Page 97 of Diesel
I track him as he pushes through the crowd of brothers and kids, narrowly avoiding stepping on Zeke as he disappears under a table to hide from Dash.
I stand. My feet move on their own, like I’m attached by a rope tethered to him. To her.
Mia squeals, jumping on Zane’s shoulders hard enough that I wince. He’s going to feel that later.
“Mama! Mama! Daddy got me wings.”
I smile. “I can see that, baby.” Zane cups the side of my face, even as he holds onto our daughter with his other hand. He always needs to touch me, even if it’s just a brush over my back or my arm. I lean into his palm, feeling his warmth.
“She wanted them,” he explains.
“Of course she did. She’s a magpie for shiny things.” I kiss his cheek, letting my lips linger. “And you can vacuum up the glitter when it spreads all over the house.”
Zane gives me a look that says he doesn’t care if he has to clean every day, as long as our daughter is happy.
“Okay, fairy princess.” He taps Mia’s leg, draped over his shoulder. “Time to get those magical feet back on land.”
He lifts her down so careful, so gentle it makes my chest ache. But Mia isn’t careful about anything. Themoment her feet touch the floor, she takes off like a rocket, heading straight for the food, obviously.
The girl has her priorities straight.
Maylie intercepts her before she ends up wearing the trifle and grabs a second plate to feed my clearly starving child.
Zane steps closer, Mia forgotten for a moment. There’s no fear she’ll get hurt or wander far. We both know she’s safe in this room, surrounded by more family than she knows what to do with.
Brotherhood.
Sisterhood.
Family.
His eyes crawl over mine, like he’s trying to see into my body on a cellular level. He would if he could.
“You look tired, firefly,” he says softly, his eyes tracing the shape of my mouth.
I laugh, my fingers sliding over his chest. “Of course I’m tired. I’m six months pregnant.”
I have more energy now than I did in those first few months, but wrangling a toddler while my hips and pelvis try to divorce themselves from my spine? It’s exhausting.
Zane’s palm skims over the swell of my belly with a reverence that makes my throat tighten. He never stops touching over where our baby’s growing. “You both been okay?”
I place my hand over his, lacing our fingers together as our son nudges against him. His eyes soften, like they always do when he feels the baby.
“I’m pretty sure your child’s head is lodged somewhere under my ribs, but other than that, I’m fine.”
I’m not complaining. Not really. I love carrying ourchildren inside my body, and I love how he looks at me when I give him the world he didn’t think he could have.
So when he kisses me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted or needed, I feel that right down to my bones.
“I missed you.” He presses his forehead to mine, something he always does when his feelings are too big for him.
“You were only gone for half an hour,” I tease.
I love how possessive he is, how loved I am by him. He makes me feel like I’m the only thing that matters. And I am. We are.
Me and Mia—and the baby I’m still baking.
Our second little hellraiser.
