Page 21 of Perfect Alpha

He’s on the floor of the kitchen playing with his trucks while Julia puts the finishing touches on dinner, which smells amazing – unlike me, apparently.

God, one day I want to come home to a wife and kids of my own.

“I’m going to have a shower right now, buddy,” I promise. “Where’s Grandpa?”

“Sweeping,” Aidan replies. “Grandpaalwayssweeping.”

Fatigue is a side effect of the new medication protocol that keeps Dad under control and ensures that Aidan and Hannah are safe in the house.

Many dementia patients become violent as they continue to lose more of themselves. Keeping him calm is a top priority because his physical body is still strong.

“Grandpa isn’t feeling well,” I explain.

The adult world can be a cruel place and is impossible to satisfactorily explain to a toddler.

“Me know,” Aidan replies softly. “Me miss Grandpa.”

My eyes burn with emotion that is a genuine struggle to blink away. I’m already emotionally raw and can’t take anything else added to my plate today.

“I know, buddy. Me, too,” I manage.

Aidan starts crying, and Julia scoops him up and soothes him while I stand there helplessly.

“It’s okay,” she assures me. “Go and have a shower. I’ve got things covered here, and I’m not in a rush.”

“Thank you. I honestly don’t know what we’d do without you and Kevin.”

“We’re happy to be here for you. You’re family. Besides, Aidan is likely the only grandbaby we’ll ever have if we’re waiting on our Victory.”

My gut wrenches when I imagine the beautiful sight of a pregnant Victory and little redheaded kids running around the backyard.

But that isn’t my story anymore.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, as melancholy sets over me.

A hot shower makes me human again, and I let my mind drift to the fantasy life floating in my mind’s eye.

Heading downstairs to my beautiful wife after a long, hard day and wrapping her soft curves in my arms while inhaling her scent.

Feeling her cool hands gliding up my back and rubbing my sore neck and shoulders as I lean in gratefully and kiss her.

Pushing her back against the kitchen counter while my mouth claims her and she jumps to wrap her legs around my waist.

Having the privilege to take her anywhere I want and the ability to lose myself in her curves when life is too heavy.

God, what I wouldn’t give to have my safe place back, to have my best friend in the world also be my lover.

Victory.

Slipping into my favorite old jeans and a white T-shirt, I return to the kitchen and try to shake off the despondency.

I canceled my plans for the weekend, not able to focus on any meaningless bullshit with Victory so close by. Her window shade has remained firmly closed, which is a damn shame. The things I’d do for a glimpse of that woman are criminal, but it would be worth the jail time.

“You could just tell her, you know,” Julia states when I sit down to a plate of garlic mashed potatoes, pot roast, and a vegetable medley that came straight from her bountiful garden.

She has fresh vegetables year-round since Kevin built her a greenhouse, one of his first retirement projects that I happily helped him construct.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter.

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