Page 52 of Hot Shot

“Goodnight, husband,” she says quietly.

My heart all but shoots out of me with its loud, painful pounding.

I turn my head toward her, searching for the outline of her in the dark.

“Goodnight, wife,” I say.

She sighs, content.

And I fall asleep smiling at my ceiling.

CHAPTER 19

HOT GIRL SHED

WILDER

Long before my alarm goes off, I’m awake. Not because I was too busy thinking about Cass to dream, despite the fact.

Half of my body is hanging off the bed, my knuckles brushing the rug underneath. When I haul open my eyelids and turn my stiff neck to look over my shoulder, I find said bed full. Cricket has stolen my pillow and is on her belly, starfished between me and Cass, her foot jammed in the small of my back and the corner of her ladybug pillow in her fist. On the other side, Cass is somehow also starfished face-up, their arms and legs draped across each other. Cass looks insane in her getup, her bonnet skewed but eye mask in place. Her mouth hangs open, soft snores purring with every breath.

I roll my lips as laughter hangs up in my throat. Sliding out of bed is easy, considering I’m barely in it, leaving them undisturbed. It wasn’t long after we went to sleep last night that Cricket slipped into our room and to Cass, the two of them exchanging muffled words before Cass helped her into bed.Cricket paused between us, and I could make out the shape of her as she looked at me.

“It’s okay,” I promised, scooting over and opening my arm in invitation. “Come here.”

She did, tucking in between us. In seconds, her breath was slow and even.

Sleep came for me in bursts, not stretches. This morning, I’m stiff as fuck, and I stretch as soon as I’m out of bed, which doesn’t really help. So I gather my uniform and sneak out to get dressed in the guest bathroom.Cricket’snow, I’m reminded as I enter to find her things.

I’m still not sure how, in the course of an hour, I became a dad and an actual husband. Not just by name but in practice.

Fear overwhelms me without warning. Expectation, pressure, responsibility hits me, but before panic takes hold, I exhale. I’m capable of this. I’ll do everything I can for her, be everything my father was to me. I’ll show her that I’ll always take care of her, that I’ll always keep her safe, just like I do with Cass. It’s second nature.

When I remember she’s by my side, my worry recedes like a wave.

Together, I know we can do anything.

Once dressed, I head for the kitchen to make breakfast, hearing the girls shuffling around behind the door, talking softly. A burst of laughter. The sound echoes in my ears, and I’m smiling into the pan at pancakes as they get ready for the day.

They’re talking as they enter the kitchen, and when I turn it’s with a long pause. Cass looks like the goddess we both knew she would, red hair loose and perfectly curled, her full lips rosy. She’s wearing a pair of wide-legged rusty brown linen pants, her cream sleeveless top tucked into the waist. It’s made of some silky fabric that trembles with every move she makes, hypnotizing me.

When she catches me looking, she smirks. “Told you the hot girl shed works.” Before I can pick a fight with her over the necessity of her nightly routine, she helps Cricket onto a chair where her plate waits and I pour her a cup of coffee. I guess at how much milk by the color and memory, which is generally trash. Cass is busy brushing Cricket’s hair when I step behind her to set the cup on the island.

As I retreat, I’m very close to her ear.

“Careful, it’s hot,” I whisper.

I don’t miss the little shudder that works its way through her, nor do I miss the heat behind her eyes once I can see them, despite the sassy look on her face.

Apparently, when it comes to her, my memory is crystal clear—when she takes a sip, I can tell by her face I nailed it.

My smile widens.

When the pancakes are finished and I’ve made myself a plate, I turn and lean against the sink, watching them as I eat. Cricket is in a blue romper with little white flowers on it, trying to eat while Cass undoes her braids, brushes her hair, and braids it again. Cass’s face is all screwed up, her tongue poking out from between her lips as her fingers work some sort of strange magic. I wonder if she’ll teach me how to do it but I don’t ask. They’re talking, and I listen and watch.

Feelings whirl around in my chest, warm and intense with the faintest sting of the fear I thought I’d shed.

Guess it didn’t leave me after all. I wonder if it ever will. Looking at my daughter, I have my doubts.

---