Page 6 of Road to Absolution

Taking her in my embrace, I gently kissed her. “Ditto, Mrs. Hutton.”

With such appreciation, my wife looked to Viola while leaning her head to my chest. “You showing your soft side again?”

Viola leaned a hip into the dresser, crossing her arms. “Doesn’t exist.”

“Oh yeah?” challenged Lilah. Then she whispered one word. “Scarred.”

As if Lilah was a magician, Vixen, as we knew her, evaporated into the kind girl Viola truly is. Swallowing, she whispered, “Scarred.” Her beautiful blue eyes brimmed. “Irrevocably marked, seared.” She looked to her husband. “Someone leaving such a fingerprint on your soul… that you have forever been labeled his.”

I jolted. “Jesus.”

Tucker fell back two steps. “Babe.”

The father figures turned away, knowing special people were missing these epic moments of the kids finding such happiness.

Lilah’s mama died of cancer when she was five. From what I understood, John had to fight with all he had to keep breathing. I think that’s why he was such a monumental helper when it came to my mom after I lost my dad.

Diesel? He took over raising Viola when their parents died in a plane crash. I think V was only eight at the time.

A vibrating cell phone broke the intense moment.

Diesel pulled it from his pocket and read it. Then he faced us. “I gotta go, but have a surprise for you first.”He walked past us and into the living room. “It ain’t no ridiculous three-thousand-dollar chair, but it’s a fav of mine.”

Still holding Lilah, I entered the living room saying, “Diesel, you already got us a surround sound. No more.”

Opening the front door, he waved me off from over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back. “Just a little addition. Stop chompin’ on my el dick-o and pull out that record player.”

Yes, V’s older brother was stuck in ancient genres of music.

Suddenly excited, Delilah released me and rushed to a box next to a big, nothing hanging on it yet, wall. “It’s in here!” The rest of us followed to help, also turning on a couple of floor lamps, as she said, “Our first music, in our first home that we own.” She spun on her bare little swollen toes. “Maverick.” She covered her mouth, starting to cry all over again.

“Oh my God, babe, you’re a hot mess!” I pulled her into my arms.

She peered up. “Will you dance with me?”

I tucked her luscious locks behind her ears. “Honey, your toes look like over-stuffed chicken nuggets.”

She sighed. “And so worth it for our baby.” She placed her palms on my chest. “Will you dance with me?”

Holding a wireless speaker to her flat stomach, Viola moaned, “Say it, Maverick. Let Vixen hear those words.”

Repeating words I had told Lilah since high school, I beamed at my now wife. “Anything you want.”

Dramatically, V leaned her head back. “Jesus, you two are from one of Pretty D’s romance novels.” Sighing herself, she placed a speaker on an extensive, floor-to-ceiling, empty bookshelf Delilah’s daddy built personally for her. Now my wife had a place to store all her books, with room for new ones.

Tuck did the same on the other side of the living room, except he placed a speaker on a stack of unpacked boxes that had Baby stuff written on them, while his dad plugged in the stereo unit and hooked up the record player.

Diesel looked mighty proud of himself when he came back in, holding up a Van Morrison record. “Folks, on here is one of the best songs ever written, and it is perfect for all you nauseating love birds.” He pulled the vinyl from its covering and placed it on the record player. “Maverick, I sang this song at your wedding, but I think you were too nervous to hear it in the church.”

John smiled while acting like he was getting a pretend rifle ready to shoot.

Chuckling at the silent threat, Diesel added, “So, pay attention this time. If these lyrics aren’t written for you, I will never force you to listen to my music again.” He set the player’s arm down on the record.

It crackled over the speakers, then a song began.

Diesel was correct. I hadn’t listened to him sing in that church, but it wasn’t because I had been nervous, which I think he knew. I had been staring at the empty aisle, sprinkled with ivory rose petals by Bailey, our flower girl. I had been waiting to see the woman who defined what dreams are made of.

Now, I was staring at that same woman in my arms, smiling up at me, melting my fucking heart all over again. She may have no longer been in a wedding dress—in fact, she was wearing a maternity shirt and jean shorts that were a far cry from her daisy dukes—yet she was even more stunning than that magical day.