Page 129 of Smith

The five of us together, free and clear of the garbage. Breathing easy. Living clean.

“You only say that because your cheap ass never paid.” Theo chuckled. “Freeloader.”

“I take offense to that. I paid.”

“Yeah, for your hookers,” Theo smoothly reminded Cash.

“I never paid for sex,” he denied.

Liar.

“Listen to the jackass,” Easton started. “Pulling a Bill Clinton. A blowjob is sex, pal.”

“Oh, well, if you include a blowy, I’ve paid for those.”

I listened as my brothers threw jabs and ribbed each other.

Never in my wildest dreams would I think this would be my life. Never, when I was growing up in Detroit, did I imagine one day I’d be living in a five-bedroom house, in a nice neighborhood. Never did I believe I’d win the love of a beautiful woman who was way too good for me but didn’t think she was.

Those times had been hopeless.

Now I had it all.

Everything.

I was living a dream I didn’t know how to hope for.

I couldn’t save a young, sweet, pretty girl from her demons.

I couldn’t save myself from wallowing in my guilt.

But Aria could.

My attention went to the commotion in the house.

Aria wove through the crush of people, headed to the foyer.

I pushed out of chair and made my way inside.

The smell of Aria’s candles burning assaulted me. Something else I’d never thought about—the smell of home. The scent was always different; the woman had truckloads of candles. But every day when I came home from work, Aria had one lit. They used to burn on the island in my small kitchen. Now they burned all around our home.

“Oh my God!” I heard Aria shout.

“Surprise!”

Captain Taylor.

“What are you doing here? You don’t come home for a week.”

I got to the door as Aria threw herself into her father’s arms. Lucas wrapped his arms around his girl but his gaze came to me.

“You didn’t think I’d miss your welcome home party, did you?”

All those months ago, Lucas had been right. I knew it then but I understood now.

Aria had made us a home. She helped me put down roots, then she planted hers next to mine.

“Well, yeah. You don’t go terminal until next week.”

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