Marcus had hoped that getting Gavin a puppy might help him sleep better at night, but it appeared that the little furball hadn’t worked his magic yet.
Fine. One more night in his bed wouldn’t hurt, and perhaps it might help Gavin to relax and learn to trust him a bit more.
Pulling Gavin into his body, Marcus laid his head down next to the boy and breathed in the smell of his shampoo. It was the same lavender scent that Marcus had on his head—which made sense considering it was his shampoo in the shower.
A satisfied exhale came from the boy lying next to him as he placed his hand over Marcus’s and pulled it tighter against his chest.
Okay, fine. This was probably not what Sheriff Burke had in mind when he said to watch over his witness, but it was what was best for the boy in the end.
People often overlook the psychological impact of trauma—the memories and nightmares they endure, especially when alone late at night. If Marcus could help reduce that pain in any way, he was damn well going to.
Closing his eyes, he let the sound of Gavin’s soft breathing lull him off to sleep.
Cold wetness on his face pulled Marcus from a wonderful dream he was having in which he was riding down the I-90, shooting bullets at Blade as he ran alongside the road in nothing but his boxers and bunny ears.
Hearing the man yelp every time a bullet hit his feet, and watching him jump, brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to the pit of his stomach and a huge smile to the front of his face. There was nothing more satisfying than dreaming he was humiliating that dumbass fuck-twad who had defiled his little brother. Husband or not, it was his dream, and he could do whatever he wanted to that cunt of a man.
Another swipe of wetness across his cheek, followed by a soft chuckle beside him, had Marcus slowly opening one eye.
If Gavin was licking his face, the boy was a dead man.
Bright blue eyes set against a head of jet-black hair beamed down at him as an excited puppy practically attacked his face.
Marcus jumped back.
“What the fuck?” he growled.
Gavin let go of the hyperactive puppy, who immediately dropped onto Marcus’s face and began rubbing its ass all over Marcus’s mouth and cheek as it searched for dry surfaces it had not yet licked.
Marcus grabbed the puppy with one giant paw and lifted the whimpering creature off his face.
He tossed the puppy at Gavin, who immediately caught his baby with a terrified gasp.
“Next time that thing sits on my face, I’m locking it outside with a mama eagle.”
Gavin’s mouth dropped open in horror.
“But—you wouldn’t! Not to our baby!” He clutched the whiny puppy to his chest, who was still making every attempt possible to leap out of Gavin’s arms and lick-attack Marcus’s face.
Stubborn dog.
Marcus gave Gavin a look.
“Please tell me you’re not one of those people.”
“What people?” Gavin asked, caressing his baby while holding him protectively against his chest.
“Those, ‘my pet is my baby’ freaks.” Marcus couldn’t stand those people who walked around acting like a four-legged creature that licks its own balls and humps every surface in their home was an actual human being.
No, he wasn’t coming to Pongo’s birthday, and he didn’t care whether your goldfish had anxiety. As far as he wasconcerned, living with someone like that was permission to commit murder.
“Wow, someone is a grumpy-puss when they first wake up in the morning,” Gavin muttered, turning his attention back to his baby.
“Just when I wake up to something wet licking my face.”
“What about waking up to something wet licking you somewhere else?” Gavin asked in one of his flirty tones.
He walked right into that one.
