Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 118780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Harley is instantly at their side, her eyes welling with emotion. “He’s perfect.”
“He’s so small. Don’t they need to be hooked up to a machine or something?” Talon’s question is laced with distress.
“They didn’t feel small sliding out of my vagina at five a.m. Freaking bowling balls taking their time,” Jewls sneers.
“Jesus, woman,” Tom grumbles, peeking over my shoulder. “This ain’t no bowling ball.”
“Tell that to my—”
“Jewls, don’t say it.” Toby scrubs his eyes. “Some things a brother doesn’t need to imagine.”
“To answer Talon’s question, the boys are almost six pounds each and healthy.” Jewls scowls at her brother.
“Perfection,” I whisper, snuggling Levi’s sweetness. “Here.” I ease him into Ford’s arm. He curls him delicately to his chest.
It’s my turn to tear up at the sight of the tiny bundle compared to Ford’s large frame.
The sentiment doubles as I peer around. So much love and happiness floats in the air. Even Shayla is wiping her cheeks.
The timing is awful and it may make me the most selfish person in the universe.
Today is about Major and Jewls.
Their family.
Two little miracles who will turn into bad asses in training.
But my heart overrides my logic and is bursting.
“Ford?” my voice cracks.
His eyes meet mine, the blue-green depths pulling me further in. Realization dawns as I speak.
“The answer is yes.”
33
FORD
It’s about fucking time.
I inspect the ring, the lead weight in my gut evaporating at the glimmering diamonds polished to perfection.
The day I designed this ring seems like a lifetime ago.
Six weeks of waiting to slide it on Rowan’s finger.
This process began when we got back from Miami. Her refusal to answer only fueled my need to get this done.
“It’s an astonishing piece. Will this be a Christmas surprise?”
I shake my head, grinning at the jeweler. “It’ll be on her finger tonight.”
He chuckles. “Many men grace my store this time of year with the quintessential Christmas proposal planned out.”
“Waited thirty-one years, not wasting any more time.”
“She’s a lucky woman.”
“You met her, you’d know it’s me who’s fortunate.”
I put the ring in the box and slip it into my jacket pocket.
“Glad to work with you, Mr. Whitman. Hope we can help in the future.”
I jerk my chin and pull out my phone on the way to my truck.
Tonight
The one-word text should be clear enough.
She can still say no.
Hotch doesn’t know she’s already given me the only answer I’d accept.
Too late. Should I call you Dad?
Only if you want a bullet in your ass.
I grin at his response. Another text appears.
You’ll do.
Our conversation at Churchill Downs comes to mind. This is the only approval he’s giving.
I’ll take it.
It’s been a week since Rowan said yes, and she insisted on secrecy because of the babies. I gave her that, knowing the ring was almost done, and she deserved to be the center of attention when we announced our engagement.
But it doesn’t mean I’ve liked it.
The possessive side of me wants everyone to know.
Rowan’s car is in its spot, the back seat filled with boxes overflowing with Christmas decorations. Decorations she was supposed to let me pick up after we got the tree this weekend.
One thing I learned this week is Rowan is a fanatic about Christmas. The woman decorates in early November, foregoing Thanksgiving décor altogether. Last year, Jay had my house looking like a Hallmark movie set. From what I can tell, Rowan will outshine that.
The door to our room is caught on the jamb, the lock disengaged.
Immediately, I notice the blinds are still closed.
A sixth sense twines its way up my spine. The first thing Rowan does when she gets home is open the blinds and windows, loving the last daylight and coolness of the season.
The closet and bathroom are empty, no trace of her coming in to change out of her work clothes or remove her jewelry.
I listen for anything in the house.
The quiet stillness isn’t right.
No Christmas music blaring, no scent of the birch candles she loves so much, and no sound of her shuffling around.
An alarm goes off in my head, and I grab a tube of Rowan’s lipstick, marking the counter.
Slowly, I make my way down the hall. With each step, my instincts heighten, acutely aware something is very wrong.
A smear of red mars the switch plate, dripping down the wall and along the wood floor.
I raise my Glock, flipping the safety switch. If that blood belongs to Rowan, someone will die.
The droplets track into the living room, which is tossed. The television on the wall is shattered, lamps and tables overturned. More blood streaks across the wall where the drywall is cracked.
The only thing that remains intact are the security monitors.
There’s a trail of papers leading to the media room. Someone has tampered with all the computers and equipment.
Rowan has no clue how to work any of this except for the laptop.