Page 80 of Grift

Epilogue

Jessica

The sand is powdery soft under my bare feet as I walk along the shoreline. From here, I watch Patrick playing with the boys. There’s nothing quite like a Nantucket summer with its endless skies and blue water to wash away the stress.

His broad shoulders fill out the casual button down he’s wearing, muscles stretching the fabric to the limit, and as he ducks and weaves the shirt rides up revealing a flat stomach.

My mouth goes dry at the sight.

Lord, that man instills impure thoughts.

And it’s not just me, I note with amusement. There’s a line of sixty-something ladies in broad sunhats, sitting in beach chairs, practically licking their lips as they take him in. Their magazines have dropped into their laps and they’ve given up any pretense of other intentions.

I love it. He doesn’t even notice.

But what rivets my attention is his face: relaxed, at ease, and happy.

He’s still powerful and commanding, everything about him saying that he’s a protector, a provider, and not a man to be taken lightly.

Yet there’s something else, a different kind of warmth – not just the once angry fire that was so much of who he was– but the heat that gets stoked by love, security, and acceptance.

“Daddy!” Shrieks little Patrick as his father swings him up into the air, his dark curls catching the sun.

Much like his father, our oldest boy is big, fearless, and already hungry for adventures. He’s going to be quite a handful.

His brother, Declan, is calmer and watches their antics with a wary eye.

But he seems happy enough to be pulled in.

I treasure these times.

When we’re away from the casino, the Carneys, my job at the museum.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love our life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything – not even to go back and wipe out every awful thing that happened to me before I found this man. Although I’d never have believed it possible, there’s nothing you could offer me that I’d want more than what I have today.

But there’s something in Patrick – a freeness, a lightness, an ease – that he only seems to find when we’re alone.

He and I, or us with our children.

His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, an electric thrill shoots along my spine at the promise held there as they narrow slightly, his lips curving up into a wicked smile.

It’s obvious he knows the effect that he has on me, and he’s shameless about using it to his advantage.

Chubby fingers grab for my hand, and I instinctively reach down for my daughter to pull her out of the waves. At fourteen months, Marley is a holy terror, toddling on fat legs and completely fearless. She holds her own with her brothers and is the apple of her father’s eye.

Despite those initial rocky moments in our marriage, Patrick is the kind of father either of us could only dream of having. And he’s a better husband than I could have ever imagined possible.

Funny, engaging, and playful. He takes a real interest in whatever the kids are fascinated by. Protective, wise, and far more patient that I could ever manage. Not above the occasional stern “Don’t make me come over there,” always accompanied by a wink the kids never see.

And he’d grown to be the kind of husband I’d never dared hope for.

His eyes come back to me again, and he waves me over. I hoist Marley up in my arms, her wet and sandy feet skimming at my dress. There’s a blanket spread out, with a picnic basket awaiting us.

Patrick takes Marley, who immediately nuzzles into his neck and I can’t help but smile at the flash of love that crosses his face.

The boys are working on string cheese, and my husband settles in behind me, stretching out his long, muscled legs on either side of my body.

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