Page 3 of Valor
Seeming to take the answer at face value, Phoebe submits, barely, to letting me dress her in the pretty dress with some sort of scratchy overlay that Liv says matches her eyes. I love both of my children equally, but Phoebe, my baby girl, has a special place in my heart. Could be because I got to feel her as she grew inside her mother’s belly, or because I was there when she was born, kicking and screaming into the world, but I know it’s because she’s her mother made over. The same thick hair, except hers is a light blonde like mine, that darkens a little more each year, the same lanky build and Irish-cream skin. Even when she was born, I could see Liv in her.
But her personality, bless her soul, is all me.
Cole is a little more cautious. He’s had it rough in his short life because of the congenital birth defect he was born with, along with having major surgery at a young age, and all the precautions, scares, and medicine he’s been subjected to since then.
We’ve never let it hinder him and have always encouraged him to safely take risks, but being in a bit of a bubble has left its mark nonetheless. It’s been some time since his surgery and he’ll always have to live with it, but he’s a fighter, just like his name, and I’ve never loved or been more proud of anyone in my life. He’s stronger than most of the grown-ass Marines I’ve known. Sometimes, I think he’s even stronger than me.
Phoebe, however, hasn’t had those restrictions and tests every boundary known to man. God help us when she starts driving or dating.
“Can I have two pieces of cake at the wedding?” she whispers in my ear.
Knowing better than to be caught in that trap, I answer, “What did your mother say?”
Phoebe frowns and I palm her rain-straight hair. “She said I could only have one but, Da-ad. It’s a special occasion.”
“Not special enough to risk your mother’s wrath, let me tell you. Besides, they’re serving steak, your favorite, and you’ll probably be too full for two pieces of cake.” Tweaking her nose, I straighten. “Why don’t you and your brother track down your shoes and get them on while we get ready, okay, Firecracker?”
She considers for a moment, then smiles, both dimples winking. “Okay, Daddy.”
“You know we have about five minutes before they start trying to kill each other, right?” Livvie says as we head back to our room. The monkey suit she’s forcing me to wear is hanging on the door of my walk-in closet.
“Do I have to wear the suit?” I ask one last time.
“You sound like Cole.”
“Like father, like son.” My quip is only half-hearted because Livvie has skimmed out of her robe, and I’m trying to drink in all her gloriously bared skin.
“Don’t get any ideas,” she warns when I begin to inch closer to her. “If you get started, we’re going to be late.”
“At this point it won’t take me very long,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Very romantic,” she says, but she’s smiling so I know she doesn’t take offense.
“Let’s lock the door,” I suggest, as I get her pinned between my body and the wall. Her skin is cool and soft against mine. I feel like I’m burning up. “The kids will be fine. I promise I’ll make five minutes feel like five hours.”
“We can’t. We’ll be late,” she argues, but she submits when I nibble on her ear until she shivers.
I can’t fucking get enough of her. Two children, nearly six years of her, and every time feels brand-new. It’ll never get old, watching her go soft beneath my hands.
I can see it in her eyes sometimes when she looks at me—wondering. People we know, friends, acquaintances, their marriages have broken up. She’ll get this look about her, and I know she’s wondering if we’ll come to the same end. Not because she believes it—or wants it—that I do know, but because of what happened to us.
If Liv has a flaw, it’s not because of something in her, it’s because of what was done to her, to us.
Whenever I see her looking at me, knowing how vulnerable she must be feeling, I do my best to wash away those worries. I don’t ever want her to doubt me. That’s my new mission in life. Making sure she knows how wanted she is. How much I need her.
“Scott won’t care. Besides, even if he did, I’m sure he’d understand.” I press kisses along her collarbone as my fingers trace the puckered spot of scar tissue where she’d been shot. She goes still at my touch, as she always does, and I kiss the scar before saying, “Come play with me.”
Her head drops back, and satisfaction has me practically purring like a predator who’s cornered his prey.
“You have to be fast,” she murmurs.
I snort. “I don’t think so.”
“The kids.”
“They’ll be fine for a little while. I’ll make sure we aren’t late.”
“Liar,” Livvie says on a sigh. “If you get started, we’re definitely going to be late.”