Page 44 of Light

“Cuckoo!” From over our heads, Lux repeats it like a joyful war cry. “I have cuckoo, Dada! Like a birdie!”

Foley moves to stand next to me. “Well, this is going to make training more interesting.”

“It’s going to make everything more interesting.” As my wife utters it, she pins me with her stare. It’s not necessary. I already peg a lot of what she means because it’s everything racing for precedence in my mind too.

Racing fast.

Officially, our son’s abilities have surpassed ours—not such a tough issue while he’s obedient and adoring of us. But what will happen once he hits a rebellious stage? And since that’s going to happen sooner rather than later…

“Shit,” I mumble beneath my breath. Shit, shit, shit.

Yet right now, “sooner rather than later” has to be given another connotation. A much more pressing one—leading me to pivot back toward ’Dia and demand, “When exactly did this happen?”

“Just now,” she supplies. “In the middle of the quake.”

“Shit.” I’m spitting it now—and longing to add some choice profanities, though there’s no time for that luxury. “That means close to twenty people were up-close eyewitnesses to this kid going airborne down the hallway.”

I expect Foley to join me in the growl I twist on the end of that. Instead, he’s grunting in satisfaction while peering down at his phone. If the bastard actually expects me to approve of him taking or keeping any video footage of this shit…

But the guy beats me to the preparedness punch. By a really long shot.

“Text from Neeta,” he explains. “Before the Lightning Kid decided to zip his way down the hall, I told her to yank up an e-version of a nondisclosure pact. Wade’s helping her monitor the door, and they’re having everyone sign off before they leave.”

“Tell her thank you.” Emma’s expression already conveys how little the words really communicate on our behalf. But she doesn’t cling at her thinning composure for too long. I watch, admiring and adoring her even more, as she slathers on another layer of fortitude from the inside out. It instantly shores her posture and steels her face, giving her enough strength to shout, “Lux Mitchell Tycin, put your feet on the floor this instant.”

“But Mama!” Our kid’s voice is part cackle and part whine. “Look what I can do. Looooook!”

The triple barrel roll with a donut-twisty finish yanks a couple of impressed rumbles from Foley and me before they’re tromped by a glare from Emma so frosty, she really does resemble the iconic ice princess from the Disney cartoons.

“Well, shit,” Foley grumbles.

“Stole that one out of my mouth,” I return.

“She does that look as good as her sister.”

“And you’re surprised?”

“No.” Foley shifts from foot to foot. “I’m scared.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a foot gets shoved into it—royally clocking his maw in a kids’ size three and a half.

“Not sure you’re the one who should be scared,” I offer past a chuckle while reaching up and snatching the ankle attached to the canvas emblazoned with grinning Minions. “Okay, my dude,” I charge to my petulant son. “Before you take out something more valuable than Uncle Sawyer’s face, you’re grounded.”

Sawyer narrows his eyes. “What the hell is more valuable than my face?”

But his jest is wasted. Emma’s tension remains ice-princess cold as soon as Lux squirms with open petulance. “But Dada! Whhhyyy?”

“It’s not forever, son.” I lower him to the floor but align myself to his level by taking a knee. “But you remember the other rule we have about superpowers, yeah?”

With the ease of experience, the kid juts out his lower lip. “Limits mean love.”

I nod and then grit out a smile. His iteration, full of such concentration and sincerity, is like a fist to my heart—made of pure star fire. I swear, if I earned a dollar for every occasion, on every day, when this kid makes me want to burst into tears…inside a year, I’d be handing over enough liquid cash to buy three new Richards Resorts properties. On the beach. In Abu Dhabi.

“Yeah,” I manage to rasp back, reassuringly rubbing Lux’s back. “Good job, buddy. Limits mean love—because love should be our first goal, right?”

He pouts harder. I can see the conflicting wheels turning for him. Agree with me and accept the no-fly zone for now or push the limits and zoom back down the hall again.

In the end, he jabs a fist against one of his tired eyes and then reaches out his other hand to palm my face. “I love you, Dada.”