Page 24 of Sleighproof

Without prompting, two pairs of arms wind around my neck and squeeze tight. “We love you, too, Daddy.”

Like hugging their mother, the second I see her, everything else in existence momentarily vanishes.

All that matters are the two tiny thumps I can feel knocking into my chest.

Giving my heart a reason to beat.

One more purpose to open my eyes for each morning.

When they pull back, Lair Bear asks, “Can we pray for the boy and his mommy too?”

“Absolutely, princess.”

Finagling the lighter out of my pocket precedes me lighting them. Once the flames are burning, the three of us take turns to say prayers. In typical kid fashion, they start with us – their parents – move onto their grandparents and pets and cousins and eventually random other things, yet both girls make sure to not only pray for the little boy whose Christmas was saved but all the other kids in the world to stay safe too. We blow them out together, place them back on the dresser, and rush over to their beds due to me pretending I hear Santa on the roof.

Final hugs and kisses are given; however, when I reach their bedroom door, I pause for one last bedtime tradition.

“Sleep tight, cowgirls.”

“Snore loud, daddy!”

As expected, the second they’re shut inside, Tortilla is stationed right outside for protection. I present him with a single nod, pat to the head, and move out of his way to allow his body to stretch out the length of the doorway.

Downstairs, Disco is doing the same to our bedroom, actively guarding the other woman in our life. It’s a sight that instantly makes me grateful and glad I sprung for the extra dog toys earlier.

The reminder to get the hidden gifts out of the bed of the truck prompts me to crack open the door and curl my face around the blockade to tell Arley it’ll be a few yet am surprised to see our empty bed. Her absence there has me swinging my stare dead ahead to the built-in reading nook where every once in a while I’ll come across her completely lost in an article fromNature Human Behaviour– her favorite psychology publication.

She swears I keep getting stronger, but Iknowshe keeps getting smarter.

She proves that shit every time we go to dinner without the girls, and we opt to talk about shifts in societal behaviors based on medical or technology advancements versus sports.

Which is just another reason why I love my woman.

Her ability to talk about more than just shop or game stats is incredible.

Plus, she isn’t afraid to admit when she doesn’t understand a subject or needs me to further explain.

Those moments actually turn me on.

I’ve always liked teaching her.

Especially when something is my specialty such as advocating for melee weapons in advanced warfare.

Stepping completely into the modern, rustic mashup master bedroom, I curiously scan the scene for an indication that’s she actually been in here since we arrived home. The view of our perfectly made Texas king sized bed informs me she didn’t even stop at it to wiggle off her boots like she normally does and the lack of a fire going reiterates the only thing on her mind was the bathtub.

And probably that mug of tequila.

Then again…if she’s still in the tub where’s the music?

Why am I not being greeted by sounds from guys who’ve worn more eyeliner than she has in her lifetime?

Cautiously, I close the door behind me, with Disco still on guard, and call out, “Angel Cake?”

“In the bathroom!”

Her immediate reply smooths out the crinkles in my system.

Thank fuck we weren’t about to have some sort of Liam Neeson inspired Christmas adventure.

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