Page 122 of Fractured
He. Shook. His. Head.
The kids gasped.
Then giggled.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
He stared at me and lifted his brows.
“Are you telling me that you forgot all about Larson’s wedding? The wedding where our kids are supposed to be ready to help usher guests to their seats? Where Zada is a flower girl? Is your fucking phone broken?”
His eyes flared and his face paled, “Fuck.”
I glared.
Then I snapped, “Fix this. Fix it fucking now.”
He nodded, then ushered the kids to the bathroom.
We were over an hour late, and at the sight of the kids with wet hair still, Penelope winked.
***
He buried his face in my neck and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I sighed, “Who started the fight?”
He chuckled, “Zada.”
I lifted a brow and asked, “Why?”
“Ryder told her that girls don’t know what spark plugs are.”
I looked at my girl, then I winked, “Good job.”
“Mama!” Ryder gasped.
Isaiah chuckled, “Warned you.”
I took in our kids, then my husband and I planned.
That next night... I may or may not have been the first to fling peas at him.
Needless to say, the kids had a ball, and we spent the better part of four hours cleaning our house from peas, mashed potatoes, and meat loaf.
Guess it’s a good thing that one fractured soul recognizes another.
Because we were both living our best lives.
And we had more to look forward to.
If I didn’t smother my sons in their sleep.
I didn’t know that a deviated septum was genetic.
‘Forever is a long time, so be sure.
And if the mere thought that they are unhappy causes your own heart to break...
