sound of her when I’m feckin’ her is good enough for me.
“Feck, Chevelle.” I climb in bed, feel across the sheets, wondering how she could be mad.
But I have a bigger problem than my wife’s sometimes attitude.
She ain’t here.
Cold, nauseating dread fills my veins. In a split second, I’m up tae high doh. Moving in overdrive, I stagger over my big feet as I climb from the bed. I shove my legs back into my jeans, then reach beneath the custom mattress for the cool steel of a .9 millimeter.
“Chevelle!” I shout, stalking past the bedroom door. “Where are ye, hen?”
I clamber across the dark living room, calling out to her and moving toward the opposite side of the house for Mia’s bedroom.
“Shhhh.”
At the sound, my next move is automatic. I press my forearm up and bring my opponent down. By the time I blink, Chevelle is arse up on the ground, her face down.
I press the gun into the back of my waistband and pull her up, pressing her close to me. “Hen, I’m sorry.”
This has been the worst day of my feckin’ life. I’m on high alert.
She slaps at my chest, trying to take a step back. “What kind of entertainment did the MacKenzie boys enjoy after the game? How drunk are you to think I’m an intruder, huh?”
“I—”
“And a gun!”
“Nae gun!”
Chevelle sighs. “Baby, I know sports will have you filled with testosterone, which in certain scenarios I don’t mind, but a gun? You’re drunk, running around. You could kill somebody!”
Already did, and I’m not satisfied. “I’m not drunk.” I snap at her for talking nonsense, eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Ha! Not drunk, and you were out with Brody all night?”
Yup. Best to be drunk. I change my tune. “Well, I’m protectin’ my home. Hen, ya know I never get that drunk. I love ye!”
“Awe, I love you too, baby.” She pouts then proceeds to wag a finger. “But don’t have Brody signing your ticket to the doghouse. It’s ‘gun this’ and ‘pussy that’ with him! Don’t make me regret the olive branch. I will snatch that sucker right back.”
I cross my heart.
Smiling, she gestures to the light in the pantry. “Our security system is still Fort Knox. The culprit is three feet tall, Leith. It’s safe to assume she’s fallen asleep with the cereal again. I’m returning to bed. Please put the gun away before carrying your child to hers. Baby, also assume that you’ve forfeited your nightly kiss.”
“Why?”
“You know why. The gun, Leith.” She saunters away, and my eyes squeeze shut.
“Bloody feck!” I mouth the words, pumping my fists around in a contained silence. I didna use half the brain cells I own earlier. I grip the gun in my hand, contemplating how I attempted to handle the shite the MacKenzie way and not the Leith way. That was my motherfeckin’ problem. Not calculating my opponent’s move.
Opening a drawer in the island, I place the gun among the kitchen appliance junk, the auld hand-can opener, cheddar grate, shite like that.
Mia stands in the pantry with the cereal container hugged to her chest, not a single crumb on her chubby caramel cheeks. Doe-eyes stare up at me. “Daddy, trouble?”
“Aye. Ye and me both, lassie.”
She nods, accepting this fate. “Help me, Daddy.”
Apparently, she wasn’t able to get into this new contraption of a thing her mam bought.
“Why not.” I open it, pour a bit of the colorful cereal into her cupped palms, then open my mouth like a dump truck. After eating some, I ask, “Mia, do ye think this would taste good in a pint?”
“Oh, grown-up juice?” She stares at me like I’m the smartest lad on planet Earth.
“Aye. Grown-up juice.”
“Yeah. Very good, Daddy. Me have some too.”
“Nae.” I scoop her up into one arm and walk her back to bed. In my best Englishman voice, I say, “No waking Mum, Mia. No. No.”
“Aye, aye!” She giggles, objecting.
I toss her into the bed, and she bounces a few times before settling against the headboard. “Again?”
“Na—no!” Fine-tuning my dialect is a lot easier at work. Well, it was before the shite hit the fan. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Say yer prayers so that God won’t laugh ye outta heaven.”
“Mommy says, ‘God no laugh. God love.’”
“Say ‘em.”
She turns her tiny hand into a paw, beckoning me. “Be the leprechaun, Daddy!”
“Nae, and if yer nan hears ye saying it again, I’ll spank ye—with a belt.”
“Okay. Pirate Daddy!” She grips a stuffed animal in each hand, banging them