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“Excellent plan.” My sister hooks an elbow through hers, guiding Angie back toward the kids. “Hey, Lux baby!” she calls. “How about we introduce Mis and Ira to the goodness of Twister?” She casts one last teasing glance over her shoulder at us while adding, “Because sometimes, you just can’t have too much screaming in the house.”

REECE

Lydia will probably give me shit for this later, but I don’t care.

Once I have Emma behind closed doors and all to myself, all thoughts of getting her naked and mindless are shoved to my psyche’s furthest corners. Truth be told, after the last twelve hours, a lot of me is naked and mindless already. I might still be covered in leather on the outside, but inside I’ve been stripped down and torn apart.

Over and over and over again.

With every step I had to take through that staggering maze of abandoned halls, darkened laboratories, and forlorn five-sided cells. The hive that was once my world. The prison in which I’d resigned myself to die.

The hell I forced myself to traverse again.

Every last goddamned step.

Facing the pain and rage and desolation for one last time.

And in a fucked-up but necessary way, welcoming them.

Walking those rooms again…standing there, flooded in the horror and brutality of the memories, brought me to the strangest but clearest perception.

I’ll never fully leave that place. It’s part of me now, etched into the walls of my psyche.

But it’s not all of me.

Not anymore.

It’s not even the biggest thing that ever changed me. It’s insignificant compared to the impact of true love on my heart, the sea change of fatherhood to every cell of my soul.

Fatherhood.

The word alone stirs echoes inside my head.

Dada! Dada! Dada!

And yes…they’re in triplicate. In those three distinct voices that are inextricably woven through me. Yes, already. Yes, after just three days. And no, I really don’t think they’re going to change to anything different.

All epiphanies I have yet to share with the woman standing next to me.

All purposeful omissions—for which I’m not proud but wouldn’t change. I haven’t shared them because I’ve needed to be sure. Have had to double-check my psyche, confirming all of this isn’t just passing caprice fed by the adrenaline of finding the Source. Or worse, a bout of misplaced survivor’s guilt—or my superhero complex needing its next nobility fix. More nobly, I can’t deny the fathomless joy of seeing Lux with a mini tribe of his own kind.

To cut to the chase, the reasons go on and on. My list of explanations is longer than a catalog of Team Bolt fanfics, meaning I could dawdle forever and ruminate about the result or simply face the music and involve my wife in talking through our next steps in fate’s newest twist for us. Not that it’s going to be easy—but we’ve got to start somewhere.

And we’d better start now.

“Hey.” I tug Emma’s hand, urging her to follow me to the long ottoman that takes up the wall between our panorama window and the master bathroom. “Come here.”

“Here?” The light tease in her voice matches the gold glints in her eyes. “You sure about that, Zeus Man? The bed might be nicer, considering you’ve been stomping around in a bunch of tunnels for nearly twelve hours.”

“Which is why I want to talk first.”

A crinkle of confusion takes over her forehead. “Who are you, and what have you done with my lust factory of a husband?”

I capture the hand she presses between my temples and then lower it to press my lips against the inside of her wrist. “Oh, don’t worry, baby. All those gears are still cranking.” I nuzzle her again, this time closing my eyes and inhaling deep, welcoming her honey and sunshine scent into my senses. With slow languor, I lick little circles around her delicious pulse point. “And believe me, they’re ready to get me inside you, as deep as I possibly can go.” I soak up the quickening of her heartrate and the rush of her gasp. “But we have to talk first.”

As if my declaration is his cue, Lux’s shout pierces through the walls. “Left hand green!”

Annnnd Twister has officially kicked off. Fitting imagery, matching the new contortion of my wife’s features.