GREAT IDEAS
Kingston
Three months later
“I have never been more excited to see a white polo in my entire life. Eight days is far too long for you to be gone.” Queenie fists my shirt and tips her head back, pulling my mouth to hers.
“I missed you too,” I murmur, but I keep my teeth clamped together so she can’t get her tongue in my mouth. “But we have an audience.”
She backs off right away, smoothing out my shirt. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” She cringes and looks around. Thankfully there aren’t that many people milling around to witness the PDA.
Queenie was accepted to the University of Seattle, so she can now finish her degree. Last week her conditional acceptance to the master’s program in art therapy came. On top of a full course load, she volunteers at the art center, in addition to working one-on-one with Lavender at least once a week, if not twice. She’s amazing and focused, and I love watching her flourish like this.
I arrived home early this morning from an away series. It was a bit of a drama-filled week away. Sissy had the baby just before we left. Corey insisted on a paternity test, which was a wise move on his part, since it turns out the baby is most definitely not his. He found out right before a game and lost it on the ice, ending up with a twenty-game suspension. I have a feeling management will be negotiating for a trade at the end of the season.
I’m relieved to be home, and I’ve been waiting all afternoon for Queenie to be finished volunteering so I can take her home and show her exactly how much I missed her. Which is why I’m picking her up instead of waiting for her to come to me.
I wrap my arms around her in a PG hug and bend until my lips are at her ear. “As soon as we’re home I’m going to spread you out on the dining room table and eat you until you’re begging to ride me.”
She sucks in a soft gasp and pushes back. For a second I think maybe it was too much, especially since we’re in a public parking lot. She bites her lip, and a coy smile flirts at her lips. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Whatever gets you in the car faster.”
“I’ll take the threat, Boy Scout.” She pats my chest. “And you better drag those orgasms out until I’m damn well delirious, or I’ll be hella disappointed.” She nips my chin and then flits around to the passenger side of the car and practically throws herself inside.
I grin and take my time getting in and make sure the mirrors are the way I like them, while Queenie crosses and uncrosses her legs. “Seriously, Kingston? You can’t tell me you’re going to make a meal out of me and then pull this whole seventy-five-point check deal.”
“I just want to get you home safely.”
“You mean you want to get me all worked up and tell me how much you love it when I’ve already soaked through my damn panties before you’ve even laid a finger on me.”
She’s absolutely correct about that. It’s an incredible ego boost to be able to make her come within minutes of getting her naked, but I don’t tell her that since she already knows. “Someone’s testy.”
“Yeah, well, that would be your fault, wouldn’t it?” She fastens her seat belt aggressively.
She’s more worked up than usual. I put the car in gear, and signal out of my spot. “How is it my fault you’re testy?”
“You show up here, looking all delicious, whispering naughty things in my ear, and now I have to try and sit here and be patient while you drive like a grandpa on a Sunday afternoon. It’s been eight damn days, Kingston. Eight days without you, or your tongue or your color commentary, or our mutual-gratification competitions. There will be no sweet and gentle tonight. I better have a hard time walking tomorrow morning. And teeth marks on my ass.”
My erection kicks behind my fly. “I’ll certainly do my best to ensure the difficulty walking and the teeth marks, if that’s what you’d like.”
“It’s exactly what I’d like. And to ride your face,” she tacks on.
“That’s a given. Is there anything else you’d like to add while you’re creating your list of demands for the evening?”
“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” She shifts around in her seat.
On the drive home Queenie provides a very extensive, descriptive list of what she’d like to happen once we’re naked. I’d like to say we make it to the dining room table, but that would be a lie. We don’t even make it out of the garage. In fact, I end up on my knees on the concrete floor with Queenie wrapped around me. The floors are heated, so it sounds a lot worse than it is.
She’s wobbly on her feet, and half her clothes are missing, by the time we’re finished, so I offer my assistance in getting inside. “Want me to piggyback you?”
“Please.” I give her my back and she climbs on, clasping her arms around my neck.
Her lips part against my neck. “You’re salty.”
“Not as salty as you were when you got in the car.”
“These eight-day away-game stretches suck,” she mumbles.
“There aren’t a lot of them.” I grab her messenger bag and close the passenger-side door, then carry her through the garage.
“Oh crap. I didn’t even think to pack an overnight bag.”
“I stopped at your place before I picked you up today and grabbed all your toiletries.”
“You’re so thoughtful.” She kisses up the side of my neck.
“I try.” I carry her through the mudroom and down the hall, past the staircase leading to the bedroom.
“Where are we going? Aren’t you taking me to bed?”
“In a minute. I have something to show you first.”
She perks up when she notices a new painting hanging on the wall. “Whoa, wait a second; let me down.” I let go of her thighs, and she slides down my back. I feel her face mash into my back for a second, and she wobbles a bit as she steadies herself, still gripping my arm as she glances down the hallway, the walls no longer bare. “Are these all mine?”
I can’t read her expression. “They were all just sitting in a corner in your place. I thought they should be where someone could appreciate them.” Queenie’s chaos is reflected subtly in all her art. She creates these amazing watercolors, half in pastels and the other half in dark, contrasting colors, the calm and the storm in everything. They’re stunning, and the last place they should be is covered by a drop cloth.
“How many of them did you put up?” Her fingertips follow the edge of one raw canvas.
“Whatever was hanging around your place.” She’s been sleeping here more and more over the past few months, leaving things behind every time she stays over, which is every night when I’m not off on an away series.
She turns to me, her expression soft and warm. “When did you have time to do this?”
“This afternoon.” I link my pinkie with hers. “There’s more; come on.”
“More?”
My palms start to sweat as I lead her farther down the hall. While I was away, I hired a decorator to come in and renovate one of the main-floor rooms, hoping it would act as an enticement.
I kiss her temple. “Close your eyes.”
“What’re you up to?”
“You’ll see. Just keep them closed until I tell you to open them.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll ruin my surprise.” I open the door and guide her to the center of the room. I stand directly in front of her, taking in her stunning face, bottom lip caught between her teeth. I skim her cheek with a fingertip. “Okay. You can look now.”
Her lids flutter and I step to the side. “What do you think?”
Her mouth drops open, and her hands come up to cover it. “Oh my God, King, this is incredible.” She turns a slow circle, taking in what was once an oversize workout room. It has amazing natural light, with huge windows that face the garden in the backyard.
One wall has been painted black with chalkboard paint. Another boasts giant blank Post-its that can be changed out regularly. A few of Queenie’s gentler watercolor paintings that r
emind me of childhood fairy tales line the far wall. A desk and a drafting table have been set up, as well as adult- and child-size easels. There’s even a pair of lounge chairs.
“It’s pretty multifunctional. I thought it would be a good place for you to study, and I figured it might be good for you to have a space to work in case you wanted to bring Lavender here some days.”
She smooths her hands over my chest. “This is amazing. I don’t even know what to say.”
I run my palms nervously up and down her arms. “I know we talked about you moving in with me at the end of the semester, but my place is closer to the university, and you always stay here when I have home games, and I’d really like it if you were here all the time.”
“Are you asking me to move in now?”
“You’re already halfway there, and now you have your own art studio. It makes sense, don’t you think?” God, I’m so nervous.
“I’m kind of messy.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’ll deal with it. I don’t mind coming home to your bras hanging off the back of the couch, as long as it means you’re wandering around with perky nipples. I want to know you’re sleeping in my bed, our bed, even when I’m not there.”
“Sleeping naked in our bed. Don’t forget that important detail.”
“Obviously. I thought that was a given.” I brush her hair away from her face. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes. It’s a yes. I’ll bring my chaos into your calm.”
I place a soft kiss on her lips. “There’s no place I’d rather be than the eye of your storm.”
EPILOGUE
MY KING
Queenie
Six years later
The doorbell rings at 3:45 p.m. I put my paintbrush in the mason jar of water and walk as quickly down the hall to the front door as possible, which isn’t very fast, since I have a small bowling ball hanging off the front of my body and it’s slowly becoming more of a waddle than a walk these days.
Kingston has knocked me up for the second time in two years. Scout, our son, is currently having his afternoon nap, but I’m sure he’ll be up soon and looking for entertainment. Thankfully, I have the perfect source standing at the front door.
I throw it open, smiling widely, excited for today’s session. “How was your first day of school?”
Lavender’s long auburn hair is pulled up in a haphazard ponytail with flyaways blowing around her face. She’s dressed in her eclectic style of homemade clothes sourced from old items she tears apart and puts back together again with more flair. Lavender is going to be a very talented seamstress one day.
However, right now she looks more sullen teen than happy-go-lucky ten-year-old. “Boys are stupid.”
“Uh-oh, that doesn’t sound good.”
“Eh, it’s whatever.” She bends and pats my rounded belly. “Hello in there. I hope if you’re a boy, you end up being nothing like the ones in my school.”
“Do you want a snack, or do you just want to get down to it?” I ask.
“I’d like to paint, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.” When Lavender’s hands are busy creating, she’s the most chatty; all her feelings and thoughts are channeled into whatever she’s making. She would probably sew her way through our sessions, but the sewing machine is loud and makes it tough to talk, so she generally uses paints or pastels when she comes here.
In the past six years I’ve finished my degree and have gotten my master’s. Kingston and I got married the summer after I graduated.
He was mine and I was his, and he wanted it to be official. He wanted to see me walk down the aisle in a gorgeous dress and recite our vows in front of our friends and his crazy, wild family. And so we did. Then we spent a month traveling, just the two of us.
And now here we are, about to be parents for the second time, and I have my own art therapy studio. Lavender doesn’t always need the weekly sessions, but it’s become our thing over the past few years.
Instead of picking up a paintbrush, she goes over to the massive sheet of paper taped to the wall and gets out the finger paints. Which tells me everything I need to know about her day. The finger paints rarely come out anymore.
I don’t push her to talk right away, allowing her time to warm up and settle in.
“River and I are in different classes.”
Ah, here we go. “And how do you feel about that?”
She swipes her fingers across the page, thin yellow lines converging and twisting before she moves on to red. “Guilty.”
“Why guilty?”
“Because I’m as relieved as I am disappointed.” She drags her red fingertips through the yellow and then swirls up and around. It looks like sunlight and angry wind on fire.
“It’s okay to want space and the opportunity to be your own person.”
“I know.” She pushes her glasses up her nose.
“But?”
“It’s hard when everything is new and different. I want him to be more than my shield from the world.”
“So being in a different class this year will be good for you, maybe?”
“Maybe, probably.”
We spend the next hour talking about her new teacher, her classmates, and the girl in her class who likes the same graphic novel series as she does. She’s made such huge progress over the past six years, and honestly, so have I.
I considered pursuing my PhD, but then I got pregnant again, and as much as it’s a goal for the future, I don’t want to add more to my plate until all my babies are in school. And I have a feeling Kingston isn’t going to want to stop at two, and neither am I.
Scout has been a dream child, and this pregnancy has been amazingly smooth. So if things keep going the way they are, there’s a good chance we’ll end up with a hockey line’s worth of babies.
Kingston arrives home a few minutes after Lavender leaves, her steps a little lighter, her smile brighter. I’m in the art therapy studio, putting away supplies while Scout babbles in his playpen.
Kingston’s huge body fills the doorway of my studio. “How’s my beautiful wife?”
“Great, just tidying up, and then we can start on dinner.”
Scout’s arms shoot out, and he does the cute little toddler dance where his feet move to a beat that’s only in his head. “Dada!”
“How’s my man?” Kingston pauses to kiss my temple and pat my belly. “Did he have a good day?”
“He was fabulous. As always. Ate all his vegetables at lunch, napped like a champion, and finished off the afternoon by showering his cuteness and love all over Lavender.”
“Making girls fall in love with you already, huh?” Kingston scoops him up out of the playpen, gives him a tickle, and kisses his cheek.
“I saw her walking home when I was coming down the street. She doing okay?”
“She is. She’s growing up, fast.”
“They do that.”
We head for the kitchen, put Scout in his playpen again, and get to work on dinner. Kingston feeds Scout while I prepare our meal. Later we get Scout ready for bed together, which is how it always is when he’s home and not on an away series.
I watch my husband tuck our son into bed, kiss his forehead, and tell him he loves him. We don’t go back downstairs after we put Scout to bed. I’m well into my second trimester, so the exhaustion isn’t as profound, but Scout is an early riser, which means I’m often in bed before ten these days. Instead we head to the bedroom, where Kingston helps me into my pajamas, but not before he makes slow, gentle love to me while whispering politely dirty things in my ear.
Afterward we cuddle, me tucked into his side, his hand splayed protectively over my baby bump. I rest my head in the crook of his arm and lay my hand over his chest, feeling his heart beating steady beneath it. Calm, strong, constant.
“I’ve been thinking.” Our best conversations tend to happen in bed, postsex, when I’m cradled in his protective hold and my bra
in and body are the most settled.
He kisses my temple, and I can feel his slight smile. “About what?”
“With baby two on the way, I thought it might be a good idea to scale back my hours at the clinic and start working from home more.”
He stills and then shifts, tipping my chin up so he can see my face. His is passive, questioning, ready to hear me out. “Okay. Would you like to talk about the why behind the idea?”
“There will be lots of time for me to work as the kids get older, but I want to be here, with them and you, as much as I can right now. They’re where I want my focus. I’ll adjust my hours so I can keep my current clients, but I really want to be a mother first.” Scout was a bit of an accident. I always wanted children, but being raised the way I was, without a stable mother in the picture, made me hesitant. So when I missed a period, panic mode set in. All the what-ifs and the insecurities bubbled to the surface.
Fortunately, I have King, always calm and rational. Always here to help me up when I fall, to remind me that I’m worthy, I’m more than just enough, I’m his everything and he’s mine, and I would be the most amazing mother in the universe. It helps that I have his family, and the wives of his teammates to rely on, as well as my father, who finally found a love of his own. But that’s a whole different story.
Kingston gives me a soft, warm smile. “I’ll support whatever you want to do. I know you’ve worked hard for your career, though.” He kisses my fingertips, nailbeds forever outlined in a rainbow of paint. “And I would never want you to give up what makes you happy.”
I love this man so much. For the better part of four years he was the center of my entire world, and I never thought that would change . . . until Scout came along. He’s become the sun we orient ourselves around. And Kingston is exactly the kind of father I expected him to be: all in, devoted, present, and fully invested.
I’m not afraid of failing anymore, because no matter what, I have the most amazing man at my side. He’s always there to catch me when I fall and to celebrate every success, so making this choice is easy, because I know it’s what’s best not just for me but for our family.
“I’m not giving up what makes me happy; I’m adjusting my path so I can do all the things that make me happy, without compromising any of them. I want to give our kids what I never had, and the more hours I work, the less I can be here with them and you. And I honestly don’t want to split my time more than I already do. I want time with you and Scout, and eventually this little peanut.” I cover the hand on my belly with my own. “More than I want anything else.”
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