I had opted for as natural a labor and delivery as I could have. Thomas and I didn’t want our babies coming into the world with drugs coursing through their tiny systems. It’s all good and well to say you’re going to be superwoman and go au natural when you’re just going through the motions discussing birth plans, anyone can say it then. But when it comes right down to it, when you feel like your vagina could be the star of an Alien vs Predator movie, you’ll quickly change your tune.
I cried. I yelled. I called Thomas every name under the sun for putting me in the position I was in all whilst my mom, Lou, Sheila, and Tilly were cooing words of encouragement at me. What I really wanted to do with their words were make them eat every last one, washing them down with a vat of hydrochloric acid for their trouble.
Finally, after twenty-one hours of hard labor, fifty minutes of pushing to get Baby A, who we later named Jagger out, and a further eighteen minutes of pushing for Baby B, Deacon to grace us with his presence, I was no longer possessed by the devil and promptly passed out.
When I came to in a room filled with worried looking bikers, a throng of women that looked like they had been awake for days on end crying, and one very frantic, worried Thomas, I didn’t get a chance to utter a word before Thomas was in bed holding me.
According to mom who filled me in while Thomas went to get the babies from the nursery, I lost a lot of blood after I delivered Deacon safely into his fathers’ arms. It had been a long thirty-seven hours I’d been out of it. I had lost a day and a half with all my men, so when Thomas came back wheeling a clear hospital bassinet in front of him followed closely behind by a grinning Cody, I promptly burst into great, big, ugly tears.
Pulling me from the memory that two months later still makes me sad beyond belief, Thomas kisses my forehead softly, and strokes his knuckles down Jagger’s cheek.
“What are you thinking about that’s got you so upset, Princess?”
Thomas is getting used to my crying jags now. When they invariably occur he simply holds me, says I’m beautiful, and tells me he loves me. Sitting down next to me I sigh shaking my head.
“Nothing important. Are you done for the day?” I ask trying to divert his attention. It never works, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.
“Nice try, Princess, but I know you’re full of shit. Do I need to pry it out of you? I’ve got way to do that you know,” he says with a lascivious smile.
I do know, and I would love nothing more than for him to sweep me up, take me into our bedroom and ravish me, but with the boys only having just dozed off we won’t be in the clear until they have been asleep for a good twenty minutes. Jagger and Deacon are fussy like that. They like to be held for a while after being fed, burped, changed, and rocked to sleep. If I try to put them down sooner they wake up instantly, and it’s nearly impossible to get them back to sleep.
Snorting I retort,
“Sure. Do you have a magic wand that will keep these ones asleep while I go back and put on some lingerie so I can tend to your needs?” The sad part is I’m only half joking. If he could produce a magic wand I’d do just that.
“No, I fucking don’t, but thanks for putting that image in my head, babe. I’m gonna have to go jack off thinking about you all dressed up in white lace for me now.” He’s not half joking, he’s not joking at all.
Thomas has a strange fascination with me in white lace, white satin, white anything really. It wouldn’t have been my first guess if you’d asked me what would turn me gorgeous, leather clad, denim wearing biker on. Black or red would have been top of my list, but there you have it, virginal white is what does it for him. Go figure.
Jagger’s pitiful whimper draws his fathers’ attention, Thomas plucking him out of the crook of my arm instantly.
“Hey little man,” he coos. Yes, my strong, Harley riding, dirty talking man does indeed coo. “You gonna go to sleep so your dad can get your mom naked, and get himself some.”
His ridiculous question makes me giggle because sleep is not high on the list of Jagger’s favorite things to do. Cry, eat, spit up, eat some more, and poop are, but not sleep. Deacon on the other hand is a dream baby. He feeds every three hours, burps, and falls straight back to sleep. Albeit he like to be held for a bit to do it, he sleeps for two hours between feds, and two four hour blocks during the night. The complete opposite of his fussy, hyper alert brother.
Since coming home from the hospital, seven weeks ago, our house has been inundated by visitors day-in and day-out, making getting the twins into a routine somewhat challenging. The twins were born at full term, thirty-seven weeks, meaning they only spent a total of six days in the hospital before being discharged with a clean bill of health. I had been discharged a day earlier, but they had allowed me to say one extra night seeing as I refused to leave without my babies, and they were being sent home the next day anyway.
Thomas had converted two of the guest rooms into a nursery by knocking through one of the walls to make a huge nursery suite for the boys. He said that when they grew up he could either put a wall back up, or depending on how they felt, they could leave it as one big open plan space, each having a dedicated side.
The room is beautiful, Thomas outdid himself putting it together. The walls are painted a soft charcoal color with white trim, with softer grey floor length curtains covering the two huge windows on either side of the room. Of course the theme was going to be motorcycles, so when I walked in one afternoon and he was hanging various sized canvases printed with bikes both vintage and current, and a ginormous Harley Davidson logo already adorned the main wall, I just shook my head and walked out. I didn’t let my grin free until I was well out of his sight. It wouldn’t do to have him thinking I would just accept him not consulting me first when it came to decorating the nursery, regardless of the fact it was perfect. In fact, I couldn’t have done better if I’d done it myself.
Their cribs are works of art. Both large, dark timber, with sleigh head and footboards, they don’t dominate the room due to its size, but they would definitely overwhelm any other nursery. My mom spared no expense when she bought them, saying she was paying it forward seeing as her own mom had bought her an extravagant bed, and she couldn’t not buy them when she saw them online.
A matching timber change table with two chests of drawers either side of it, and a blanket box at the end of their cribs is the only other furniture in here, except for the two stunning rocking chairs bought by shockingly enough, my dad.
The day he showed up at the house with them in the bed of his truck I broke down into another regularly occurring bout of tears. He’d told me that he rocked me to sleep as a baby, read me bedtime stories, and taught me to count sitting in a chair just like these, and he wanted the same for his grandson’s. While I hugged my dad harder than I had in years, Thomas took them inside and placed them side by side under the windows saying the babies could sit in the sun and listen to me read to them while I got them off to sleep.
That day was also the day the last bit of anger I harbored towards my dad evaporated. Before then we had been making strides to repair the damage he did the day of the showcase at Chasers, but I still held on to some residual anger I just couldn’t shake. I didn’t want to hate him anymore, life is too short to be angry for so long, but it was easier said than done to forgive him entirely. That day I knew the second I saw what he’d done that it was gone. The heavy sadness I’d been carrying around at the lack of relationship I currently had with my dad vanished. Our relationship won’t ever be perfect, but I don’t want perfect.
I want my overbearing, grumpy, foul-mouthed, sweet, caring, loving dad, not a poor substitute. He wouldn’t be my dad if he was anything other than a pain in my ass, and I’m more than happy to cause him to go prematurely grey, bald, and have stress related strokes because that’s the kind of daughter I am. We both have our flaws, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.
Turning to me, Thomas gives me a look of promise to do naughty, dirty, filthy thing
s that I’ll absolutely love in the very near future.
“Go get in that shit I bought you last week, babe. I’ve got this from here,” he says gesturing between the boys.
Placing Deacon in his crib checking he’s tucked in tightly, I turn to look at my man and my son. The boys look exactly like their father down to their full heads of sandy brown hair, gorgeous green eyes, and matching twin dimples. They have his temper, his smile, and even his ears. And I love all three of them dearly.
I didn’t know it was possible to love someone as much as I love Thomas, but the second I laid eyes on my boys when I woke up in the hospital I knew I had been wrong. And lucky me, I got two mini-Thomas’ out of the deal and I couldn’t be happier. I love our little family of four. Every day is a new adventure, and every day I grow to love my men, big and small even more.
Shooting him a playful grin from the door, I wink and give him a small wave for effect.
“I’ll be wet, ready, and waiting when you’re done. Don’t take too long though, or I’ll have to start without you.”
The last thing I hear before I close the door to our bedroom is,
“You’ll pay for that, Lex,” causing me to grin again, and my heart to fill to bursting.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Thomas
“Sometimes the strongest among us are the ones who
smile through silent pain, cry behind closed doors,
and fight battles nobody knows about.”
- Unknown Author
Not long ago I would’ve told you I was a broken man. Damaged, tainted, fragmented, worthless, not deserving of a life like the one I ended up with. I thought Lex had put all my pieces back together again. She was my glue, my rock, my strength when I didn’t have it in me to be strong anymore, but it wasn’t until I looked into two sets of identical eyes, eyes exactly like my own, that I knew I was healed. Lex had done the groundwork, she laid the foundation for me to rebuild myself, but my boys made it possible for me to believe again.
They made me believe my world could be filled with beauty, love, and happiness instead of pain, anger, and self-loathing. My boys made me see that no matter how broken I thought I was there was hope for me. That I could be a better man, a good father, and loving husband. And through it all Lex was always there. She held me up, taught me to let go of the hatred I’d buried deep in my soul. She supported me through the nightmares I had after I ended the people responsible for why I was the way I was. She tells me she’s proud of me for overcoming my past, getting to where I am now, but if I’m being honest, it’s all because of her and my boys that I managed to get to where I am now.
Reaper was right the day he told me to go home to Lex and let her sweet soothe me, because when I got home that day I sat her down and told her about my past, she cried for me. Not out of disgust or outrage, but for me and what I’d gone through. She cried for the boy I was, the boy I never got the chance to be, and the boy who deserved better than I received. When her tears subsided she said something that will stay with me until the day I take my last breathe. Something I hope stays with me even longer.
“You’ve faced your greatest challenge, now you have to decide whether you let that define you, or whether you let it teach you something beautiful. You know what not to be. You have a strength and determination others can only be in awe of. Not because of what you suffered, but in spite of it. Even in the face of terror you used more compassion than most people show in a lifetime to save someone other than yourself. Thomas you astound me. I’m proud of the man you are, and that I’m lucky enough to be the woman that stands beside you.”
Looking over my sleeping wife, (because yes, I kept my promise and married her as soon as she’d fucking let me, which if you ask me wasn’t soon enough), and marvel at the woman lying beside me.
When I put the gold band on her finger the day she promised to love, cherish, and care for me every day for the rest of her life, I felt an emotion like nothing I’ve ever experienced overcome me. I felt light, like the dark fog that had been weighing me down most of my life had finally been lifted. My repeated promise to her wasn’t so much of a promise, it was more of an oath. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. I’d give her the world if I could and she wanted it, but Lex assures me all she wants is me, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful because she’s it for me too.
A month and a half after we found her at that dilapidated shack Candice was holding her in, three months before she gave birth to our boys, Lex and I got married in a small, (by others standards and to be honest Lex’s if I’d let her get away with the circus she was planning), ceremony at the clubhouse not dissimilar to her dad and Kendall’s.
One hundred and twenty of our closest family and friends watched me vow to treat her like the Princess she is for the rest of our lives. And they watched her promise to love me regardless of my at times asshole behavior. We laughed, she cried, and everyone cheered when I finally got to walk her back down the aisle as my wife, and I can’t remember a day, aside from when my boys were born, that I’d been happier.
That in and of itself was a foreign emotion for me; real happiness. One I’m still not altogether unwary of, but I take it for what it is and embrace it nonetheless. Fuck knows how many days we get of happy in our lifetime, I’m sure as hell going to take mine when I can get them, appreciating every last one for what they are; a gift.
I won’t tell you being married to Lex is a fucking picnic, because it sure as hell isn’t. What it is, is challenging, maddening, pull your fucking hair out frustrating at times, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love the shit out of my wife, but there’s times I’d like to throttle her too. Take last night as an example.
I’d just sat down after a long ass day at Chasers, I’ve been working on a sweet custom Hog and today was the day for me to put the finishing touches on it before it gets picked up in the morning, when Lex decided I wasn’t pulling my weight with the boys, demanding it was my turn to bath them before stomping out of the room. On any other occasion I would’ve sighed then got up and done what she’d asked, but last night I was over it, tired, and fucking pissed, not at her but in general. That combination didn’t make for a happy man.
I yelled, she screamed, I may have thrown the fucking remote at the wall in a rare show of temper, then Lex cried. Jesus Christ. I couldn’t handle when my wife cried, but knowing it was because of me somehow made it twice as bad. Then I did what any man in my position would do, I took her in my arms, apologized repeatedly, begged her to stop crying because she was breaking my heart, and proceeded to fuck her senseless over the arm of the couch. Yeah, I know, not the most sensitive of ways to deal with a crying woman, but I had to do something to calm her down and it worked, so no harm done.
That was the extent of our fights. We yelled, usually I didn’t throw shit, she gave it back just as good, then we fucked it out. Not a bad way to solve an argument if you ask me. It worked for us, and that’s all that matters.
Lex is the voice of reason in our house, and I’ll admit, more often than not either me or one of the boys sending her round the bend, not the other way around. She’s calm in the face of our boys temper tantrums, ones that drive me insane, but she reminds me often match my own. They might only be four months old, but Jesus, they have a set of lungs on them when they want something.
Lex doesn’t get pissy like most women would when I leave the toilet seat up, throw clothes on the floor beside the hamper instead of in it, and she doesn’t bitch when I’m not home in time for dinner or to put the boys to bed. Lex just takes that shit in her stride with a smile on her face, and kisses me telling me she loves me.
My life isn’t smooth, easy sailing like I’d thought for years I wanted it to be. It’s chaotic, loud, messy, and I fucking love it. Hearing the sound of Lex singing to our boys while they sit in their swings watching her cook dinner warms my heart every time I walk in the door. Watching her rock them to sleep in the glider in their rooms with a sweet smile on her
face, and her getting up to check on them through the night, even if they’re out cold, fast asleep are the sort of things that’ll never get old. They’ll never have less of an impact than they do now.
There was never a question that I love my wife more than anything, but what I didn’t know was I’d fall a little bit more in love with her every day. I love her more today than yesterday, and without a shadow of a doubt I’ll love her more tomorrow than today.
Once upon a time there was a young man, broken by the life he was deserted to, broken by circumstances he couldn’t control. But one day, not long after he escaped the prison that was his existence, that young man met an even younger girl. A girl who showed him a world of light, laughter, and beauty he never knew existed. She showed him the meaning of unconditional love and taught him to trust. Most of all she taught him how to love himself…every broken piece.
Our story might be over but the ride has only just begun, and with Lex by my side it’s going to be one hell of a ride…
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Robert
“I actually don’t need to control my anger.
Everyone needs to control their habit of pissing me the fuck off.”
- Rotten eCard
Hiding is something I’m good at. I learned early it was better to fade into the shadows than live in the light. Because of that, bar work has suited me just fine, in fact it was the perfect career choice for me. I sleep during the day, work at night, its easy money, the women flow as freely as the drinks, and it gives me the opportunity to be alone. What more could a guy like me want, right? Well one thing I’d like is to be able to work without playing sudo-counsellor to a bunch of drunks, that’d be nice.
Broken: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel Page 26
