by K. Webster
She giggles and playfully swats at me.
We’re going to be just fine.
As we move on to chatting about simpler topics and thus beginning what will become a lifetime routine of family morning pillow talk, I know something without a shadow of a doubt.
We’re going to be more than just fine—we’re going to be fucking perfect.
Six years later . . .
Holy shit. My back aches so damn bad. Whose idea was it to come to this godforsaken, huge-ass theme park in the middle of August?
My husband—that’s who.
I want to get angry or whine or cuss, but I don’t. I don’t because everything he does is for us—all of us. Like this entire vacation, for instance. He planned it very carefully, down to the matching shirts we’re all wearing. Of course, this vacation centered around the Harry Potter Theme Park in Orlando, but I had to throw him a bone.
Besides . . . that’s his and Tyler’s thing.
My sweet boy has all of the books memorized by heart, just like Daddy.
“My feet hurt,” Tatum whines.
I swipe a stray bead of sweat from my brow before putting the brakes on the stroller and looking down at my daughter. Shoes are her thing. Just like Mommy.
“Want to put your tennis shoes on? Good thing I brought them,” I chide as I dig around in the diaper bag for her shoes.
When I stand back up with them, I can’t help but smile at her. Tatum, with her shoulder-length, dark hair, is a spitting image of Jackson. She resembled Thomas so much when she was born that it was almost too painful to look at her at first, but at the same time, I couldn’t look away.
Tatum slips her princess shoes off and chucks them at me. Her one-year-old little sister in the stroller, Tegan, throws her juice cup back at her.
“Mom! Tegan threw her juice at me,” she whines. Her dark brows are furrowed angrily as she points in accusation at her sister.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Tegan,” I warn. “Be nice.” Then I pull the shade of the stroller back and peer down at her.
She is tilting her blond, pigtailed self backwards and grinning the goofiest toothy smile I’ve ever seen. God, she’s so damn cute!
Six years ago, when I was drowning in a sea of despair, I would have laughed in your face if you would have told me that this is how it would all turn out. That, just months after we lost Thomas and welcomed Tyler into the family, we’d become pregnant with Tatum against Dr. Ellis’s wishes because it was so soon. That, nine months after that, we’d bring a healthy little girl into the world. And then, a few years later, do the same with Tegan.
I.
Would.
Have.
Laughed.
But now, as I watch my two daughters bicker in the blistering heat of the August sun in the middle of a Harry Potter fan’s dream, I just smile.
This life is perfect.
I’m about to see if we can find my boys when two skinny arms hug me from behind.
My Tyler.
“Mom, we brought you a present!” he chirps lovingly against my sweaty back.
This boy is my saving grace. He’s one hundred percent mine just like my girls are.
“What’s that, Ty?” I ask when he peels himself from me.
I turn and see Jackson holding a drink carrier full of cherry Icees. My boys know me well. When they both grin at me with proud-as-punch smiles, I want to melt—right here in the middle of this theme park. Not because I’m hot, but because my family warms my heart like nothing in this world can.
“I thought my baby might be thirsty,” Jackson grins with one eyebrow cocked. His arm circles my waist and he pulls me in for a quick kiss.
“You’re squishing your thirsty baby,” I whine, but it’s all in fun. I’ll never tire of his arms around me—of his intoxicating kisses.
He steps back and his eyes peruse my body. “Tell him Daddy’s sorry,” he chuckles as he lovingly pats my belly.
This.
Jackson.
My babies.
All of it—even the Harry Potter background.
I finally have my happily ever after.
THE END
A big thank you goes out to my husband, Matt. This story is especially close to my heart as we dealt with miscarriage like poor Andi did. My husband was my shoulder to cry on and kept me going when I didn’t have the heart in me to go any more. Jackson’s character was modeled after my real life hunky, super husband. Honey, my heart will always be yours!
I want to thank the beta readers on this book, whom are also my friends. Nikki McCrae, Anne Jolin, Wendy Colby, Dena Marie, Elizabeth Thiele, Lori Christensen, Michelle Ramirez, Shannon Martin, Amy Bosica, Holly Sparks, Sian Davies, and Elizabeth Clinton, you guys provided AMAZING feedback. You all gave helpful ideas to make the story better and gave me incredible encouragement. I appreciate all of your comments and suggestions.
I’m especially thankful for the Breaking the Rules Babes. You ladies are amazing with your support and friendship. When I hear about catty and nasty street teams, I chuckle. I know our group is nothing but sweet, loving women that care for one another. I’m truly blessed to have you all in my life!
Mickey, my fabulous editor from I’m a Book Shark, thank you for once again being the bomb at what you do. I can’t thank you enough for how awesome you are! Love ya!
Thank you Stacey Blake for working your gorgeous magic and for being such a great wino friend. Love you!
Lastly but certainly not least of all, thank you to all of the wonderful readers out there that are willing to hear my story and enjoy my characters like I do. It means the world to me!
I’m a thirty three year old self-proclaimed book nerd. Married to my husband for eleven years, we enjoy spending time with our two lovely children. Writing is a newly acquired fun hobby for me that has now turned into a livelihood over the past year. In the past, I’ve enjoyed the role as a reader. However, I have learned I absolutely love taking on the creative role as the writer. Something about determining how the story will play out intrigues me to no end.
This writing experience has been a blast and I’ve met some really fabulous people along the way. I hope my readers enjoy reading my stories as much as I do writing them. I look forward to connecting with you all!
Join K Webster’s newsletter to receive a couple of updates a month on new releases and exclusive content. To join, all you need to do is go here.
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Disgrace
(Book 6 in the Breaking the Rules Series)
Coming Soon!
Trent
I stare at the piece of paper in my hand that mocks me.
This sort of thing just doesn’t happen to people like me. I’m the Golden Child. The man with no speeding tickets and zero cavities at every dentist visit. I help old ladies cross the street. People call on me to help them out of financial trouble.
I’m good. The best, even.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I lean back in my office chair.
What will my mother think?
Just imagining making that phone call sends panic through my veins.
I peek my eyes open and glance back down at the document—the very official document.
Cassidy.
My attorney, Calvin, faxed over this birth certificate on his way out of the office. He should be here soon to discuss it. But for the past twenty minutes, I’ve been staring at it. There’s has to be some mistake.
I’m not a father. Not the father of some almost four-year-old little boy. It’s impossible.
You had unprotected sex that one night—the night before you proposed—the night before she turned you down.
People don’t get pregnant after one time of unprotected sex. This cannot be happening.
A soft knock on my office door drags my attention from the birth certificate.
“Come in,” I comm
and hoarsely. I hate the shakiness in my voice.
A thought suddenly takes root in my mind. She’ll want me back. If we have a kid together, she’ll have to want me back. We could be a family.
Hope threads itself through my heart as Calvin walks in. His downcast eyes immediately put my nerves on edge.
“I’ll take the paternity test. If the kid is mine, I want to do what’s right.” It’s the truth. I’ll do it for her. For Cassidy.
Calvin sighs and slides another very official document across my desk.
Tears blur my vision.
No.
A death certificate.
Cassidy Francine Thomas.
Thirty-one years old.
Dead.
He begins rattling off information, but the roar in my head is too much. She can’t be dead. Cassidy was a normal, healthy woman. This doesn’t make sense.
“Did you hear me?” he demands loudly.
My tear-stained eyes find his in question.
“Social services will be by tomorrow morning. You’re the father on the birth certificate,” he says softly. “Tomorrow, they are bringing you your son.”
My son.
Cassidy is dead and I have a son.
Defiance
(Book 7 in the Breaking the Rules Series)
Coming Soon!
Ian
Fuck.
We’re busy as shit tonight and two of my lazy-ass bartenders called in. Everyone knows they’re screwing each other. Nobody cares except when they leave us hanging so they can fuck instead of work. Tomorrow, we’re having a serious sit down because I cannot be left hanging on a Friday night shorthanded again.
“Excuse me,” a squeak of a voice chirps at me from the other side of the bar. “Can we get three margaritas with lots of salt?”
I turn to see three women on the other side of the bar staring at me doe-eyed and with an eagerness to drink that only underage females have. Fucking Biff let them in without checking their ID’s apparently.
Am I going to have to fire everyfuckingbody?
They proudly wave their stamped hands at me and I groan as I reach for some glasses to make their drinks. If the cops were to bust in, I’d not only most likely go to jail and get a shit ton of fines but they’d probably want to deport my ass back to Ireland.
“Hey g-gorgeous,” a deep voice slurs.
I flick my gaze up to see some idiot in a suit that can barely stand on his own two feet eyeing up the young lady that ordered the margaritas. My eyes narrow as he dips close to her face and makes what I’m sure he thinks is a sexy grin at her.
“I’m taking you home tonight. I bet your pussy is tight,” he says as his hands find her hips.
I slam down the tequila bottle nearly hard enough for it to break and growl out a warning, “Let her go, asshole.”
The woman’s eyes widen in fear at his touch and she glances at me. Her face pleads for me to help her.
“I claimed her, prick. Go the fuck away,” he snarls as he hauls her against him.
When his hands slide over her ass, I lose my mind. Slapping my hands onto the bar, I hoist myself over it in one quick move. As soon as my feet make purchase on the wood floors on the other side, I yank him away from her.
“What the—” he starts but I rear my fist back and slam it into his nose.
Hysterical squealing rings out from the women but I ignore them as I pound this asshole several more times in his face before Biff is pulling me from him.
“Ian, stop!” he barks out, barely able to keep me from charging the fucker again.
Another man comes to the aid of the now bleeding motherfucker and he glares at me. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”
I grit my teeth and challenge this new idiot with a stare that promises if he keeps talking, he’ll be next.
Since I don’t humor him with an answer, he continues, “You just beat up the third district state representative of New York, Tom Hardstone.”
“He put his hands on the lady,” I snap in reply. I don’t give a fuck who he is. If he puts his hands on a woman, I’m going to intervene every fucking time.
The man holds his cell phone up and wiggles it at me. “I’m not only his best friend, but I’m also his attorney. You just fucked yourself, loser. I recorded you beating his ass,” he smirks, “You’re going down.”
This time, it takes both Biff and another bar patron to hold me back from beating this fucker’s ass too. Since I’m going down and all . . .
I may as well take them both out.
