Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“Now, who’s soundin’ a little too ‘Tell-Tale Heart’?”
“And why Dad couldn’t wait to complete his paramedic recertification so that’s why Uncle T or Abuelo or Grandpa or Pop has to be the one to walk them down the aisle-”
“There’s no fuckin’ way I’m gonna miss those moments, Arley. Any of them.”
“Newsflash, Cowboy. You’re already missin’ those moments.”
This time his mouth cracks open, yet nothing comes out.
“Those moments are these moments. The only difference is age.”
Once more his mouth twitches but doesn’t release a round.
“And yeah, some of these things they won’t remember, but some of them they will. And I want them to remember Daddy being a part of their world, not just that he was off saving everyone else’s.”
To my surprise, Slater smashes his lips together a second time.
Swallows whatever anger or sadness my speech conjured.
And gives me a solitary nod that’s followed by a painfully faint, “Copy that.”
Chapter 5
Slater
It doesn’t matter that I haven’t eaten a real meal in over twenty-four hours.
That I could really use a shot of caffeine.
That I’m probably gonna get less than four hours of sleep tonight because that’s how the holiday always goes.
My girls – all of them – need me right now, and my main mission in life is to be there for them.
No matter the sacrifice.
“Alright, princesses,” I hoist them up into my arms so that they can each rest comfortably on one of my hips, “here’s the incomin’ POA.” Lair Bear’s head hits my chest while Lu folds her hands attentively on top of my shoulder. “We’re gonna put out milk and cookies for the big man, feed the pups, get you girls a quick shower, then it’s teeth, books, and candles. Lair Bear you were on book duty last night, which means it’s Lu’s turn.” The three of us follow closely behind Angel Cake who is moving towards the front door. “We are gonna do all that together while Mommy enjoys a nice, long, hot bubble bath with a special cup of hot cocoa.”
Arley curiously glances over her shoulder after typing in the code to our keyless front door. “Is Daddy bringing Mommy that aforementioned cup of hot cocoa?”
I let the corners of my lip kick upward. “He would most certainly be honored to.”
“I’d like that.” She pushes the handle at the same time she announces. “And I’d also like the type of cocoa that is tequila, please.”
“Roger.”
Laughter leaves us both only to be abruptly interrupted by our two German Shepherds, Tortilla and Disco, joyfully greeting us the instant we step inside. The girls immediately match their excitement prompting me to lower them to the ground so that all four can hug and kiss and playfully chase each other around.
Getting dogs actually wasn’t my idea.
And I damn sure wouldn’t have gotten two.
But like having twins – something I couldn’t predict – getting Tortilla and Disco last year was a pleasant surprise. Both went through military training and were intended to be field dogs, yet both ended up with minor injuries that prevented the actual transition. Civilian guard dogs seemed like a natural alternative. Unfortunately, due to some rules and regulations and red tape no one wanted to cut through, that opportunity became impossible until Seventeen sent me a text suggesting they might be a great addition to our home security routine. Of course, he sent my wife that message first, which led to a rather unnecessary – though well put together – presentation on why we needed them. Truth is, had she or the girls ever expressed merely wanting one, I would’ve loaded us up into the truck, gone to the shelter, and started shopping for a good fit.
Funny thing about these two?
They’re just like all the other best things in my life.
I didn’t go looking for them.
They just happened.
Getting our hungry, happy boys fed wisely ends up coming before arguing over which type of milk and cookies to leave for Santa. With the pups distracted, we have to worry less about them mistaking the man in red’s treats as their own. While they are impressively well disciplined, they’re not exactly saints in the food department. Between the girls and the rest of our very large family, they’re snuck table scraps so often that the vet scolds me personally each time they have to go in for an upset stomach.
As soon as I open the stainless-steel fridge door, World War Milk ensues.
Lu’s vote is attached to a finger point at the top shelf. “Santa should have chocolate.”
“No. Santa need all da milk,” Lair Bear rebuts, her refusal to call it almond milk one that never fails to make me smirk.
“Chocolate.”
“All da milk.”
“Cho.co.late.”
“All.da.milk.”
“How about we hit pause on the milk? Switch tasks? What type of cookies should we leave out?”
“Chocolate!” Lair Bear immediately responds like the answer had been locked and loaded and just waiting to fire.