Page 158 of The Other Side

His forehead nudges mine, his brows dipping in feigned disappointment. “Okay, but you’re still gonna need me for sexual festivities, right?”

“Oh, right,” I snort through a breath. “I’m as sexy as ever. I bet you’re just dying to jump my bones while I’m carrying a watermelon.”

He shakes his head against mine, his hand cradling my growing belly. “No truer words ever spoken, Dove,” he whispers.

We smile, our gazes meeting our kids. We’re watching them carefully but also admiring the scene we’ve painted.

We.

We did this.

My head tilts so my temple can rest on Brant’s shoulder. I burrow into the cushion of his thick jacket realizing second chances aren’t granted to everyone. They’re reserved for a few cases.

This was the way it was always supposed to be. For all of us.

Brant and I.

Our parents.

Everything that was torn to bits on the other side is finally whole. Everything and everyone that wasn’t given a fighting chance now has a fighting shot. We glued the fragments back together.

Our love was the adhesive, and we altered fate.

Not everyone’s love can do that. But ours did. And as powerless as I always thought we were, hell … what do you know …

We’re as powerful as it gets.

“Is it everything you ever wanted?”

I nod to answer Brant’s question, only for our heads to turn to each other. “Now it is,” I say boldly. “Right now, I have everything I’ve ever wanted. And more.”

His lips flinch at the corner, and our mouths seal a long kiss. Of course, Rex and Lacey blow raspberries in the distance, flicking Brant and I’s attention.

“What was that?!” Brant scolds, pointing to them.

Their mouths drop, eyes gaping as they squeal and turn around. They begin to sprint in the opposite direction, and Brant’s right on their tail before he scoops them up. Their laughs jumble in the cold air, only to inch closer to me when Brant travels my way.

“I caught two offenders, Mommy. What should we do with ‘em?” he jokes through a sigh.

I purse my mouth, feigning contemplation as my hands greet my hips. “Make ‘em tell Santa.”

“Noooo!” Our kids whine in unison, and Brant and I chuckle.

He plants our kids on their small boots. Lacey takes off, forcing Brant to chase her, and then it’s Rex and me.

Our first born.

Conceived in the bed of a pickup.

“We’re not actually tellin’ Santa,” I say. “We’ll spare you this time.”

He shines his chicklet teeth, nudging closer to me until his gloved hands wrap around my thigh. “Thank you, Mommy.”

I grin just as my cloaked fingers elevate the underside of his chin. My eyes wander around his face, and from a quick glance, it’s as if Brant spit this kid out. Olive skin, sandy-brown hair, and peach lips. But his eyes?

They’re not Brant’s.

They’re not mine either.