Kevlar to My Vest

by Lani Lynn Vale

  “Yes,” I said closing my eyes. “Oakley was a real shit head today. All she did was cry when she didn’t get what she wanted, which was most of the time. She cried when I took the potato peeler away. Cried when I took her ‘stickers’ away, which were most definitely not stickers... they were pads. Then she threw her cup of chocolate milk at Ford, who immediately started crying bloody murder and wouldn’t stop. I just got him to bed, by the way.”

  “Sounds like you ran just as many 415’s today as I did.” He observed dryly.

  415’s were police code for ‘arguments.’ Trance started saying 415 at home during our first official fight as a married couple, and we’d been saying that ever since.

  I shook my head. “Yes, if not more so.”

  He grabbed his plate out of the microwave, followed by a beer out of the fridge, and then sat at the table with it. “Hey, will you plug my Maglite in?” He asked offhandedly.

  I managed to hold in the sarcastic ‘sure honey,’ that normally came with that request. I did the same thing every time he worked a shift. I never failed one time to move the pins over from his uniform, nor forget to plug his shit in.

  I walked to the laundry room and grabbed the Maglite. Followed by the Taser and his radio, and walked into the bedroom where he kept the chargers beside our bed.

  Once I had them plugged in, I changed out of my chocolate milk stained shirt into one of Trance’s department issued ones before walking back out to sit with him.

  He was shoveling in the last of his food, which was, I’d leaned, the way a police officer ate.

  “How was your day?” I asked as he leaned back and started to drink his beer.

  His beautiful eyes turned to me. He looked tired.

  His day had started early when he’d made a sweep of the local schools, which took up the first four hours of his day, followed by his patrol duty.

  “Picked up some drugs at Benton High this morning. Nearly a hundred pounds of weed in a kid’s trunk. Fuckin’ dumb ass.” He sighed.

  I grimaced. “Sorry,” I apologized.

  He lifted an uncaring shoulder. “Nothing you could do about it.”

  I really couldn’t do anything about it. I just learned to lend an ear when he wanted or needed it. I’d made some good friends with a few of the LEO’s wives of the parish, and I’d learned that most of the time that was really all you could do.

  I no longer worked at Benton high. I stayed home with the kids, which made Trance extremely happy. Maybe one day I’d go back, but not until the kids were all in school.

  “Tomorrow’s your day off, at least. What time is the softball game?” I asked for confirmation.

  He pushed his chair back and patted his leg for me to sit in his lap. Following orders, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck, relishing in the unique leather and Dial Soap scent.

  One arm went around my back while the other took up its usual spot on the curve of my belly.

  The baby, the one where we still didn’t know the gender of, moved happily around inside of me, kicking and punching away.

  My stomach was contorting to all kinds of shapes and sizes, and his eyes lit with happiness. Trance loved me being pregnant. Which was why I’d been pregnant three of the last four years. Oakley came along nine months to the day of our wedding. Ford followed on her heels, one year later. I got pregnant again when Ford was five months old; now, we were adding our third child to the mix.

  Trance thought we’d have more, but I’d been working on him to get a vasectomy. I loved my kids, but I really hated being pregnant.

  The mood swings. Dear Lord the mood swings were killer. One minute I’d be perfectly content, then Trance could walk into the room and bring the smell of chocolate with him, and I’d be a raving lunatic.

  I had gestational diabetes with all three of my kids so far, and I really needed my chocolate fix. I could give up cokes, cakes, and cookies, but take away my chocolate and I’d turn into a right bitch.

  Trance tried to help by eating healthy with me, but there were times he’d try to sneak in a candy bar while I wasn’t looking, and I’d know. He couldn’t keep that kind of thing away from me.

  “Yes, the Halligans vs. Handcuffs third annual softball tournament will be at nine. We’ll play best two out of three.” He agreed.

  I checked my watch and blanched at the time. “I’ve got to go to bed if you expect me to get anything done tomorrow. I’m beat.”

  He stood with me in his arms, and I squalled. “Put me down! I’m too big!”

  He laughed, a deep, rich bellow of sound, and I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest.

  He dropped me off in the bathroom, knowing my nightly routine even better than his own, and went to the bed, tossing out toys, cups, and brushing off crumbs.

  Once I was done in the bathroom, he held the covers up for me to crawl under, and I groaned in peace at the perfection that was our bed.

  “Keep groaning like that and I’ll have to fuck you. We both know we’re too tired for that.” He growled against my back as he curled up behind me.

  I snorted. There was no way in hell I was having sex. I was way too damn tired.

  Trance, of course, knew how to coax my tired body back to life, and with one well-placed hand, he had me ready to go.

  “Are you sure you’re still tired?” He asked as his talented finger worked my swollen clit.

  I groaned. “I really am tired.”

  He laughed into my hair and maneuvered me until I was on my hands and knees, and he was directly behind me.

  There weren’t many positions that worked when you were pregnant. One of the tried and true was doggy style, which, this late into the pregnancy, was our go to move.

  He always made up for the same old position by doing and trying new things, and using new toys; but, today, he settled for just plain, old vanilla sex.

  I’d tried one time to get him to handcuff me, but he looked at me in horror. He’d said, “I’m sorry, but just no. Every time I get those handcuffs out, all I can think about is the last criminal I put in them. It’s never going to happen baby.”

  The hard head of his cock spread my outer lips, parting them like a drill press as he coated his length in my fluids. The head of his cock nudged my pulsing clit, and suddenly sleep was replaced by the lust. Lust for my man. My old man. My law enforcement officer.

  I pressed my ass back, and he chuckled and he pressed the crest of his cock to my entrance and forged forward until his balls rested against my clit.

  He didn’t waste any time. Neither of us needed any warm up. I’d learned over the past four years that you took it when you could get it. With his job and the kids, I knew that we could be interrupted at a moment’s notice. So I took our lovemaking seriously and went at it with him at a 100%. There was no time to be wasted, and he knew it.

  With every thrust of his cock, his balls would swing and hit my clit, giving me that barely there touch that had me soaring high before I even knew it.

  Within the next three thrusts, I was bursting into flames, and burying my face into the pillow so I didn’t wake up the kids.

  His soft curse let me know he was close, as well as his hastened pace.

  The hands on the globes of my butt tightened hard before I heard him groan in completion.

  “God, it keeps getting better and better,” he rasped.

  “That’s because I’m awesome.” I teased and then hissed as he pulled out of me.

  I ignored the come that followed his exit, and stood to make my way to the bathroom and clean myself up. Once I was finished, I walked back to the bed and found him fast asleep, melting my heart all over again.

  I loved him like crazy.

  These last four years together had been beyond perfect.

  There’d been a lot of adjusting on both of our parts.

  The hardest thing for me to adjust to was Trance’s schedule. He was a very busy man being the city’s only K-9 officer. There were e
ven some instances where he’d be hired by neighboring cities to perform drug checks in their high schools.

  On a good week, he’d only work sixty-five hours.

  Other weeks he’d work eighty plus.

  There were times we went to eat with him, and he’d be called out for a traffic incident in the middle of dinner, causing us to be stranded eating by ourselves. It got to the point where now we both drove, knowing there was a very good chance he’d be called out.

  But we loved him. I loved him. I had two, soon to be three, beautiful babies by him. When he finally did get to spend time with us, he more than made up for his time away.

  Trance shifted beside me, moving me so I was over his chest. Right where his tattoo lay.

  The ‘home’ tattoo that he’d gotten four years ago now had two more rings added to it, and very soon there’d be a third. One for our daughter, Oakley Rose, and a second for our son, Ford Bryce.

  As I fell asleep in his arms, I kissed his chest, and thanked the Lord that he was the one to rescue me the day my brother stranded me in the middle of nowhere.

  Because without that one horrible instant in time, none of this would be possible.

  ***

  Trance

  “What’s your 10-20?” I asked into my phone as I watched the ‘Handcuffs’ team start to warm up.

  Viddy laughed into the phone. “I’m almost there. Ford had a blowout and we had to find a change of clothes.”

  I grimaced. At least he didn’t have it here. That would’ve been awkward.

  “Okay, baby. We’re on field two. See you in a bit.” I said before hanging up.

  Viddy was driving now.

  Five years ago, she’d have never thought it possible. However, two weeks after Oakley was born, Viddy’s vision in her left eye became nearly one hundred percent and stayed. When she was tired or stressed, she’d have to slip on her glasses to relieve the strain, but overall, she had full vision out of her right eye, enabling her to get her license.

  Although she still didn’t’ drive far, or much. She was deathly afraid to go over forty miles an hour, even though her vision hadn’t diminished in the four years since she’d gotten it back. She always had that feeling that things could go wrong again, which essentially controlled everything she did.

  When she’d had Oakley, she’d made the decision to stay at home with her because she would’ve had to do the majority of picking up and dropping off since I worked constantly. Which was A-Okay with me. I liked the fact that she was home with our kids instead of them getting sick at daycare regularly.

  Kettle and Loki rode up on their Harley’s moments after I hung up with Viddy, and I laughed at how ridiculous they both looked.

  The Handcuffs shirt was lime green whereas the Halligans were neon pink.

  The back of the fire departments shirt said, ‘I’m a BFD.’ The back of the PD’s shirt said, “Sometimes firefighters need heroes, too.”

  The game had grown quite competitive since its creation the year Viddy and I got married, and ever since, it has been a huge crowd gatherer. We charged four dollars to watch the game, and all the proceeds went to a ‘wounded in the line of duty’ fund that the PD and the fire department shared.

  “Where are the chains to your balls?” I asked Kettle, wondering where Adeline and the kids were.

  He grimaced. “They were decorating my truck before I left. Fucking shoe polish. That shit’s going to be a bitch to get off. Anyway, I told them I wasn’t riding in that, and she told me to find my own way. So I did.”

  I suppressed the urge to double over in laughter. Kettle would be paying for that later. Most definitely.

  I was about to ask Loki the same question when I saw my wife pull into the parking lot. Abandoning my fellow club members, I walked quickly and weaved through the cars to BF Egypt. She always parked in the very back of the lot, no matter what.

  I found her struggling to get the stroller out of the back of the truck, so I gently pushed her aside and lifted it in one hand, folding it out with ease.

  “Showoff.” She muttered as she rounded the truck to get Oakley unstrapped.

  I did the same to Ford, placing him in the stroller once I was done. Then I strapped him in for good measure. The boy was an escape artist. A very good escape artist.

  “Hi, daddy.” Oakley said in the cutest little voice I’d ever heard.

  I smiled at my girl, pulling her into my arms and giving her a loud smacking kiss on the cheek, causing her to giggle.

  “Did you take a nap for mommy?” I asked her.

  She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, making her blonde ringlets swirl about her head. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that Viddy hadn’t heard that, but when I turned and saw the expression on her face, I knew I wasn’t that lucky. Even more so when Kettle and Loki started laughing like goddamned hyenas.

  “Eat shit,” I muttered as I passed them.

  Then, of course, Oakley had to yell it over my shoulder at them.

  “Don’t make me kick your ass!” She said in her badass pixie four-year-old voice.

  My head hung. “You’re going to make mommy mad at me,” I told her.

  She looked at me with calm, serious eyes. “No she won’t. I won’t let her.”

  And for some reason. I believed her.

  Coming Soon

  Keys To My Cuffs

  February 4, 2015

  Chapter 1

  Loki

  1 year ago

  “Will you please, please, please mow the lawn, Andrew? Please,” my next-door neighbor pleaded.

  She was begging her husband...brother...lover...roommate? Hell, I didn’t know what he was. They didn’t look anything alike, so I was inclined to think that they weren’t brother and sister. I had only heard him call her Channing. But they sure as hell didn’t act like lovers...or even husband and wife. Their relationship wasn’t a normal one. It was as if they only tolerated one another, which was why I leaned towards roommate, more than anything.

  They worked opposite shifts.

  She was a nurse or something at the hospital at nights; based on the black scrubs she left the house in every night. He worked in an office during the day, as a manager or something.

  She worked outside a lot, making their home the best looking on the block, while all I ever saw him do was play video games from his chair in the living room.

  She was always the one who bought the groceries. She was always the one who washed the car. She was also the one who mowed the lawn. She got the mail. The list went on and on.

  Except this day. She looked...rough. Like she hadn’t slept in days. Her red/brown hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head, tendrils falling out all around her face. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants that said, Destin, FL. on them, and a white tank top that showed off a slight pudge that was adorably cute on her.

  She was on the heavier side than what I normally went for, but there was something about my little neighbor that made me want her. Hell, even right now she was hot.

  I was on a creeper under my truck, changing out the oil. No, not a creeper as in a creepy person, but a flat board-like device on wheels that let me lay on my back and move around under the car.

  Our houses were small, and our yards were even smaller. Which meant I was about fifteen feet away from her and I could hear every word.

  Especially when Andrew (the douchebag) told her, “Fuck off, I had to work all day.”

  “I know, Andrew, but I have someone coming to quote how much it’ll be to fix the foundation, and I can’t have them look at the foundation if we don’t mow the lawn. Please, I feel really awful today,” she pleaded.

  She did sound awful, that was for sure. Her voice was nasally, and she coughed every couple of seconds. My guess was the flu.

  “Sorry, sister dearest, but I really am tired. Reschedule the appointment,” he told her. “Maybe next week when you can mow the lawn yourself.”

 
So...he was her brother. Good to know. I’d been wondering about that for nearly five months of living next to them. I could’ve, of course, found out. But I was supposed to act like I didn’t know anything about anybody. Which would’ve been hard to do with her. She had this...magnetism that made me want to know every little detail.

  With that he took his ‘tired’ self, inside. It was only minutes later that I saw him sit down on the chair I could see through the living room window. He slipped on a pair of headphones, took a sip of his beer, and started playing.

  Lazy bastard.

  Going back to my work to distract me on how irate it made me feel that he wouldn’t help his own sister out when she was sick, I was surprised to hear the sound of the lawn mower going.

  Scooting out from under the car completely, I found the stubborn woman mowing the lawn. She made two passes right across the part of the yard that was closest to the foundation before she physically had to stop.

  I was on my feet without conscious thought, watching her to make sure she was okay, when she finally called it quits and stopped the lawn mower in the middle of the yard.

  She bent over, coughing and wheezing, and it was then I walked over to her, scared shitless.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I asked her from a far enough distance back, as not to scare her.

  She looked up, giving me only her light green eyes, and nodded. “Yes, I just have asthma. And I’m pretty sure I have a cold. Normally, I wear a face mask, but I forgot.”

  I remembered the facemask. She looked ridiculous with it on, and I’d always wondered why she wore it. Asthma was a good explanation, though.

  “Do you need something?” I asked in concern when she dropped to her knees.

  “In-inhaler,” she wheezed. “P-purse on table.”

  I left her there, on her knees, and walked straight into their house. The little fucker playing Call of Duty didn’t even look up as I walked through the living room to the kitchen table. Grabbing the pink polka dotted purse, I dumped its contents on the table.

  Fishing through the sheer amount of shit, I finally found two inhalers, one brown and one red.