Adam, Enough Said (This Can't be Happening) (48 page)

Now, I was flat on my back, Mia was on her side; my arm was under her neck, and my hand was at her shoulder where my fingers drew circles. Her arm was wrapped around my stomach, her leg thrown over my hip, while the top of her head was under my chin and her cheek was resting on my chest - right over the tattoo that read:

Eres Mí
a
.

In English: Mine.

Seems Mia’s birth mother did something right before they gave her up for adoption, because they named her perfectly for me.

And Mia was just that…mine.

Funny how tattoos had never really been my thing, but after being shot and stabbed, I’d ended up with five. Truthfully, they still weren’t my thing, but every single one of them had a meaning behind the artwork, and it all started with the large tribal piece that covered the entirety of my right shoulder blade - specifically gotten to cover the scar from my gunshot wound. It crawled up and over my right shoulder, down my chest, and ended just above my Mia tattoo, and then it ran down my right arm and ended above my elbow.

I had figured if I was gonna get a tattoo, I might as well go all out and make it fuckin’ massive.

Mia loved them though, so that was all that mattered.

I hadn’t wanted any reminders of that gunshot wound, but more importantly, I hadn’t wanted Mia to have any reminders. And not only had that scar reminded us both of the night I’d been shot, but it also reminded us both of the goddamn pain and suffering I’d gone through when that bullet fractured and lodged itself in my right shoulder blade.

Actually, Mia - my poor baby - probably would have preferred a bullet lodged in
both
her shoulder blades rather than put up with all the whiny bullshit I’d given her for nearly two months while I'd been healing. She’d definitely suffered way more than I had and she deserved a medal.

Well, I had bought her another 1968 Chevy Camaro to make up for it - this one red with black racing stripes - but with the kids, it was rare that she ever got to take it out for a drive. I'd looked into buying her the 1970 Plymouth Hemi Cuda she'd spoken of on numerous occasions, but it seemed she failed to mention they were like the Holy Grail of muscle cars. I hadn't been able to find one for less than two million dollars.

She was outta her damn mind.

"Baby, I know you’re awake,” I rumbled low
, because I’d just felt Mia’s breathe on my chest when she exhaled long and deep.

Her arm around my stomach tightened and I heard a muffled, “Mmmm hmmm…”

I smiled, my arm tightened around her shoulder and I ordered, “Baby, kiss.”

This got her to smile against my chest
, only moments before she lifted her head. She leaned down, kissed my chest over her name tattooed there, and then lifted her mouth to mine for a soft, sweet kiss.

But I didn't want sweet.

I rolled, and she let out a small squeal. Then I took her to her back knowing we didn’t have much time. After six and a half years and three kids, I still wanted my wife just as much - if not more - than the first night I saw her.

"Toothpaste," she mumbled.

"Later," I decided.

I quickly rid her of her pajama shorts and the huge t-shirt she was wearing - my t-shirt.

I looked down at the sight before my eyes and watched as my hands caressed her stomach, her hips and up to her breasts. I was careful not to trace the tiny, barely visible stretch marks she had that were left over from the pregnancies because I knew she was insecure about them, but
fuck
if my gut didn’t clench at the sight.

My
kids had done that to her. My happy, healthy, amazing, gorgeous redheaded kids had done that to her body.

And her body was fuckin’ perfect.

“Baby, the door’s open,” she whispered like I cared.

I spread her legs, freed myself from my boxer-briefs, reached between her thighs and was inside her the next second. Her neck arched, her heels pressed into my ass and she breathed, “Yes.”

“Monitor’s on, but we don’t have much time so you better come fast,” I warned deeply.

“Okay,” she agreed.

And twenty minutes later, she did.

I slid in and out, pumping faster each time, over and over again. She gripped my biceps, wrapped her legs all the way around my back and bit down on my shoulder as she came. Of course, feeling her clench around me in every which way, hearing her soft moans and whimpers, and feeling her body beneath my hands as she came apart, meant that I came apart right along with her.

We’d both just come hard and I knew that meant Mia would be in a pliable mood, so I decided it was time for “The talk”.

I wasn't sure if she was ready yet, but I sure as shit was.

See, Madison, my redheaded baby girl, my youngest of three, my fifth tattoo, was about to turn two years old. She was starting to talk a lot, she was walking and eating on her own, and had been for a while, which was exactly why I was ready for another baby in the house.

All my kids’ names were tattooed on my right side and they all wrapped horizontally around my ribs. The first started at the bottom to cover the scar from my stab wound, and the rest went in order by age directly above it.

And I was ready for another tattoo.

I watched as the light flicked off in the bathroom and then Mia walked out, which meant my nerves kicked in. She walked to the bed, climbed back into it and as soon as I felt her heat, I tucked her into my side.

We wrapped around each other and she rested her head on my chest. We stayed like that for a moment and I waited until I knew she was completely relaxed. Then, I decided it was now or never.

“Baby, we need to talk about your pills,” I informed her.

Mia’s hand tracing the tattoo on my chest froze.

“What about them?” she asked, her words sounding cautious. I squeezed her shoulder and quickly wondered if she'd changed her mind about having one more baby, but I hoped not. I was thirty-seven years old so it was time to start working on the last, and if she told me now that she didn't want more, I'd be devastated. I'd respect her decision since it was her body that did all the work, but I'd still be devastated.

“I was thinking it might be a good time for you to stop taking them,” I finished.

Mia quickly rose, lifted on her elbow, peered down at my face and locked her amazing, dark green eyes with mine. Her eyebrows were lifted to her hairline.

“You mean you’re actually talking to me about this instead of just throwing my pills away?” She sounded stunned.

I decided to think before answering - surprising, I know - but I wasn't sure if talking to her about this was a good thing or not. Maybe I should have just thrown them out?

“Well, it was more of a heads-up,” I replied.

Her eyes narrowed. “A heads up that you’re about to start tossing them down the drain?”

“Yep.” I figured I might as well answer honestly, even though I couldn't get a read on her mood. I didn't know if she was open to the idea of trying for another baby or not.

Then, to my complete and utter fuckin’ shock, she grinned.

“Adam, I’m pregnant,” she said through her smile.

I grew still. Surely, I hadn’t heard her right.

“What did you just say?”

Her grin grew massive as she half shrugged.

“I stopped taking my birth control three months ago. I'm pregnant.”

I narrowed my eyes on hers and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was laughing on the inside. I could feel her chest vibrating.

My little redheaded terrorist
.

“You weren’t gonna tell me you stopped taking them?”

“Payback, Baby,” she confirmed, still smiling, and at that smile, my entire body filled with adoration…no, worship. I worshiped my wife. I reached around her head, tangled my fingers in her wild, wavy hair and brought her face down to mine.

“My heart, F
reckles. I fuckin’ love you,” I mumbled against her lips.

Her smile softened to barely there, but her eyes were full of the same worship as mine when she whispered, “My heart, Adam. I fuckin’ love you, too.”

We kissed, both smiling, and a moment later, Mia lifted when we heard the stomping of little feet running down the hall.

“Momma!” I heard Aaron, my five-year-old son, the oldest redheaded twin, my third tattoo, shout just as he barreled into the room. “I told Aiden there was gonna be a buncha girls here today for Laura’s party and he said ‘bitches be crazy’!”

I groaned and muttered, "Oh shit" just as I heard Mia's loud gasp.

I slammed my eyes shut.

I felt him climb into bed and snuggle up to Mia who I could still feel was stiff as a board.

“Nuh uh! I did not say that!” Aiden, my other five-year-old son, the youngest-by-a-minute redheaded twin, my fourth tattoo, shouted in denial just as he climbed into bed behind Aaron. Only he snuggled up to me - possibly for protection.

I opened my eyes to take a quick peek at Mia, but all I saw was red - as in her face of fury red.

I gave her an innocent, yet apologetic smile and silently thanked God that Mia was already pregnant because I had a pretty good feeling she was going to cut off my balls after this.

"Love you," I told her.

"Oh, be quiet, Adam," she countered.

I sighed. Her "Be quiets" really meant "Shut the fuck up" when the kids were present.

"Baby, you wanna tell me again why Laura's having her party here? And why aren't Lex and Landyn here doing this shit instead of us?" I asked just as I stepped off the ladder I’d been using to hang the last of the Happy Birthday banners and decorations. Our house - straight up - looked like a Zebra vomited black and pink. Not that I minded doing anything for my nieces, but hell, their parents had a big enough house for a party.

"Oh, uhhhh..." I heard her voice, but it wasn't close. "Laura wanted to show her girlfriends the goats, so she decided on a petting zoo theme since it's too cold to have a pool party. I don't know. I think Lex rented some animal entertainment lady to come out with ponies and rabbits and other animals for them to pet. Plus, Layla had a soccer game this morning so I volunteered us to decorate since I knew they wouldn't make it here in time."

Well, there you go. That was exactly what I meant about all of us being busy. It was nonstop, but I wasn't complaining.

Okay, well I had been complaining, but all of us being a family...or more appropriately, giving Mia
the big family she'd always wanted, made it all worth it.

It also reminded me just how much I loved my house. As in, I fuckin’
loved it.

Subsequent to my release from the hospital after being shot and stabbed, Mia and I had moved in straightaway with Lex and Landyn for a few months until we were able to sell our old, two-story, Victorian-style house. The old house had been more than nice, and would have been perfect for us to raise our family in, but after everything that had went down inside of it, we’d needed a fresh start.

Now we lived in a single-story, three-thousand square foot, ranch-style house that sat on approximately three acres. I hadn't been sold on the house at first because for some reason, I'd wanted another two-story house, but I'd left the decision up to my wife, and this was the house she'd chosen.

And I gotta say, my wife had impeccable taste in houses.

She had also made a damn good point when she'd informed me, "Adam, I'm not seventy-five years old yet, but speaking for my seventy-five year old self, I refuse to climb stairs to clean rooms on a floor that nobody's going to be living on anyway. So we're not getting another two-story unless you plan on cleaning it yourself, and when I'm seventy-five, you'll be eighty. Think about that."

Again, there you go. That had been the end of the house subject.

But after moving into our badass house four months after selling the old one, I'd then brought up another subject that had been nagging me just as much as the pain in my shoulder.

"Baby, you gonna let me give you a real wedding, or what?" I'd asked.

Her eyes had hit mine and she’d answered waspishly, "Or what."

I'd frowned and considered her words before asking, "You gonna elaborate on that?"

She'd shrugged and replied, "Baby, we're already married. We got married in front of your mother the first time so that's all that matters to me --" I'd opened my mouth to retort, but she'd held up a hand to stop me. "No. No wedding. And before you ask, I don't want another ring. I love the original. You bought it for me when it was all you could afford and...I don't know, it just means the world to me that you kept it after all this time. If you get me another ring, I won't wear it."

And there you go....
a-fuckin-gain. That had been the end of the marriage subject… but
not
the ring subject because
that
, I’d absolutely refused to let her win. However, I had compromised, and instead of buying her a new wedding ring, I had bought her an engagement ring. A two carat, solitary, round-cut diamond set in platinum that she wore and never took off.