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Loved Zack and Lana?
Read on for the extended epilogue
Extended Epilogie
Zack
Six Years Later
Peering out the open kitchen window, I slip my fingers between my lips and let loose a piercing whistle. Turning around, I lean back against the granite counter, waiting. Seconds later, like clockwork, the back screen door creaks open before slamming shut.
Two sets of sneakers pound against the hardwood floor, moving closer at an accelerated pace. Laughter echoes toward me, and my lips part in a smile just before my two curly headed five year old sons come to a skidding half inside the kitchen doorway.
“How did we do?” Zavier, the oldest twin, asks. He has a habit of taking the lead in most situations over his brother. And Zaine is more than happy to let him do so.
I glance at my watch. “Fourteen seconds. Not bad. You shaved one second off yesterday’s time.” I hold my hand up, and they take turns high fiving me. This is a new game we’ve been playing. Both boys want to be “superheroes” fast.
“What’s for dinner, Daddy?” Zaine questions. These boys can eat like a professional football team. I’m not sure where they put it all. Tall and lean for their age, their wiry builds remind me of myself as a youngster.
“Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread and salad.”
“Salad?” Zavier turns his nose up like it’s a dirty word.
“Yes, you heard me right. Wash your hands and have a seat.”
I dish out their meals while they clean themselves up, then set their plates on the table in front of them. “Eat up.”
“I don’t want salad,” Zavier mutters.
“Zav, if you cover it with spaghetti it tastes better,” Zaine tells him as he demonstrates his theory.
Zavier, looking skeptical, tentatively spears a tiny piece of lettuce onto his fork before dipping it into the noodles and sauce. Scooping it into his mouth, he chews and shrugs. Clearly, he’s undecided, but at least he tried it.
“Da da. Da da,” Leia, my eighteen month old daughter, calls for me from her high chair. Never one to go without attention, she raises her arms toward me, chanting, “up, up, up, up.”
I smile at her painfully adorable face. Even smeared with spaghetti sauce from cheeks to chin, she’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.
Plucking some wet wipes from the container we keep handy at all times, I wipe her dirty, little face and hands until she’s clean once more. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to her tiny button nose. “Did you like your spaghetti?”
She nods. “Up, up. Da da, up. Da da, up. Up,” she yells. With each word, her voice gets louder, and the tone more urgent.
Unhooking the belt, I lift her from the chair. Pressing a kiss to her soft red hair, I pause and think about how quickly time passes. It seems like only yesterday that the boys were babies too. They used to need me for everything and now they’re becoming more independent with every passing minute.
Staring down into Leia’s vivid green eyes so much like Lana’s, I anticipate and dread the motley crew of boys who will line up to date her once she’s a teenager. It’s a good thing she has two older brothers—protective older brothers to watch out for her. And let’s not forget about me. I may have changed my ways, but does a damaged soul ever completely heal? All it would take to send me over the edge again is someone hurting my family.
I’m glad Lana wanted to remain on Rangiroa. With a small population, we can keep our distance from other people. We specifically purchased this land that I built our house on because there are no neighbors close by. And with the large yard, the boys have plenty of space to run around and play. I want them to enjoy their childhood and not live in fear like I did. There’s no abusive alcoholic here. No one will ever put their hands on my children or harm a single hair on their heads.
“Okay, boys. You finish your dinner while I go put your sister to bed. No throwing out your salad or I’ll know.” I aim a formidable and convincing stare their way until they both reluctantly nod.
“Night, Leia,” Zavier says and Zaine blows her a kiss.
“Zay, Zay,” Leia sings happily, blowing kisses back.
She can’t quite pronounce their names, so for now they’re both Zay.
I take her upstairs and change her diaper before dressing her in some lightweight pajamas. After blowing raspberries on her cheeks, neck, and feet, I place her down in her crib. “I love you so much, baby girl. You go to sleep now.”
Leia hugs her favorite stuffed animal close and rolls to her stomach. I soothingly rub my palm over her narrow back and wait for her breathing to slow. Every night she falls asleep faster than anyone should be able to. I take it as a positive sign—she’s getting plenty of exercise and fresh air.
I even have a section of my workshop that’s only for Leia. Colorful rubber mats cover the cement floor in one corner and a sturdy, plastic fence keeps her contained within the area. I love to watch her toddle around while I work on a new piece of furniture.
She also has a tiny tricycle and a play lawnmower that are two of her favorite toys. The mower makes more noise than some of my heavy duty power tools.
Once I’m sure my little angel is out for the count, I return to the kitchen. Both boys have finished with dinner and are eager to escape the kitchen.
“Get your pajamas on and you can watch one show on television.”
“Can we watch, Bluey?” Zavier asks.
“May we please watch Bluey?” I correct him and he rephrases the question. “Once you’re in your beds, I’ll put an episode on for you.”
While the boys get ready for bed, I clean up the kitchen. Glancing at the clock, I notice the time. Lana should be home soon.
By the time I make it up to the boys’ bedroom, they’re both asleep. Silently, I celebrate, pumping my fist and flip their light and television off as I leave.
On my way down the stairs, I hear keys jingling and the click of the lock. As Lana steps inside, I’m there to take her messenger bag and set it down on the floor. Wordlessly sweeping my wife into my arms, I capture her sweet lips in a long overdue kiss. Our tongues communicate how much we missed one another before we’ve exchanged any actual words. When we part we’re both breathless and Lana’s fair skinned face is flushed.
“How was back to school night?” I question.
She sighs. “It went well, but I hated being away from you guys. I missed dinner and bedtime.”
My hands stroke up and down her back. “Don’t worry, it’s only one night. Besides, I had it all under control.”
Her palms slide up my chest, perching on the top of each shoulder. “I know you did. You’re the best daddy. Our kiddos are so lucky to have you.”
“You’ve got that wrong. I’m the lucky one. Where do I start? If you hadn’t forgiven me, none of my world would’ve been worth living in.”
“Zack, don’t think about the past. That was years ago and we’re so far beyond that. Don’t dredge it up again. All it does is make you feel unworthy when the truth is, you’re the best man I know.”
“I don’t know about the best, but I’m certainly the luckiest. Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll bring you a glass of wine. We can cuddle under the covers and you can tell me about your night.”
She wiggles her brows. “I like the cuddling part, not sure about rehashing my boring night.”
I slap her on the ass. “Scoot. I’ll be up in a few, and I’ll see what I can do about making your night more interesting.”
She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Promise?”
“Oh, baby, like you need to ask.”
She smiles mischievously over her shoulder before facing forward to jog up the stairs. I release a long, slow, calming breath. The way my wife makes me feel… like my insides are tied in knots, and my cock is ready to explode. It never goes away, never even lessens. My love for her and our children grows more powerful each day.
Checking the lock on the door,
I head back to the kitchen and grab the promised wine for Lana.
Upstairs I set the glass down on her nightstand and turn some music on. Dimming the lights, I draw the bed covers down to the footboard and place a bottle of massage oil on the nightstand. I light a few candles as a final touch and lock our bedroom door.
Heading into our ensuite bathroom, I’m ready when Lana steps from the shower. I wrap her in a giant towel and slowly wipe all the moisture from her skin.
She hums, “Mmm, this is nice. What’s the special occasion?”
“Since when do I need a special occasion to show how much I love and appreciate you?”
“I know you don’t. Life just gets busy sometimes.”
I smile. “Life is always busy now that we’re parents.”
“This is true. What did we do with all our free time before we had our wonderful children?”
“We spent a lot more time naked. Now it’s about the quality, not the quantity.”
“We’ve always had quality sex.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I drop the towel to the tile floor and sweep her up into my arms. “And I hope you're prepared for a sleepless night.”
“I’ll see what I can do to stay awake,” she jokes.
“I’ve never known you to sleep with your mouth or pussy full of my cock,” I boast.
“So, that’s the way it’s going to be?” She smiles.
“That’s only part of the plan.” I place her down on the bed. “Rollover to your stomach.” She readily complies and I stand still as my eyes roam over every inch of her bare skin. She’s breathtaking.
I drag my shirt over my head and slip my shorts off, leaving me in my boxer briefs. Straddling her thighs, I pour massage oil into my palm and rub my hands together. Starting at the base of her spine, I rub circles using the heels of each palm. I continue moving upward, adding more oil as needed.
“Oh my God, that feels so amazing.” Lana sighs.
“I’m just getting started.” Using my fingertips, I work the knots from the top of her shoulders. Moving across to her neck I work away the tension, my fingers climbing her nape.
Taking my time, I retrace my path back to the base of her spine. This time I continue downward, my fingers kneading the soft skin of her ass.
“Don’t stop,” she orders, letting out a thready moan when I dip between her cheeks.
“I give the orders here, wife.” I slap her ass. “Have you forgotten?”
She flicks a glance my way over her shoulder. “How could I forget when I have you to remind me?”
“Someone’s sassy tonight.” I grin. Lana loves me to take charge, but I like when she pushes back. My strong, little spitfire occasionally bites back. I move backwards and slip my boxer briefs off. “Turn to your back.”
Rolling over, her heated gaze connects with mine. Lips quirking with a mischievous smile, she relaxes into the mattress, arms above her head. “What are you going to do with me?” she questions.
Slipping between her legs, I shove her knees toward her chest and lower to my stomach. “I’m gonna devour your cunt.” I slick my tongue through her slit and circle her clit. “And then I’m not sure if I’m gonna fuck your tight asshole,” my thumb rubs over the aforementioned area, “or if I’m gonna fuck your pussy.” I slide two fingers inside her wet entrance.
Lana moans, raising her hips letting me know she wants more. Wrapping my lips around her swollen flesh, I swipe my tongue back and forth, using the tip to tease the bundle of nerves while my fingers pump inside her. It doesn’t take long before her legs begin to tremble, and her fingers twist in my hair, tugging on the longer strands.
“Mine,” I growl. Every orgasm she has is mine to give. I gently rake her clit between my teeth and she gasps. Shifting to my knees, I grip her hips, thrusting my cock inside her pussy as her orgasm hits. Wet heat grips and squeezes me with every wave of her release. When she begins to come down from her high, I press on the back of her knees, driving them to her chest giving me an unobstructed view of my dick sliding in and out of her. I watch as if it’s the first time I’m seeing this, and in some strange way, it feels like it is. Being with Lana always feels monumental.
When my orgasm finally rockets through me, I paint the outside of her pussy with my come—because it’s mine. I own it.
Just like Lana is mine.
And I’m hers.
I never thought I’d ever want to say that a woman owns me. But she does.
My soul was pitch black when we met and each day since then, Lana has burrowed her way in spreading hope and love until she changed me. She owns my heart and whatever color soul I now have.
Sometimes, I still struggle to fight off the memories of the man I used to be. Some days are easier than others. But I always push through the darkness until I reach the blinding light waiting for me—my beautiful family.
And every day my soul gets a little lighter.
Afterword
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Canvas
Prologue
JOSH
Five Years Ago
The quiet city streets reflect the lateness of the hour as I wander down the sidewalk on Commonwealth Avenue. The unexpected chill in the air pierces through the lightweight button down I tugged on as if I’m not wearing it at all.
Suffering from insomnia for the first time in my life, night walks have become part of my routine since I began attending Boston University two weeks ago. Being away from home has turned me into a worrier and the nights are the worst. My mind refuses to shut down the never-ending stream of ‘what if’ thoughts, no matter how hard I try.
I’m only an hour away from the house I grew up in, but a lot of bad things can happen in sixty minutes. Especially when my seventy-five-year-old grandmother is raising my mischievous fourteen-year-old brother. Visions of the house catching on fire, trapping both inside, or of my grandmother unconscious on the floor assault my mind. Once those images are in place, they’re almost impossible to stop. And so, I walk the city streets until my eyes hungrily absorb every detail this middle of the night version provides for my artist’s soul.
Moving at an accelerated pace, hands tucked in my front pockets, I continue on my way back to the freshman dorm. As I round the corner marking the final leg of my journey, a quick, shrill female scream reaches my ears. My feet pause their forward motion as my eyes scan the area for anything amiss. Focusing, I listen for signs of a struggle. When I’ve almost convinced myself I’ve imagined it, another scream pierces the relative quiet. This one is louder and panic filled.
I sprint forward, my sneakers pound down the pitted sidewalk. Adrenaline races through me. I have no idea what I’m about to get caught up in, but I can’t ignore someone’s cry of distress.
I’m almost upon them when I notice a large man pinning a young woman face first against the front exterior of a building.
“I told you, we weren’t through,” he shouts, slamming the side of her face against the rough brick.
I don’t know how he doesn’t hear me coming. Barreling into him with a forearm shiver to the temple, the force of my hit sweeps him off his feet. He lands on his back with a sickening thud followed by the crack of his skull hitting the sidewalk. He groans, hands immediately gripping the back of his head, while I search the surrounding area for any weapon he may have dropped. Finding nothing, my focus immediately switches to his victim.
“Are you okay?” I ask in the softest tone I can as I slowly approach. Keeping my open hands up as I move closer, I allow her to see I’m not a threat, but her eyes are squeezed shut. Her cheek is pressed to the red brick as she whimpers repeatedly. I don’t think she realizes the danger has been removed or that I’m standing next to her.
“It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you anymore
,” I say, soothingly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” My eyes trace over her face, taking in her high cheekbones and full lips.
Her eyes snap wide open, locking on mine. They shine with terror and tears, sending a punch of longing to my stomach. There’s a fragileness about her, that makes me want to protect and console her.
The light of the street lamps and the glowing business sign on the building illuminate her feminine features with a soft, golden glow, allowing me to see she’s absolutely stunning.
“Are you okay?” I question, stepping closer when I notice blood trailing down the right side of her forehead and onto her cheek.
She doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, she steps away, letting out a sob as she peers cautiously around me. I turn to check on the attacker, only to realize he’s no longer there. Fuck. I should’ve kept my eyes on him and called the police. Instead, I got sidetracked making sure she wasn’t hurt. I search the immediate area for any sign of the perpetrator, but find none. If he’s smart, he’s long gone by now.
Spinning around, prepared to aid this scared girl in any way she needs, I discover, she’s running down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Goddammit. I’d planned to see her safely home.
Shaking my head, I begin the walk back to my dorm. I’ve had enough excitement for one night. Now, all I want is my sketch pad and a pencil in my hand. My fingers tingle with the urge to draw her.
My thoughts remain focused on the mystery girl. Where is she from? Does she go to school around here?
When I reach my room, sleep will be the last thing on my mind. Already, I’m picturing her graceful brow with the dark arches as if I took a mental snapshot. Being an artist allows me to see more than the average person and remember the minutest of details, like the matching pair of dark freckles above her right eyebrow.
The Complete Quake Series Page 51