“Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Emma moaned, shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”
“He’s gotta do it,” Sean insisted apologetically, shrugging as I stood up. “It’s not so bad.”
“I could never,” she replied.
“Me neither,” Lindsey agreed.
I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, laying it over the back of a chair. “I’ve been through worse, I’m sure,” I grumbled, and turned a chair around, sitting in it backward.
Ryan rolled up his sleeves, and rubbed his hands together, as Snow got his tattoo machine set up. “Oh man, I’m so feckin’ pumped for this. Babe, hurry up.”
“You realize, as soon as he gets at you once, he’s not gonna stop,” Snow warned me. “You have a lot of empty skin.”
“That’s fine,” I laughed, already imagining the stories I could tell with pictures.
“All right, ya ready?” Ryan asked as he pulled over a chair to sit behind me.
“Yep,” I nodded, looking up to my nervous, pregnant wife. “After this, I’m gettin’ your name done, m’darlin’.”
She groaned with a roll of her eyes. “You’d never know this was the guy making fun of my laugh when we met.”
Ryan busted up laughing while Paddy and Sean turned to me with disbelief igniting their eyes. “Wow, you’re lucky she didn’t change seats,” Sean chuckled with a shake of his head, and I nodded, finding her gaze as Ryan’s needle jutted in and out of my back.
“I know it,” I said, mostly to her.
EPILOGUE PART 2 |
HUSBANDS & PERFECTION
EMMA
The girls were asleep when we went to pick them up from Collin and Helen’s. They had passed out on the couch, watching a movie with Meghan, and the three of them looked so peaceful with their heads against Padraig’s massive body.
“How did it go?” Collin asked eagerly, grabbing at Malachy’s collar to catch a glimpse of the tattoo he now shared with his brothers.
“All right,” Malachy groaned, pushing his father away. “Christ, it’s an open wound, Da. Don’t be grabbin’ at me.”
I still smiled whenever he said that—Da. It’d taken him a little while to be comfortable with it, initially thinking he was somehow replacing the man who had raised him. Until my girls began to treat him as a father-figure, in conjunction with Jared, and he realized that it was okay—better, even—to have two dads.
“Guess that’s gonna put a damper on your weddin’ night, isn’t it?” Collin grumbled suggestively, nudging his head toward me, and Malachy laughed.
“Ehm, it’s not the tattoo that’s gonna be puttin’ a damper on me weddin’ night, I’ll tell ya that right now,” he chuckled, reaching out to mold his palm to my belly. “I’m lucky to go an entire night of sleep without Emma rollin’ out of bed to puke her guts up.”
“Oh, come on,” I brushed him off, “it’s not that bad.”
Malachy glanced at Collin with a mutual knowing look, and Collin said, “When Helen was pregnant with the twins, she practically lived in the feckin’ bathroom.”
Helen came into the room and spotted me standing along with my husband and hers. “Emma!” she scolded in a whisper, “What are ya doin’ standin’? You’ve been standin’ around all day, m’dear. Ya need your rest.”
I glanced toward Malachy with a smile of endearment before turning back to her. “I know, but if I sit down, I don’t think I’ll be able to get up again. So, I’m just waiting until I can get home and into bed.”
“Malachy,” Helen said, a stern tone to her voice, “get your pregnant wife home to—”
“I know,” he cut her off gently, “but the girls …” He waved a hand toward the couch.
She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Leave them here tonight. They’re fine. Go have your weddin’ night.”
I looked to her, flattening my palm against my chest. “Helen, you don’t—”
“Oh, Emma, it’s fine,” Helen insisted, pulling a blanket from a chair and hurrying to lay it over the three girls. “Meghan’s stayin’ over anyway.”
The kindness of this woman never ceased to amaze me, and maybe it was the state of my out-of-control hormones but I felt the rise of emotion clog my throat. “Are you sure?” I managed to say. “I don’t want to impose, or—”
“My grandbabies are never an imposition,” she stated firmly, and her declaration that my children with another man were her grandchildren brought my eyes to water.
Malachy pressed his hand to the small of my back. “Best not to argue with her,” he mumbled under his breath, and I nodded with my grateful sigh.
“Thank you,” I said hoarsely. “We’ll pick them up in the morning.”
“Take your time,” she said, coming to gently nudge us toward the door. “Leave Padraig too. Go, enjoy your night.”
❧
“I wasn’t sure Helen had this in mind when she told us to enjoy our night,” I croaked, shuffling my way back to bed from the bathroom. “This damn kid is trying to kill me.”
“At least it’s not as bad as it was,” Malachy offered, opening his arms and welcoming me back to our bed. “Ya can actually stomach food again.”
“Barely,” I whined, laying down against him and resting my head on his chest.
The room was silent around us as we laid there, looking up toward the gabled ceiling. In just a couple short months, the quiet would end with the squawking of a new little life, and my poor, battered stomach rolled with nervous excitement. Yet, it felt too soon. I couldn’t wait to meet her, to hold her, but I also couldn’t help feeling that Malachy and I weren’t given enough time to be us.
My rest was disturbed with his movement, as he gently pushed me off of him to stand up.
“Malachy,” I whined, lying my weary head on the pillow, “don’t leave me.”
“I’ll be back,” he said, bending over to press his lips to my forehead. He left the room, closing the door behind him, and I was alone. On our wedding night.
It felt so wrong and backward, to be so miserable on one of the happiest days of my life. And I was happy, truly, but God, I just wished I could feel better. I wished I could make love to him as my husband for the first time without wanting to puke. I wished I could do anything but mope. But still, I was tired and sick, and just ready for this part of it all to be over.
A few minutes passed before he came back to the room. With determination, he came to me, grabbed my hands and pulled me up.
“Oh, God, Malachy, where are you taking me?” I moaned, and once I was on my feet, he was lifting me up, and I squealed with surprise. “You’re going to break your back!”
“Ah, shut your mouth,” he scolded. “You’re not nearly as heavy as ya think ya are.”
“Oh, Jesus,” I winced as he began to carry me out of the room, with my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. With every step he took, I imagined every terrible scenario that could happen—him falling, dropping me, hurting himself, hurting me, hurting the baby. But, despite my worried mind, he carried me with ease down the hall, past the nursery and to the bathroom. We walked into the room, and I found myself surrounded by the scent of floral bubbles and the light of a dozen candles.
Tears filled my eyes as he put me down and helped to pull my t-shirt over my head. “Oh, God,” I whispered, covering my mouth with a hand as he bent to pull my underwear to my feet. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Standing up, he smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. “Aye, I did.”
With my hand in his, he helped me into the bath, and I sat down, sighing instantly at being submerged in the warm water. Sitting behind the tub, he gripped my shoulders and pulled me back until I was resting against the porcelain with a towel tucked behind my head. My eyes fluttered shut as his thumbs kneaded along the column of my neck, pressing tiny circles against either side of my vertebrae until every bit of my spine had relaxed.
“Malachy,” I hummed into the dimmed quiet of the room.
; “Hmm?” he graveled, kneading my shoulders until I thought I might melt.
“I love you.” My head lolled to one side, pressing my temple to his arm, and the touch of his lips against my neck pushed me to sigh.
“I love ya too,” he replied. “My beautiful wife.”
I snorted my response. I didn’t feel beautiful, with my bulbous belly and the striping of fresh stretch marks over my hips and thighs. I almost felt sorry for him—the man had spent so many years of his life alone, hooking up with random and probably gorgeous women, and the woman he finally chose to settle down with was me. Miserable and engorged within months of being together.
“I knew ya’d protest,” he chuckled, tickling my throat with his copper-colored stubble. “But I already told ya, m’darlin’, I would spend ninety-nine years tellin’ ya just how gorgeous ya are, just so ya’d believe me on the first day of the hundredth year. Now that we’ve vowed our lives to each other, I can make that happen, and every moment will be well spent.”
My damn hormones. I sniffed and allowed a tear to drop into the tub. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“I ask meself that question every damn day.” His arms slid around my shoulders, hugging me as his temple pressed to mine. “And ya know, I hope I never start feelin’ like I deserve it, ‘cause that’s the day I’ll know I’ve started to take it all for granted.”
I smiled, laying my hands over my belly. “We are pretty perfect, aren’t we?”
With another kiss to my neck and a nod of his head, he replied, “Aye, m’darlin’. That, we are.”
A NOTE FROM ME TO YOU
So, Dearie, were you surprised? Do you love Malachy Shevlin and his food-slash-lifestyle blogger as much as I do?
A question I’m often asked is: Are the Kinney Brothers done? The answer is: no. I have so many stories left to tell about this family. I mean, come on—Sean hasn’t even had a wedding yet! Patrick Travolta hasn’t had a son yet! Honestly, we’ve only just begun, and now that we’ve been introduced to the four brothers, the rest is just fun from here.
If you loved this book, I would love it if you’d consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads!
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Continue reading for an excerpt of my upcoming novel, The Life We Wanted.
THE LIFE WE WANTED
COMING WINTER 2019
“Mrs. Worthington, I’m sure your chinchilla will be perfectly fine during the open house,” I insisted, with the phone pinned between my ear and shoulder as I slapped together the saddest excuse for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’d ever seen.
“Do you think so?” the older woman asked worriedly. I could practically see her feathery white brows pinched together. “Maybe I should remove Sandy from the house. I wouldn’t want to stress him out, you know?”
“Of course not,” I grumbled, stuffing the sandwich in a baggie and throwing it into a paper bag. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I tipped my head back and bellowed, “Greyson! Let’s go!”
As I waited for the telltale sounds of his heavy footsteps against the treads, I tipped my head against the cool surface of the stainless steel refrigerator and pressed the phone back to my ear. “Sorry about that, Mrs. Worthington. Just trying to get my nephew ready for school.”
“Oh, I understand, Tabitha,” she replied, stressing her sympathies in every inflection. “How is he?”
“It’s an adjustment,” I answered robotically, because it was the fastest response. It allowed for fewer questions, less conversation, and that was perfect. I didn’t want to talk about it.
“I can only imagine. That poor boy.”
That poor boy. A selfish niggling wormed its way into my brain with the sentiment. I felt terrible for him. Losing his mother suddenly, within a year of losing both his grandparents, had been rough on him, of course. Nobody understood that more than me. But just once, I would’ve appreciated a poor Tabitha. Poor Tabitha lost both of her ill and elderly parents within months of each other. Poor Tabitha had to bury her older sister just two months ago and the world somehow continues to spin.
Poor Tabitha.
I shook my head, chasing away the selfish mental whining. “I know,” I replied, sighing into the phone. “It’s been a tough time for both of us, but we’re getting there.”
But first, we had to get to school. “Greyson!”
With another apologetic groan, I brought the phone back to my ear. “So sorry. Anyway, I’ll stop by the house in just a little while and see what we need to do to get it ready for the weekend, okay? How does noon work for you?”
“Perfect! I’ll see you then, Tabitha.”
With that, the line went dead and I pocketed my phone. Peeking toward the stairs, I shook my head and cursed my nephew under my breath. It was hard to believe that just two months ago, he and I had been so close. We were buddies, damn near inseparable, but now? It seemed like he was listening less, we were fighting more, and I was one day closer to signing him up for boarding school. And all of this made me feel like the worst person on the planet.
Our therapist told me it was normal. She said this type of thing was to be expected. What she didn’t tell me was how much it would hurt when he rolled his eyes or cried when I yelled at him.
He never used to cry. Not until Sam died.
“Greyson, please!” I called, resorting to pleading. It always came back to pleading. “You’re already late and in another half hour, I will be too. Let’s go!”
As though he were just waiting for me to start begging, his footsteps thundered down the stairs and ran into the kitchen. His blonde hair was unkempt, his backpack dragged behind him by one strap, and a scowl was plastered to his face.
“Thank you,” I pushed out with my exasperated sigh and turned to grab the paper bag. “I made you—”
“Great,” Greyson mumbled, snatching the bag off the counter and throwing it unceremoniously into his backpack. “Let’s go so you can stop your bitching.”
Our therapist told me I shouldn’t let him talk to me like that, even if it did come from a place of sadness and anger. “Greyson, what did I tell you about cursing at me?” I scolded, following her instructions in a stern, even voice.
“Like I give a shit,” he replied, a bold challenge displayed in his tone. “Let’s go.”
God, give me strength. I pressed my eyes shut and shook my head as he barreled out of the kitchen and toward the front door, swinging it open and leaving the house. I was trying to be patient and understanding, but every day brought me closer to a place of being fed up.
Maybe today would be that day.
***
“You have such an eye for this,” Mrs. Worthington complimented as I carefully positioned the vase of silk tulips on a living room end table. “I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”
With a kind smile plastered to my face, I laid a book next to the vase and stood back to marvel at my masterpiece. It was the little things that helped sell a house. Some people believe it’s the bigger picture—a redesigned landscape, a knocked-down wall, a refurnished living room—but sometimes all it takes is the turn of a couch and a vase of fake flowers.
“This looks good,” I assessed, nodding confidently. “I think we’ll sell this baby this weekend. My guess is, three offers.”
“Oh, that would be fan-tastic,” Mrs. Worthington clutched at her chest, a smile beaming away on her face. “I hate to give the place up, you know.”
I did know. She’d only mentioned the fact three-thousand times since I took her on as a client. “I know you do,” I smiled sympathetically, nodding as I laid the throw pillows just-so on the couch. “If you can avoid sitting on the couch until after Saturday, that would be great.”
“Of
course, dear,” she bobbed her head in agreement. “Mr. Worthington and I always wanted to have a family in this house. It’s meant for that. But,” she sighed sadly, “it just wasn’t in the cards for us, I guess.”
I couldn’t say it was a sentiment I could ever sympathize with. Children were never something I wanted for myself; I was always a better aunt. But, I could warp my own failed life dreams to relate to hers, and I nodded my understanding.
“I bought my house right before Brad left,” I replied, purposely reminding myself of the personal heartache. “Double-sinks kinda suck when you’re on your own.”
What a year it’s been.
“Brad is such a jerk name,” Mrs. Worthington sneered with a disapproving shake of her head.
“I wish someone had told me that before I let him propose,” I laughed, and then, clapped my hands together. “Okay! So, Saturday, I’ll bring by some coffee and doughnuts. I’ll have Greyson with me, if that’s okay. He has drum lessons immediately after, so I figured—”
Waving both of her wrinkled hands, Mrs. Worthington dismissed my apologetic tone. “Stop, honey. I never mind when your nephew is around, you know that. He’s a good boy.”
It’s true; Greyson was a great kid, for everybody else. He used to be for me, but now …
“Thank you,” I replied gratefully. “Well, I think that’s everything for today. Do you need me to run you through anything? Or I could just call you in a couple days with some reminders?”
With a shake of her head, the older woman flashed me with a warm smile. “Nope, I think we’re good. Thank you so much for everything, Tabitha. I know what you’re going through and it honestly means the world to me that you’re still willing to help.”
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