his dominant sexual tendencies, four silk ties were added to the shopping cart—and used later that night. Liv looked fan-fucking-tastic wearing nothing but those ties tied around her wrists and ankles, too.
The doors to the suite swooshed open, surprising on a Sunday afternoon, and Ash wasn’t the only person shocked by their visitor.
Jason Reynolds stood there, as imposing as a tank, surveying the scene with uncanny precision.
If you were male and didn’t know him, he’d give you goose bumps. If you were female, no matter whether you knew him or not, he’d give you… well, Ash didn’t know the correct verbiage. The hots, maybe? He’d seen women claw and pull hair to get to him. The question of why was a great unknown, since the man had zero people skills and loathed companionship.
“Hi there, stranger. I’m Hope. What’s your name?” His sister’s introduction was coquettish to say the least, and Beck nudged her from a trance. She rolled her eyes indulgently. “I’m just being friendly. He looks scared.”
The men—who knew Jason well—chuckled. Jason scowled. “I’m not scared.”
“Well, hello,” Liv drawled, stepping forward like she was the gorgeous head of the goddamn Southern Belle welcoming committee. Her flowery dress and heels suited the occasion. “I’m Olivia Coleson. Welcome. Come in and join us.”
“Jason Reynolds,” he replied, shaking the hand she offered. Gaze glancing off her baby bump, he looked at Ash with concern, most likely expecting to see his leg stuck in a bear trap. “Congratulations? I guess?”
“Oh, thank you,” came Liv’s flirty response, oblivious to his questioning tone. She tapped her chest like she had the vapors. “So sweet of you to say that. Hey y’all, come meet Jason. Isn’t he just as cute as a speckled pup?”
Needing no further encouragement, the ladies rushed to introduce themselves.
Ash snagged her hand, pulling her back.
“What?” she asked, when he glared at her smitten look.
“Are we suddenly on the set of Gone with the Wind? Do you need a paper fan to cool off?”
Shrugging, she ran her fingers down his chest, sliding them into his front pocket. “Southern hospitality and hormones. I can’t help it.”
When she played loose and fast with the merchandise dangerously close to that pocket, he stilled her hand before this got embarrassing.
“We’re gonna take off,” Beck announced, little patience for competition, even though Hope was stuck to him like glue.
All but Ash and Sam followed suit, collecting their women and children, if applicable, and any bounty of candy not tied down. Nolan, Grady, Mike, and even Beck shook Jason’s hand as they left, the active duty Navy SEAL a brother in arms.
“We’ll wait in the car,” Ali said, kissing Sam goodbye as he handed Annabelle over.
Reading the room, Liv motioned toward his office. “I need to make some calls. Check on Benny. The soil reports are due, and I’m anxious to see where we stand on the next fertilization cycle. Do you drink wine, Jason?”
“No, ma’am. I do not.”
“Too bad. I could offer you something mighty tasty. Whet your appetite.”
“Go,” Ash said, pointing down the hall. “I’ll give you something tasty in a few minutes, Mrs. Coleson. Good thing you’re already knocked up.” The command sounded like Ash the operator. The grin splitting his face looked like Ash the love-drunk husband.
Her laugh was musical as she sauntered down the hall.
“Fuck me sideways, what happened to you?” Jason looked at Sam. “Who’s this guy, and what’d you do with Ash?”
“It all started with a secret wife,” Sam replied, then shook his head. “Dude, forget all that. Why’re you here?”
It wasn’t a rude inquiry. Jason—the guy everyone called Tin Man because he had no discernible heart outside of a stethoscope reading—was deep-dyed military. A lifer. Leave in a body bag or when they booted him because his walker alerted the enemy of his team’s location. Ash had been trying to recruit him since they opened for business, all for naught.
“That job offer still stand?” Until now.
Looking at Sam first, Ash nodded. “Yeah. Happy to have you. We offer full benefits and a warzone-free workplace. Most of the time.”
That could be a problem. Tin Man loved war zones more than he loved his mom.
“I’m in,” he replied, void of emotion.
“What changed?” Sam asked, voicing the million-dollar question. “Big chicken dinner?”
Big chicken dinner, BCD, was slang for bad conduct discharge—a long shot, given his stellar record. The military didn’t let guys like Jason go, for fear he’d join the opposition.
Eyes on Ash, he tilted his chin toward the hall, not answering Sam. “Is it worth it?”
Thanks to many missions carried out together, the SEALs and The Unit often combining efforts, Ash understood his vague language.
He was asking about Liv. About the notion of love. The reality of it.
“Yeah,” he replied honestly. “It’s worth it. Pain in the ass, don’t get me wrong,” he added, only half joking, “but definitely worth it.”
Not smiling, he looked at Sam. “And the kid, too?”
Hiding shock, Sam nodded. “Best thing that ever happened to me. And I once won fifty grand on a scratch-off and got out of a speeding ticket on the same day, if that paints a picture.”
Jason’s unflinching gaze put Ash on the spot. Same question. “Gotta be honest, I’m scared shitless right now.” That was no joke. “But I’ve got skeletons that aren’t helping. Other than that, it’s all good.” He hitched a thumb at Sam. “But I’m not the one with chocolate vomit on my shirt.”
Dipping his chin, Sam sniffed himself. “Son of a bitch. I’m not sure that’s chocolate.”
That garnered a rare grin from their visitor, but it was short lived. “Three months left on my contract. Then I’m in.”
And he walked out without another word, stunning them silent.
Jason leaving the Navy was news. Jason inquiring about the worthiness of a good woman was front-page headline news.
“That dude is spooky,” Sam murmured. “Puts me on edge.”
“Our ideal employee, you’re saying?” Leaving it at that, he cocked his head toward the door. “Hey, do me a favor and run grab something before you leave, will ya?”
“Need me to rub your feet, too?” But he nodded as Ash gave him the specifics. “I’ll lock up after I run your errand.”
Ash’s boots echoed in the hall as he walked toward his office and Liv poked her head out.
“Is your meeting over?” Her lilting voice beckoned him. “Because I have something amazing to show you.”
“Come on now, darlin’, you already worked me over this morning. Any more of this,” he said, walking into the room, “and I’ll have to keep you pregnant forev—” He stopped abruptly when he saw the item sitting on his desk.
“Surprise.” Her beaming smile warmed his heart.
A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed past it. “Is that what I think it is?”
She nodded. “Yep. I’ve been dying to tell you, I just needed the perfect way to reveal it.”
Mute, he stared at the object, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky in life.
Unable to hide her nervousness, she wrung her hands. “Are you scared?”
Not scared. Fucking terrified.
Resting his palm over her belly, he felt the miracle within. A light kick on the inside to her, a tiny tap on the outside to him. And they counted every single one.
“Not scared one bit.” Kissing the top of her head, he used blind faith and his military training to stabilize the situation. “Everything’s gonna be great. In three months, we’ll have baby puke all over us. Or worse,” he added. “I think Sam just walked out of here with shit on his shirt.”
She laughed, his pep talk working.
With the aid of a top obstetrician and heightened prenatal care, baby Coleson was growing normally, showing no signs of distress.
The same could not be said for baby Coleson’s parents.
This was a time of wonder and awe, chronicling her pregnancy, marking each milestone with the joy and dedication most first-time parents would. They also obsessed over the details, worrying like only second-time parents with no child to show for it could.
Luckily, he’d married a woman who went from horny when she wasn’t pregnant, to super-duper horny when she was. Lots of lovemaking was a terrific distraction, and according to that top obstetrician they’d hired, a perfectly fine way to pass the time.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too, darlin’.” That single word—love—didn’t begin to cover it.
“Are you happy?” she asked, pointing at the desk.
“There’s no man on this planet happier than I am right now. Are you happy?”
“I am.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so happy, Ash. I’m afraid to be, but I can’t control it.”
He lifted her chin with a finger. “Nothing to be afraid of. I’m right here. We’re in this together, and we have so much to look forward to. For instance,” he prompted, pulling a handful of melting, foil-wrapped chocolates from his pocket.
Her face lit up as she grabbed the candy. “Husband of the year, right here.”
“There’s more,” he said, holding up a finger. Hustling out to the lobby, he grabbed the item Sam had retrieved, jogging back to her.
Grinning like a fool, he held it out, presenting the can like an ancient artifact.
“Yes!” Laughing, her eyes twinkled as she reached for the apple juice—yellow label affixed. “You are so getting blown tonight.”
Pregnancy hormones for the win. “It was my idea, but FYI, you owe Sam a dollar fifty.”
“It’s a great surprise, I’ll grant you,” she declared, “but it doesn’t top mine.”
Looking at her surprise, no assembly required and for ages 6 months and up, they shared a tender smile, which turned to joyous laughter, happy tears coating their faces.
Sitting on Ash’s desk was a toy.
A blue toy.
Proving that even sinners like him got second chances.