“Yeah, Daddy, another,” Ava said, echoing Lance’s yawn. Even though they could’ve easily had their own bedrooms, the twins were convinced they wanted to share a room until they were 104. We’d see how they felt about that when the teenage years came swinging by.
I walked over to them and kissed each of their foreheads. “Not tonight. We’ve already read four books, and it’s way past your bedtime.”
They both pouted, but I wasn’t going to give in. The night before, I ended up reading them six books. Shay called me a pushover. I agreed times a million. It wasn’t a surprise that the kids loved stories so much, seeing as how their mother was one of the most amazing storytellers of all time.
Good enough for an Oscar.
Again, if you asked me, she was robbed.
I turned off the kids’ bedroom light and headed to my room to fall into bed with a very exhausted wife.
She was already half asleep as I crawled into bed beside her. I kissed her forehead as I pulled her body against mine. She melted into me as if her heartbeats were made to solely fit against mine.
“I’m so happy,” she whispered, brushing her lips against mine.
“Me too.” So damn happy.
She yawned and snuggled in closer. Her eyes were closed as sleepiness began to pull her in for the remainder of the night, but her lips parted as she softly asked me the most important question of my life: “How’s your heart?”
“Completely full,” I replied.
That heart of mine? That damaged, battered, and bruised heart that sat inside of my chest? It would always be beating for her.
I meant that.
I meant always.