Page 36 of Room 1017

23

Casey

Icouldn’tbelievehowquickly time had passed. One minute, I was meeting Peter at the hospital, a new patient, grumpy as hell after his surgery, angry at the world, and the next, he was my husband. One minute I was giving birth to our child, the next, chasing after a toddler.

Rowan knew better than to run away from his papa, though. He’d tried it once a couple months ago, just goofing around at the playground, and poor Peter, ever the macho alpha, pushed the boundaries on what he knew he was capable of to chase after him. He’d ended up tripping over his own cane and skinned both knees and elbows, as well as the underside of his chin. Rowan had cried so hard in sympathy, and he kept saying, “Okay, Papa? Okay?”

I sat up and lifted my hat from over my face to peek at my family, checking in. The sun was bright and warm on my skin, drawing out freckles I never even knew I had—much to Peter’s delight. Whenever he was feeling particularly playful, he would take a pen and play connect-the-dots between them, giving the drawings ridiculous names like “Man Doing Cartwheel” or “Windy Day Pinwheel.”

Peter was currently in the middle of the neighborhood splash pad, playing with Rowan. There were kids everywhere, squealing in unfettered joy as they ran back and forth between the cool water and where their towels had been laid out in the grass to get snacks, their parents trying to make them stand still long enough to reapply sunscreen. Even through all the noise and chaos, I could pluck my son’s laughter out without trouble. It was the most beautiful peal, musical notes that tugged at my heartstrings.

Hurley, never one to stray far from Rowan, had plonked himself down on the cool cement, directly under where a giant bucket dumped water every minute or two, plastering his fur to his body.

Watching Peter with our son was my favorite thing to do. He treated each and every moment as if it were a gift, and to be fair, it very much was. It hurt my heart to think of what my life would’ve looked like if that criminal had succeeded in taking my husband away from me. He would forever bear the scars, would likely never be entirely without pain, but he seemed more than happy with our quiet little life. It wasn’t what anyone would consider exciting, especially not when compared to his old job, but you would never hear a word of complaint from either of us.

Besides, things were about to get a little more exciting…

I smiled to myself as I imagined how excited he would be to hear we were expecting our second child. I was holding on to that secret until tomorrow, though. It was our anniversary, and Rowan was going to have a sleepover with Auntie Amy.

It was a scorching day, and just as I was debating joining them in the water, Rowan came barreling toward me. “Daddy! Catch me!” I barely had time to brace myself before he launched himself into my arms, his soaking-wet swim shirt like an ice cube to my sun-warmed skin. He was quickly followed by Hurley, drenching us both as he shook off all the water from his fur.

“Brrr! You’re so cold!” I squealed accordingly, even as I clung to Rowan, relishing the chill. He laughed, wiping his wet hands on my neck and shoulders. And this was why I was wearing a swimsuit too, even if I was just lounging on the grass.

Peter’s smile was sultry-sweet as he joined us, walking slowly without his cane, hands tucked behind his back. I loved seeing him in just his swim shorts, unbothered by his scars. I saw a few people turn and look, but Peter seemed immune to it. He only had eyes for me and Rowan. To witness this change in him made me unfathomably proud of the man he’d become and all that he’d conquered.

But there was something strange about the way he was looking at me. Something suspicious…

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Peter,” I drawled, tensing, “what are you hiding behind your back?”

“Who, me?” he asked, fooling absolutely no one. Especially when it seemed Rowan was in on the joke, trying to hold in his giggles with a hand over his mouth—and failing miserably.

And then Peter’s grin widened, going straight from sus to evil-mastermind, and from behind his back, he brought Rowan’s plastic squirt gun, loaded with frigid water.

Adrenaline kicked me in the chest, a flutter of excitement. “You wouldn’t dare,” I said, pushing up to standing. But of course, I knew he would. I was poised to run (or at least to save the towel), but there was no time. He aimed the pump-action squirt gun at me, ready to fire.

“Rowan, save me!” I cried dramatically, holding our son up like a human shield.

“No, Daddy! You save me!” He laughed, kicking his legs wildly.

Oh, the sacrifices we make as parents.

I turned at the last minute, taking the brunt of the attack down my back, though I swore he was aiming for my ass. Shouting, laughing, barking, we all played until the gun was empty, and then I spun around and declared, “At last, the tables have turned. Get Papa!” I set Rowan down, and together we ran after his alpha dad, took him by the hands, and gently tugged him back into the spray of the nearest fountain.

There wasn’t a single dry spot left on me, but I didn’t mind. Peter wrapped his arms around me and held me close, the water raining down from above. “I love you so much, angel. Thank you for playing with us today.”

“Always,” I assured him. There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.

By the time we sat down for our picnic lunch, Rowan’s fingers were pruned, and the towels we’d brought weren’t dry enough to be of any use, so we squeezed out as much water from our suits as we could, then lay out on the grass and crossed our fingers we could air-dry before it was time to go home.

Peter dug into the basket I’ve filled with sandwiches, cut-up fruit, and granola bars. He pulled out the first sandwich and lifted the top piece of bread to check the filling. “I’ve got… peanut butter and strawberry jam. Who wants that one?”

“Me! Me!” Rowan said, waving a hand in the hair. Peter raised an eyebrow, and he quickly added, “Please.”

“Nice manners,” Peter said, passing over the sandwich. He added some watermelon slices and a juice box to our son’s lunch.

Next, he found a corned beef sandwich, which he correctly assumed was his. I tried to reach for the last one, but Peter beat me to it. He peeled up the bread to look at what I’d made for myself, and his entire body froze. I swore he wasn’t even breathing.

“Pickles and peanut butter?” he whispered, looking up at me with so much hope in his eyes. Because the last time I’d had that particular craving…

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