A gentle press of her hips lets me know that she feels my stiffness against her. After seven years of marriage, my wife still has the ability to make me instantly hard.
I guess our growing family is a testament to that.
Since Layla, we’ve had two more children, and there’s another one on the way that we’ve only just found out about.
They’re all girls so far. I’m woefully outnumbered, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
My girls are the light of my life, my reason for living.
They’re the reason I haven’t drunk a drop of alcohol in seven years. They’re the reason I go to the gym three times a week to keep myself fit and healthy for them.
They’re the reason I came clean to Bronn about the problems I’d been having since leaving the military. And they’re the reason I took his recommendation for a counselor to help me work through the darkness that plagues too many returning servicemen and women.
My girls are the reason I’m still alive, and I’m thankful for them every single day.
But most off all, I’m thankful for Jodie, the light, the beacon that holds our family together and steers us through the rough days to calmer waters.
I press her cheek to mine as we move around the dance floor. I’m trying to ignore the way my feet stick to the plywood floor, the smell of stale beer that assaults my nostrils, and the sullen looks from the young clientele that clearly have no musical taste.
It started as a tradition, coming back to the Sea Hopper every year on our anniversary, the place where it all began so many years ago.
But it’s clear with each passing year how much we’ve outgrown it.
Jodie lifts her sparkling eyes up to mine, and I can tell she’s thinking the same thing.
“Should we get out of here?”
I nod. “Oh yeah. You want to go somewhere else? Get a dessert?”
We had dinner at a restaurant in town earlier. Jodie’s sister is babysitting the kids, and she said to stay out as late as we want.
It’s not even ten, yet I’m restless to get home. I can’t explain it. But home is my happy place. where all the good things in my life are.
“I kinda miss the kids.” Jodie whispers it like it’s a secret, but I get it.
“So do I.”
“Should we go home?”
Her eyes look hopeful, and as she says it, her hips bump against mine. There’s a slight pressure, and she lowers her eyelashes.
It’s a promise. The kids are at home, but so is our king-size bed with the satin sheets that glide over our naked bodies and the ensuite shower where we’ve made love countless times.
Oh yeah. I want to go home, all right. I want to check on my kids and give them a kiss as they sleep, then go upstairs and make love to my wife.
I take her hand and, without a backward glance at the bar, lead my wife home.
* * *
Twenty years of military discipline hasn’t prepared me for one weekend with Amy…