Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“I love you, Mom,” I tell her as she comes to me, wrapping her arms around me.
“You ever do anything like that again and I really will kill you,” she says.
I hear some grunts of agreement around the room, but I ignore them.
“I needed to make things safe for my son,” I repeat, and my mom nods against my chest.
Since Myla became my wife and we found out we’re having a baby, I have worked tirelessly to make sure she can have a normal life and our boy has a chance to experience normalcy.
“I have been blessed to have you guys as my parents, but I don’t want my kids growing up in a house where there has to be men with guns hanging around all the time. I want to enjoy my family.”
“I can understand that, honey.”
“Runt.” I look at my baby sister, and she comes to me, winding her arms around Mom and me.
“Don’t ever do that again,” she whispers.
“I won’t,” I promise then look at my brother.
He closes his eyes then comes over to us. He wraps his arms around all of us, muttering that he’s going to kick my ass.
“I’m sorry, guys, but thank you for taking care of Myla for me,” I tell Aye and Pika.
“Always,” Pika says, and for once, there is no feeling of jealousy—just gratefulness.
“You don’t even have to thank me,” Aye says.
I nod then step away from my mom, my sister, and me brother, and step towards my dad. Then I hug him like I haven’t done since I was a kid.
“I love you, son, and I’m proud of the man you have become,” he tells me.
I pat him on his back then step away and walk right to Myla to scoop her up.
“What are you doing?!” she shouts.
“We’re going to bed,” I tell her, looking at her beautiful face.
“Your family’s here, and you just got home.”
“I don’t care.” I lift my head and look at my family. “No offense, but I’m taking Myla to bed. You guys can stay or go,” I tell them then turn and walk to our room, where I carefully set her on the bed then get down on my knees in front of her, lifting her shirt up so I can press my mouth to her stomach.
“You shaved your head,” she says quietly, running her hands over my buzzed hair.
I close my eyes, relishing the feeling of her touching me. “Yeah.”
“I’ll miss your hair.”
I open my eyes and smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she repeats, resting her forehead against mine while her hands curve over my skull.
“It will grow back.”
“You look good in jeans,” she teases.
“Yeah?” I chuckle.
“Definitely,” she whispers, placing her mouth on mine.
I let her take charge for a moment then push her to her back, taking over. This is what I would kill for—the woman under me and my child she is carrying. They make everything worthwhile.
Epilogue
Kai
“You can do it, makamae,” I tell Myla, kissing the top of her head while she bears down on another contraction.
“Oh, God, Kai!” she screams.
I wish I could take her pain away. Since the moment we arrived five hours ago, she has been in pain. They gave her the epidural as soon as we got here because she was already dilated five centimeters, but it only numbed the left side of her body.
“You’re doing so good.” I press my forehead to hers as she lies back on the bed, looking exhausted.
“One more, Myla,” the doctor says.
I want to tell her to shut up, that my wife is exhausted, but when the nurse hands her a blanket, I relax.
“He’s almost here,” I tell her as her foot presses into my hand and she pushes again, her face turning so red that it looks purple.
“Five-count,” the doctor says.
We all start counting. Once we reach five, Myla collapses back onto the bed, breathing heavily as a loud cry fills the room.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper, kissing the skin above her ear as our son is placed on her chest.
“He’s really here,” she whispers, running her hand over his still-wet hair. “He is so beautiful.” Her eyes lift to meet mine, and the wonder I see there takes my breath away.
I lean in and whisper against her lips, “He is beautiful.”
His skin is lighter than mine but darker than Myla’s. His hair is black, and it already has a little wave to it. His nose is wide—like mine and the rest of the men in my family.
“We need a name,” she says.
I look at her then at our son. Since the moment we talked about naming him, I have said that I wanted to wait until we met him. I knew I wanted our son to have a strong name, a name that demanded respect, one that a good man, a man of honor, would have.