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I loved watching her mother our kids, though. It was hot.
Damon slammed the door, planting his body against it like there was a bear after him as he breathed hard. “I got too many fucking kids,” he breathed out, looking flushed with his hair a mess.
“I want a hug from the hug machine!” the seven-year-old demanded. Damon faced away from him, flicking his lighter desperately. “The hug machine needs a recharge,” he mumbled over the cigarette.
But he looked just as young as he did in high school. The happiness of the kids and wife, and the home and love, was written all over his face.
“I mean, look at them,” he told me. “Banks, Winter, Em, Rika... Women are only vulnerable, because they’re the last to be taught to fight. I want to put a woman like them into the world.”
She wore my necktie lots of ways over the years. It always made my heart skip a beat, thinking about how she’d saved it. How she’d stored it under the gazebo to survive forever, because part of her wouldn’t let go of me.
then
