Page 51 of Hideaway Whirlwind (Big Boys of Berenson Trucking #4)

Teagan

The wind howls outside, sheets of rain driving across the windows, the delivery room solely lit by the emergency lights when the hospital’s generator kicks on after the power goes out.

“Figures you’d give birth during a hurricane,” Elliott says from his chair to the left of my bed. His chest is bare so he can have his turn at skin-to-skin contact with Killian, who fits perfectly within his papa’s large hands.

I snort, my lower half still blissfully numb from my epidural.

Though we’re thankfully too far inland to be classified as part of the hurricane zone on the coast, the summer storm system is large enough to cause widespread flooding across Texas and Louisiana.

It was an all too familiar and treacherous path getting to the hospital after dropping the kids off with their Aunt Layla, Uncle Russell, and new baby cousin, Rae.

Elliott’s eyes are bloodshot from crying so hard during my labor and delivery, throughout which he stood at the end of my bed and watched over Dr. Patel’s shoulder because he didn’t want to miss a second of his son being born.

The nurses found it highly unusual, not to mention somewhat disturbing.

I didn’t, which is all that mattered, since his arm was long enough to still grip my knee, holding it in the stirrup.

Dr. Patel had joked she’d never met anyone, much less an otherwise severely stoic man, who cries as much as Dolly apparently does.

“We’ll need to check the crawlspace under the cabin when we get home,” I tell him, pushing the button to raise the upper half of the bed so I’m sitting more upright.

It’ll be another few days until we can leave here, since my tubal ligation is scheduled for later tomorrow, though I don’t know if the storm will end up pushing it back.

I’ll stay my happily numb ass here for as long as it takes to make sure I’m four and done .

Elliott swirls a finger through Killian’s crop of black hair, completely enamored with our newborn. “For what?”

“In case we were sent a few more hellhounds.”

He gives me a questioning lift of his brow.

“Three’s the magic number, right? So maybe fate was waiting for Killian to be born so you and Kendall can get your own hounds.”

“Superstitious now, are we?”

“How can I not be? This place…your tattoos…our life.” I raise my hands before I let them drop on the bed. “It’s nothing short of supernatural.” I snap my fingers. “Speaking of which…will you pass me my backpack?”

Elliott moves so slowly, as if worried Killian will break, when he stands to grab my bound-to-be-expensive, quilted black leather diaper-bag-backpack combo.

It was my baby shower gift from Layla last month—the one and only shower I’ve ever received, everything done up in black and silver like our wedding.

Truly, I couldn’t have picked a better sister-in-law.

All the women, really, I now consider to be sisters of sorts, most of all Goldie, though Elliott and I still prefer to spend the majority of our time outside on our property with our kids.

I dig through one of the millions of inside pockets until I find the one with the present I have for him. When Elliott is safely seated again, skimming his lips along the top of Killian’s head, I try to hand him the matte-black ring box gone gray with time that he instantly recognizes.

He swallows hard, his brows lowered and shadowing his expression. “Where did you find that?”

“I stubbed my toe on it in the creek.” Elliott had excavated part of the bank to redirect some of the water to pool on the side, then lined it with smooth river rocks so we could cool ourselves in the stockpot-summer heat and teach the kids how to swim. Water safety is our top priority, after all.

Keeping one hand firmly pressed to Killian’s back and bottom, his other hand trembles when he finally takes the box. “I’ve been looking for that for years.”

“Open it,” I whisper.

When he does, he inhales deeply and drops his head back on his shoulders with his eyes closed.

If I could feel my legs, I would go to him, but I have to settle for simply laying my hand on his knee.

Once he collects himself, new tears making tracks down his handsome face, I motion for him to hand Killian to me, arranging our son at my breast when he mewls the tiniest of cries.

“Thank you,” Elliott says with a choked voice, closing the box as if to put it away.

I shake my head. “It’s for you to wear on your right ring finger.”

“It’s not going to fit. ”

“Yes, it will.” I smile encouragingly. “I had it resized.”

“You did?” Elliott’s lower lip wobbles, and he gingerly pulls the yellow-gold wedding band, polished to a brilliant shine, out of the box.

The inside engraving of Meredith’s name is clearly legible after who knows how many years spent among nature’s harshest elements.

And when he slides the band onto his finger, he curls his fist over his mouth, crying once more.

It’s then that he comes to me, scooting his chair close enough that his knees butt against my hospital bed, and lays his head on my lap.

I comb my fingers through his hair as Killian attempts to nurse but falls asleep, and I fight back my own tears, knowing I made the right decision instead of tucking the ring out of sight, out of mind.

What I’m not sure of is if I’m going too far when I ask, “When you and Meredith were discussing having kids…did you pick out any baby names?”

He turns his cheek, sliding his left hand under my blue waffle blanket and my hospital gown to rest it somewhere on my thigh. “Sherry for a girl, Marshall for a boy.”

I give him a few more minutes when he buries his nose in my lap before I ask, “Would you—” I lose some of my nerve until he pushes his right arm between my back and the mattress, resting the entirety of his upper half on the bed now. “Would you like to use ‘Marshall’ for Killian’s middle name?”

“Killian Marshall Berenson.” He’s openly sobbing when the male nurse who was most nervous about Elliott’s behavior during my delivery enters the room.

“Can you give us a minute?” I ask quietly, and the nurse nods fast, his tablet held tight to his chest, quickly retreating.

“I didn’t know a person could love another this much,” Elliott says, his broad shoulders shaking. “Every day, I keep thinking, surely this is it—my heart can’t get any fuller without bursting. But then you go and do something like this, and—”

“Elliott…”

He takes a shuddering breath and lifts his head.

“That’s how much I love you, too.”

“I know.” He stands partially and brings his right hand up to cradle my face, his ring from Meredith warm on my cheek. “I can feel your love like a living and breathing entity, all the time.”

“It is,” I say, meeting his lips for a kiss. “It’s real .”

The next time the nurse enters my room, it’s to find Elliott asleep with his head once more on my lap, his big body contorted to fit the majority of his frame on the bed with his long legs and feet hanging off the end.

“We’re going to need another minute,” I tell the nurse, at peace with holding Killian and my bear close to my heart as the storm outside rages on.

* * *

16 years later

“Wake up, Mama,” Elliott whispers after turning off my alarm, gliding his hand up and over my hip to cup my stomach beneath the comforter, spooning me from behind.

“A few more minutes,” I beg, pushing my face into my pillow.

“Do you need help waking up?” He nips at the crook of my shoulder with a soft chuckle .

I hum, clenching my thighs and rubbing my feet together. It’s my favorite way to wake up, though my husband, without fail, always asks beforehand.

The bed shifts when Elliott slips off the mattress, sliding me to the edge with me still curled on my side, only my bottom hanging off in the open air.

Ooooh , so this is the one he’s going with.

I bite my bottom lip and arch my back when Elliott flips my long T-shirt up and works my panties down my thighs juuuuuust enough.

His chest rumbles with a deep growl of male satisfaction when he kisses one asscheek, spreads my pussy lips, then pushes his middle finger inside me, testing how ready I am. And, oh, I’m already getting there, letting my mouth fall open with a moan when I shift my top knee higher toward my chest.

“Oh yeah, Mama. You’re feeling good, aren’t you?”

“Mmm, yes, Daddy.”

Elliott pushes a second finger inside me once I’ve adjusted.

I’m full-on fucking his fingers, rolling my hips back and forth when Elliott’s wet thumb brushes my backside.

We’ve tried, over the years, to fit more than two of his fingers back there, but his cock is simply too big to fit more than an inch inside.

Of course, when I told him that, he said it brought him as much pleasure as it would to be inside me, his ego stroked.

It hasn’t stopped us from finding other ways to have fun with it, though, and I know that’s exactly where we’re headed when he brings me to orgasm on his fingers and flips me on my back instead of immediately filling me with his dick.

“It’s going to be cold,” he says with a grin, his broad chest bare when he turns the side lamp on so he can find his cute silver-framed glasses and put them on before he opens the top drawer of his nightstand .

I’m already shivering before he’s popped the cap on the bottle of lube we keep stocked, and I kick off my panties.

I hook my hands behind my knees, offering myself to my husband, who has never once made me regret choosing him.

The lines of his forehead and beside his eyes have etched themselves deeper over the years, his eyesight having worsened faster than we expected, but his hair and beard are as thick as they ever were, his body and heart as strong as a man more than half his age, his clever mind sharp. He’s still a force to be reckoned with.