Crazy Good

by Rachel Robinson

  “Come with me, baby,” I say. She bites my bottom lip and nods. The sharp pain of her bite shoots me over the edge. She grabs my ass to hold me in, as if I ever wanted to leave, and I drop my hips a few more times and explode inside her.

  Her head tips back and she moans, “Mav.” I feel her flexing around me over and over as I pump inside her, heavy and strong. I roll so she’s on top. Windsor slumps over on my chest, her head resting on my heart. No words are needed, but we still tell each other how much we love each other. She tells me how at peace she feels now that we’re married. More specifically now that our new family is officially formed.

  Our past and our future merged into one huge thing that seems tangible, but it isn’t really. It’s something inside of us, some unspoken knowledge of healing and love and forgiveness. Life is about taking what you want and giving even more. Not because you think you should. Because you want to. Love isn’t easy because life isn’t easy. You have to fight for the things you want. Sometimes you win and sometimes you wish you’d lost instead. Other times it feels like you’re already dead and gone. That’s always when the best part comes, like some avenging angel who evens all the scores no matter who you are or what you do. I won’t lie, it does help to be a little bit of a badass.

  Charles Bukowski once said, “find what you love and let it kill you.” I say, “Rise from the ashes and take it back.”

  Epilogue

  Windsor

  Four Years later

  “Daddy’s hanging upside down out of the tree again. ‘Cept this time he has that tool. It makes a lot of noise,” Luke says, bounding through the front door.

  “The chainsaw,” both Morganna and I say at the same exact time. I roll my eyes and look at her. She laughs.

  “Go tell daddy, Mommy is going to go all white-trash-barefoot-and-pregnant on him if he doesn’t get in here and help me get the food ready for the party,” I demand. I know he’ll probably only relay half of that message. It’ll be pretty funny to hear what Maverick hears. Is it so wrong we like to play telephone with our three year old? Luke, who is actually another Thomas, flies out the door repeating my message to himself over and over.

  “I can’t believe you talk like that to him. He’s going to…” Morganna pauses, looking up to the roof in thought.

  I scoff. “He’s going to turn out just like his father? There’s no stopping that, Morg. I’ve embraced the fact that in a few years he’ll be swinging in trees doing whatever it is that men do outside,” I explain. “Speaking of, where’s Steve? Will he be making an appearance to the Fantastic Mr. Fox bash? Luke will be pretty upset if there aren’t enough tough guys at his party.” I air quote on the words “tough guys”, because Luke has no clue what they do. He knows they are big and have cool tattoos and everyone else thinks they’re cool, too.

  “He had some sort of huge disaster in the garage when I left. I told him to clean it up or I’d shave off his eyebrows and hide all of his money in offshore accounts if I saw a drop of grease on the floor when I got home. He said he’d show up at some point, though,” Morganna says. She’s putting Steve through the freaking ringer. Which is what anyone would expect, so I can’t feel that bad for the guy. He knew exactly what he was getting into when he asked her out on an official date a few months ago. He’s been after her for years, but Morg just wasn’t ready. I’m not sure she’s ready now. She’s trying though. And Steve? Well, he’s been trying for a long time. They will happen…eventually.

  Maverick’s shirtless, sweaty chest makes its way into my line of vision. He leans over and says, “You’re going to do what with me in a trash can? And the barefoot baby is going to join us? Don’t fucking tease me, Win baby. Give it to me straight,” he jokes, using his sexy voice that still drives me insane…with lust.

  I laugh because this game of telephone just turned into the best one yet.

  He gives me a sweaty kiss, lingering longer than he should in mixed company. “You want to come help me cut some branches? Know what I mean?”

  Morganna groans and hurls a dishtowel at his head. He catches it before it makes contact and rubs it down his chest. I watch it, jealous it gets to touch him and I don’t. Not right now, anyway.

  “She’s about to pop out your spawn and you can’t think about anything else?” she says pointing at my huge stomach. It looks like I swallowed a watermelon. I promised myself I wouldn’t have the baby today. Not on Luke’s day. It shouldn’t be his fault that his parents are obviously fertile at the same time of year.

  Maverick wipes his hands off and pulls me in for a short kiss, rubbing my stomach as he does. His eyes are big and round when he pulls away. “It’s because she has my spawn inside her that I want to be inside of her,” he tells Morganna.

  I blush. I can’t help it. This man is still so crazy about me that I’m not sure how I got so lucky. Maybe because I love him way more than he loves me? It’s a constant influx of passion and love, mixing together to coat the bad days and singe the good days. Maverick is happier now than I’ve ever seen him. The dark shadows don’t chase him here, in our home with our small little family.

  Goose trots into the kitchen. Morganna picks him up and kisses the top of his head. “I’m going to help Gretchen and Benji with the balloons. I don’t want to be standing near you when that balloon pops from the combustible heat he throws off,” Morganna says, pointing at my pregnant belly and then Maverick with a sly smile.

  “You want some heat, Morg?” Maverick calls out to her retreating back. She shakes her head, laughing under her breath. “You know what they say about heat and the kitchen,” he says. I swat him on his solid, sweaty shoulder. He picks up a fox mask and secures it to his face with the elastic strap, rendering him absolutely ridiculous looking. “What? I can’t convince my own wife to go cut down branches with me—even when I look like wildlife. What am I supposed to do? Plus, no one can fluster Morganna. I’ve been trying for over a decade.”

  I can’t stand it anymore, I pull him as close as my belly allows and kiss his neck. He pretends to purr. “Foxes don’t purr, Maverick.” I look at the tattoo over his heart that now has additional coordinates: where we got married and the hospital where Luke was born. The two new, neat vertical lines reside next to the longitude and latitude where he fell in love with me. Our daughter’s place of birth will be next. I feel wistful, blissful, so in love with our life. We’ve made this together.

  “How do you know? No one knows what the fox says,” he quips. I groan at his bad joke.

  I sigh, narrowing my eyes. “Maybe I do have a few minutes to help you cut branches, if it means you’ll act like an adult. Only adults cut branches. You need a shower too.” I see his white teeth poking through the fox snout. Lifting the mask, he smashes his lips against mine and backs me up to the refrigerator. It’s still all or nothing with Mav; he’ll never change. I don’t want him to.

  Kathy enters the kitchen, takes one look at us, and leaves again saying, “I’m going to dress Luke in his costume. The cake will be delivered soon and I don’t want him to see it.” Translation: if you’re going to have sex for the second time today, you better make it quick.

  “I love you, Mav,” I breathe against him, his scent intoxicating to my pheromone-ridden body.

  “I love you, babe. You’re everything,” he replies, before kissing my nose, my cheeks, my eyelids. We hear a throat clear behind us.

  Maverick turns to look and startles a little. His parents. I grab the fox mask off his head for him. He smiles his thanks and turns back to greet his parents. I should be watching the sweet exchange between Maverick and his parents, but the moment warps into something larger. Everything comes into focus. How all of my decisions have led me to this exact moment in time when everything is seemingly perfect.

  The hurdles and bad choices all ended working in our favor. If one small thing shifted in our past we may not be right here, in our kitchen, getting ready for our son’s birthday party. I wouldn’t be pregnant with our little girl. I rub
my hand over my stomach when I feel her kick as if on cue. Maverick may not be talking to his parents. If it weren’t for Mav, my mom might not be the mom and grandma she is today. If I hadn’t had my heart broken, I wouldn’t have taken the leap with Maverick. If Stone didn’t save him, he wouldn’t have died inside and then risen wiser and stronger. Everything is connected. By time. Or by space. Be it by people merely making stupid decisions. Once in a while, right in the middle of death, love lives. Love always lives.

  Maverick interrupts my thoughts. “I have to shower. Can I have a rain check on that manual labor?” I shake my head and chuckle.

  “Anytime,” I purr.

  He cocks his head when I don’t elaborate. I hit him with one of his tricks first. “One word,” I ask. Sometimes it’s amazing how alike we think. I wonder if he’s feeling as nostalgic as I am as our well-fought-for fairytale wraps around us. Our love story isn’t ideal; in fact most people don’t have to lose everything to come together. I’m glad we did. I’m so glad we did.

  Dimples appear first and laughter is second. “What if I need more than one word to describe? I might need three,” he says. I roll my eyes. He always plays by the rules when he’s the one doing the prying. I give in to him. Because I cherish and believe every word that comes out of this man’s mouth.

  “Fine. Leniency granted. Three words,” I sigh.

  He kisses me softly once. “Happily. Ever. After.”

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not be possible without my own real-life Maverick. I love you, C. Thank you for being my own kitten wrapped in canon ball metal. Your help and assurance during this rollercoaster ride is what kept me writing when my keyboard was salty-wet for four chapters. Thank you for fact checking my romance novel. Thank you for leaving me witty SEAL banter in comment bubbles. Thank you for being you. You balance my crazy with good, baby. One word? How about two? Better together.

  My beta readers are so awesome. They really, truly are. Sarah, April, Adrian, Julie, and Belle: the input and suggestions you gave were invaluable. You cheer me on and force me to finish chapters when I really just want to sleep instead. You tell me when a scene is trash, and I weep in silence…and then realize you were right and hit ‘delete’. When my husband told me there were too many sex scenes, you told me he was wrong. Thank you for that (if only for the reason I can say he was wrong about something). Belle, you ventured into the depths of the unknown to research “moose knuckle” and “The Goat”. You’re the winner—all day every day. The epilogue is for Adrian because I made her catatonic with the ‘mission’ scene first. See? All happy now, A.

  My editor, Wendy Callahan. I wrote the story, but you turned it into a readable novel. The sharpness of your eyes shouldn’t be underrated. Super hero power, maybe? You edited all the F words and the P word (that I would never say in real life) and didn’t tell me to pull back. You even let me have judicious exclamation points(!) You’re the best!

  Tatum, you turned my vision into real life. You are amazing and beautiful, and best of all you reside on the same slice of awesome atmosphere that I do. So we’re like creative twins. Thank you times a million!

  Last, but certainly not least The Guys. If one of you happens to pick up Crazy Good and make it this far, thank you for doing it all, for our country. You look good doing it. Your wives are pretty damn awesome, too.

  I’d mess up a salute, so my hand is on my heart for you. And for those who gave all, we remember. We always will. Because love never dies.

  Other titles by this Author:

  Escaped: A Samantha Scott Novel (Eternal Press)

  Embraced: A Samantha Scott Novel (Eternal Press)

  Six (Eternal Press)

  Visit Rachel Robinson online.

  www.racheljrobinson.com

  https://www.facebook.com/racheljeanrobinson