But I understand where Constantine’s apprehension is coming from. It stems from the stigmatization he went through when he couldn’t talk properly after Gabriel choked him.May the bastard continue to enjoy the tortures of burning in hell.
As soon as Fénix barrels into me, I lift him in my arms and snuggle the shit out of him. He smells like sunshine and baby lotion, and I bury my nose into his soft black hair, a universe of love for this tiny miracle bursting my heart wide open.
I wake up every morning so fucking thankful for the life I have now. I would endure all the pain and all the bad amillion times over just to be right where I am, holding the most important thing in my world in my arms.
“Missed you so much.”
“Hey, baby,” Tristan says, kissing me hello. He strokes Fénix’s cheek. “Thisbaby has been a handful today. I think he’s crawled over a mile and tried to get into every cabinet in the house. Thank God we put locks on everything.”
I blow a zerbert on Fénix’s neck that makes him squeal in the cutest way. “Have you been giving your Papa gray hairs, little monster?”
We wanted to help distinguish which man was which, so he wouldn’t start calling every man “dada.” So, Dada is Hendrix, Daddy is Constantine, and Papa is Tristan.
“Maybe a few.”
I sniff the air when the aroma of fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies makes my stomach grumble. “Is Dada making chocolate chip cookies?”
“I’m not supposed to tell,” Tristan whispers conspiratorially.
Laughing, I wipe the melted chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “Make sure to hide the evidence next time. Seems like some elves have been very busy today.”
“How did you like the rooster?”
“Loved it.”
“Want to see another surprise?”
I smooth back Fénix’s unruly hair that is in desperate need of a trim. “There’s more?”
Tristan nods while Fénix grabs my ponytail and yanks. He’s tactile like Tristan and loves to play with my hair or with the pressed flower necklace that Tristan had custom-made using theRhizanthellaorchid he gave me.
“Follow me.”
Carrying Fénix tucked against my hip, I go with Tristan into the living room and gape up at the ten-foot noble fir taking up a good chunk of space next to the fireplace.
“Thank you for not decorating it.” I wanted us to do it together as a family.
“We knew better,” he says with a chuckle. “We did go ahead and put on the lights since you hate that part.”
I do. The strands are always tangled in impossible knots that I have no patience to unravel. Alana took on that job every year.
“Check this out. Con found this cool breath-activated light controller that looks like Santa holding a candle.” Tristan opens his mouth wide and exhales on the head of the Santa like he’s about to eat it.
“Baby, I think you’re supposed to blow on the candle part, not deepthroat it.” I hide my amusement when it takes him three breathy tries to turn on the lights.
Fénix squirms to be let down, his attention lasered on the ornaments dangling from the bottom boughs of the tree. “I don’t think so, little man,” I tell him, tickling his tummy.
He lifts wide coal-dark eyes that are so much like his father’s and pouts with the expertise of a child who usually gets what he wants.
“We may have to put a baby gate up around the tree.”
“I think you’re right,” Tristan replies.
Fénix blinks up at me—his mouth curving down, and big crocodile tears begin to well, warning of an impending temper tantrum—then he immediately gets distracted because babies have the attention span of a goldfish.
That sixth sense I have with each of my guys has only gotten stronger over the years, and awareness hits me like a lightning bolt when Constantine walks into the room.
He wraps his arms around me from behind, and I turn in his embrace, cuddling into him. This man has always been my comfort.
