Page 89 of Surviving Midnight

I can’t help but chuckle as Peg narrows her green and gold eyes, her tiny hands balled into fists. Our kids are thick as thieves; Miles always the protector, Peg always the doting little tagalong, but she inherited my hot temper and has a tendency to blow her top when her brother pushes. And let me tell you, my son definitely pushes.

“Margaret Ann Wyatt!” Theo pops her head up over the side of the mattress. “Were you the one snooping in Mama’s closet?”

Peg’s gaze swings our way, bouncing between me and my wife’s eyeballs and nose. She chews her lip just like Theo and blushes. “Maybe.”

“She was.” Miles leans against the doorway and pushes his dark mop from his forehead. “Uncle Jackal and me busted her and Uncle Spider. Peg was even sitting on his shoulders.”

“Miles Elliot Finlay Wyatt, it is not nice to tattle on your sister.”

Our son looks a little sheepish and I shoot my wife a look. I’ll never undermine Theo, she’s an amazing mother and usually has to keep me in line because I’m as much of a sucker for both my kids as I am for her, but I’m not sure who we’re scolding right now.

“So...” Peg digs her bare toes into the carpet as she drops her shoulders. “So, Santa didn’t come?”

Miles’s head pops up, his eyes squinting at both of us. He’s less sleepy now, but he needs his glasses to really read our expressions.

Theo sighs, forgets she’s naked for a second and almost stands up but catches herself at the last second. “I’m sorry, babies. I didn’t mean to scold either of you, just remember, try not to spoil surprises or tattle on each other.” Then she smiles and fuck, it’s still like a punch in the gut. “Of course Santa came. You two are the most wonderful kiddos ever and I’m sure Santa went a little overboard this year just like always.”

That was a direct shot at me.

I’mthe one that goes overboard every year, but Theo lets me. She knows I can’t help myself because I want our kids to have everything I didn’t, including parents who love each other unconditionally.

Which is why I scoot to the edge of the bed and grab my sweats off the floor. “How about we go get started on breakfast while Mama makes the bed?” With practiced ease, I tug them on under the sheet just as Peg walks toward me and takes my face in her little hands.

“Did Santa really come, Daddy?”

Miles joins her slowly, stands just behind his baby sister and damn, I have to catch my breath all over again because sometimes it is so fucking crazy to think this is my life.

Theo and I got married at the stroke of midnight New Year’s Eve one week after I officially proposed. We had a very small ceremony in the backyard of Jackal’s new house, only the EC in attendance and Pope officiating as usual. It was beautiful and meaningful but the icing on the cake was Theo’s wedding gift.

She took out her IUD and within about two weeks, my blonde bombshell made me a father.

Miles Elliot Finlay Wyatt was born at midnight October 15th. He was nine pounds, two ounces and twenty-one and a half inches long with a head full of jet-black curls, amber eyes and a set of lungs to rival even his Uncle Jackal. Miles is very reserved now though, almost stoic for a five-year-old, but he’s got a great sense of humor, a right hook like any heavyweight and unfortunately, our son also inherited his Mama’s accident-prone nature.

Margaret Ann Wyatt came along two years later, almost exactly, our baby girl making her grand entrance again at midnight on October 17th. She’s a petite little thing despite weighing more than her brother did by six ounces, Peg built just like her Mama with a tiny frame and short stature. She’s a feisty little pixie with bright green eyes dotted in gold, a hot temper and boisterous personality, but she’s also sweet as pie and has every single one of her uncles wrapped around her little finger.

Both kids have my dark hair, but Peg’s is pin straight like Theo’s and they both have her freckles, although Miles’ complexion is more olive like mine.

Our babies are a nice blend of both of us and looking at them right now, so much love and hope staring back at me, fuck it just slays me.

“Are you kidding?” I scoop my daughter up in my arms, get to my feet and smile. “Santa always hits our house first because he knows you are definitely the most wonderful kiddos ever, just like Mama said.” My knees bend as I toss Miles over my shoulder, both of them laughing and shouting as we make our way to the door. “Let’s get a head start on breakfast, help Mama out a little.”

“Don’t burn anything down!” Theo giggles from behind the bed. “Just pull ingredients and I’ll make the pancakes when I’m...done making the bed.”

George 2.0 darts passed us and lumbers down the stairs, Fabio on his back like he’s riding a horse, and for the third time in as many minutes, I can’t fucking believe this is my life.

When we realized fixing the clubhouse was more trouble than it was worth, Prez took an alternate route and bought two huge pieces of land just outside Sabine Woods. The smaller of the two was the site for a new clubhouse, a place for our patches that decided to stick around even after Prez stopped dabbling in the illegal side of business.

Mostly.

We still have some runners when an opportunity presents that’s too good to pass up and yeah, we organize it and oversee the whole thing, but the EC doesn’t get hands on anymore.

The bigger piece of land? Prez started a damn commune.

Everyone on the EC except Spider—originally, he’s in the process of finishing up his place now—had a house built on it and once it was completed about the same time Peg was born, we all moved into these beautiful fucking homes within acres of each other.

Our house is amazing.

Five bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms, a living room, formal dining room, kitchen with breakfast nook, family room, Theo’s office and a completely finished basement that doubles as a playroom and man cave. We also have a three-car garage that is home to Theo’s Jeep, the SUV I bought when we found out about Miles, and my Fat Boy.

---