Chevelle double chortles, steaming mad. ShehatesErika with a passion. A few years ago, when the redhead moved from our hometown in Northern Scotland, half the MacKenzie lads were dogs in heat over her. Then they found out she’s a crack shot. Erika needed a low-key place to stay, and we were between renters.
“Leith, you neglected to tell me this.”
“Slipped my mind,” I mutter the wee lie for Chevelle’s sake. Erika keeps an eye on my girls while I’m away.
“Alright, don’t let my next statement slip your mind. Kick her ass out! We sell this house. Get some cushion money.”
“She’s leasing the place.” I lie.
“Leasing? Oh, I thought she was practically MacKenzie clan. Or is she paying some other way?” Chevelle folds her arms.
“Low,low as feck,” I grumble.
“Okay, you’re right. Sorry.” She pouts. “Leith, I apolo—”
“Nae, that mouth of yers got away from ye! Hen, we’re notflittingback to thatclattyhouse. Mia can already swim. She has the ocean in her backyard and a pool on the roof. This house is—”
“A major bachelor pad,” she mutters. “Whatyoubargained for. Pool on the roof. Gadgets galore. And the old house wasn’t shabby. It was cozy.”
Aye, I selected this house as afat-arseshow ofmysuccess. But the place in Silicon Valley was meant to be our forever home, her place. The home had all the details my hen would appreciate. A reading nook. A gardening area. Her eyes would have been pools of warm mahogany upon seeing the home I had chosen. In the end, someone else got the house.
“Chevelle, are we not living our dreams? Ye’ve almost got everything needed to start a business. These things dinnahappen just because the sunshitesover the horizon on a new day.”
Chevelle groans softly. “I’m not helping. I want to help. That’s all I’ve tried to say.”
“Nae, hen. This is me and you, all thefeckin’way.” I look down at Chevelle, running my knuckles over her thick strands of hair. The color is as rich and deep as the earth in my home country. The States was the right move for my da. Though, this place pales in beauty compared to our birthplace.
“Leith, let me help more.”
The third round of an argument stalemates as a thought hits me. “Is this ‘bout yer parents? Yer blood parents?”
I never pressed Chevelle about her biological parents because opening up about her adoptive mom hurt her. Damned the promises I’ve made to my hen, though. That bitch should be deid.
“Chevelle, is this ‘bout yer parents?”
This time she says “no” too quickly for my tastes. But with the sounds of pitter-pattering, who am I to stop my wife from rushing to shove on her overalls. Chevelle’s presentable and already washing her hands when I find my discarded basketball shorts and pull them on in the nick of time.
Mia stumbles into the room, rubbing her eyes. I haven’t seen my weeweanin days, and I’m at war between going to her and comforting my hen about her parents. Something always comes up when we’re talking about them. Or Chevelle flat out refuses to speak. I’ve been anarse. I should’ve realized it sooner. Her da took real good care of her mam. Then he smothered her. Aye, my concerns about work are leaking over into my marriage life, but still, I must protect my clan.
Chevelle turns her attention to Mia. “How was your nap, sweetheart?”
From the looks of her, the nap was good. Mia’s cork-like curls are a wild birdie’s nest on the top of her head. Noticing me, Mia takes off with the swagger of a sloshedbum. “Daddy!”
I pull Mia into my arms before she can hit the floor. Holding her in one hand, I reach over and grab Chevelle as she attempts to retreat.
“Dinnaskedaddle aff, lass, I’m not done with ye.”
“Don’t call me lass, you ass. And stop over exaggerating your words for our kid.”
Mia laughs, and I ask, “Where ye going, hen?”
Pursing her lips, Chevelle states, “To read some smut about aDommeand her male beta.”
“Bey-tah,” Mia mimics.
“Lassie,Dais alpha.”
“Daddy.” Mia’s soft fingers run along my jaw. I always fear how soft and dainty my wee girl is. Removing her hands from my stubble, I kiss her palms.