Page 74 of All for her Forgiveness

Hades

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

"Let me go.King’s woken up. He learned to climb out of the crib yesterday. My God!"

"Shhh . . .Calm down."

I get up, and despite the furious lust making my cock almost tear through my jeans, I know that between the two of us, I am the more lucid at the moment. I hide her torn panties in my pocket and straighten her clothes. Kennedy tries to escape, but I still manage to steal one last kiss from her before going ahead of her to our son’s room.

Kennedy

I turn on the light, hoping I look somewhat presentable. Shame doesn't even begin to explain how I'm feeling. How could I have let us get to that point? Is there not a drop of self-preservation instinct in me? No matter what Ernest said, the fact is that until proven otherwise, Hades is still my enemy.

I strain my ears, trying to detect the slightest noise from King’s room, preparing for when they come back, but when almost a minute passes and they don’t appear, I go towards them down the hallway. The scene before me makes me freeze.

Hades is kneeling on the floor, holding King in his arms, and my son—ourson—has his little finger in his mouth and his head resting on his father's shoulder. I don't need to get closer to understand that the bond between them is intense and reciprocal, a love that doesn't need explanation, time, or a birth certificate to prove what they mean to each other. Besides the fact that they look identical, like an original work and its miniature, the feeling between them is undeniable.

Hades stands up, and I step back to hide the emotion that caught me by surprise.

"Mommy!" King, who seemed to be almost asleep, wakes up at the sight of me and screams at the top of his lungs.

It's amazing that after such a short time together, just like it happened with Hades, my son reacts to me as if I am his sun.

I remember all of my distant past now. The death of my parents and everything I suffered at the hands of Riny Marcotte. The loneliness I felt growing up without hugs, only criticism and beatings. When the memories came back, I swore to myself that my son would always know how loved he is. Too much love doesn't spoil children, as they say. The lack of it does.

"Hey, you woke up, my love," I say, stretching my arms to pick him up, but King stays clinging to his father's neck and puts the other arm around me, forcing us, even without realizing it, to stay united, forming a whole.

As if Hades has the power of a magnet, preventing me from ignoring him, I look up and face him. I see so many emotions running through his dark eyes that I shiver at their intensity.

King watches me smiling and then does the same with his father, then pouts as if about to cry. "Boo-boo hurt!"

Only now that the light is on do I realize Hades looks like he’s survived a serious fight. There’s a bruise forming under his right eye.

"What happened?"

"Nothing much," he says without elaborating.

"Boo-boo hurt!" King repeats, whining and looking very sad.

"Hey, I'm fine, my so—” He stops and looks at me. Silently, he makes a request. One that I can't deny. Maybe King doesn’t yet understand the concept of father and mother, maybe he thinks “mama” is my name, but Hades has as much right to our son as I do, no matter that we are on opposite sides and are enemies. I nod and am completely fascinated when I see Hades smile.

It’s never happened before. Of all the times I remember meeting in the past, Hades never smiled—at most, a sardonic lift of the corner of his mouth. But on this morning, unexpectedly, when I give my consent for him to call King his son, he smiles, and his smile is completely devastating.

For the first time since we reunited, I find myself wondering what this proud man might have gone through that made him become so ruthless, unable to see the good side of life. Even I, who grew up in hell, believe in happiness despite the trials I've faced.

"I'm not hurt, son," I hear him say, and I know now there's no going back.

"What caused that on your face?" I ask. He looks like he participated in an MMA fight.

"My therapy," he replies simply.

"Hurt," King repeats, touching his father's cheek and then his own, indicating where the injury is, the pout firmly in place. "Kiss." He lets go of me and hugs Hades, kissing the bruise because that's what Ernest and I do when he falls, which happens often because King has a lot of energy.

"Now it’s better. I'm not hurt anymore," the Greek says, and I could swear that when King finally comes into my arms, I see a glimmer of emotion in Hades' eyes, but he quickly hides it, stepping away from us.

Despite the excitement in the middle of the night, King is tired. He usually sleeps until nine in the morning and soon surrenders to sleep again.

Hades takes him from my arms, and I follow him to my boy's room. I watch him put our son in the crib, but even after adjusting the blanket over him and checking the baby monitor, a sign of care that surprises me, Hades doesn’t leave. He keeps his hands on the rail, watching King.

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