The chaotic storm that was getting ready to make landfall.
But sometimes it’s the storms that breathe new life.
Salem punched in the code and opened the door, and I carried Juni to her room and tucked her into bed.
Our new house was being built across town, right next to the one Trent and Eden were building for their family.
We had a guest house going up in the back so Mimi would have her own space, but where she could be near, and Salem could stand up and care for her the way she’d always wanted to do. The main house would have five bedrooms, one I hoped one day would belong to Kye.
At Salem’s urging and encouragement, I’d taken a chance, bit back the fear, and reached out to Kennedy last month. She’d finally replied two days ago. Her response had been cautious but promising.
Kennedy was living on the east coast. She had remarried and had two more children. Our interactions back and forth over the last two days had been a bit strained, but somehow over the years, it seemed her distrust had lessened, and she’d agreed to allow me to at least write to Kye.
To slowly become a part of my daughter’s life.
I would cherish anything I could get.
I leaned in and kissed Juni’s forehead, pulled her covers up tight, gave into the squeezing of my chest when she whispered in her sleep, “Night, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, Juni Bee.”
She might not have been born of my blood, but to me, she was my daughter in every way.
Wholly.
Truly.
Soft hands slipped up my back, and Salem pressed her face to the middle of my spine.
“Love her so much,” I rumbled as I turned. I took my wife’s face in my hands. “And I love you.”
“Forever,” she said.
I took her hand and led her out, shifting to walk backward as we went into our room. Only I didn’t head for the bed, I led her to the door to the left.
Salem let go of a seductive laugh. “What’s this?”
“Wanna paint you.” I tapped the code into the pad next to the studio door and opened it to a haze of darkness, pulled my girl into the kaleidoscope of images held in the muted light.
Images that had once represented my shame.
My nightmares.
My dreams.
But it’d taken this woman to help me see that sometimes the mess was beautiful.
Salem kicked off her sandals and padded into the studio. Her breaths were soft and awed. It seemed like each time she went in there, she discovered something new.
Still, she was drawn to the crudely cut image of the boy child.
Her son.
The one I was sure her spirit had recognized the first time I’d brought her into my studio.
She fluttered her fingers over the frantic strokes of paint.
She’d said once she didn’t know me. But now, she knew everything.
Every fiber.
Every thread.
All my shame and all my hope.
My wife slowly turned around, wearing the long summer dress she’d worn for the family barbeque this afternoon.
So pretty.
So right.
A fantasy.
My redemption.
I kicked my shoes from my feet and pulled my tee over my head. I dropped it to the floor and moved toward the cans of paint stacked across the room, watching her as I went.
“When is it you feel most beautiful, Salem?”
I repeated the same question I’d asked her all that time ago. Before I’d understood what we meant.
Salem padded forward to the middle of the room.
She got to the floor. A little awkwardly, so fucking cute that it made me lightheaded. Giddy with this joy I never thought I could feel.
She pulled the fabric of her dress tight over her massive, swollen belly where our baby boy grew, and she tipped her head to the side so her jaw was exposed.
Those thunderbolt eyes were open and free.
“When do I feel most beautiful, Jud? Every single time you look at me.”
The End