Epilogue

Harlen

One Year Later

“SHE REALLY IS PERFECT FOR YOU.”

Looking down at my aunt, I see her eyes are focused across the room on Harmony, who’s
standing under her dad’s arm smiling at something one of her brothers is saying. Taking her
in, my chest gets tight and my stomach fills with pride and possessiveness.

Three hours ago, I made her my wife at the front of a small church, with friends and close
family.

Three hours ago, she walked down the aisle toward me, her white lace dress skimming her
body and flowing out at her waist.

Three hours ago, I took her hand when her dad entrusted me with her.

Three hours ago, I realized I had been wrong all the times before, because her face right
before she became my wife was the most beautiful I had ever seen her.

“So perfect for you.”

My aunt’s words pull me from my thoughts, and I focus on her. “She is,” I agree, as her arms
slide around my waist and she tucks herself into my side.

“Your parents would be proud of you, Harlen Alistair MacCabe. So darn proud of the man
you’ve become.” Her words wash through me, and I wrap my arm tighter around her
shoulders. “You’ve done good for yourself, kid.”

“You had a hand in me becoming the man I am,” I tell her, and her body jolts in surprise.
Christ, have I never told her that?

“She’s making you soft.” I hear the tears in her voice, and then see them when she tips her
head back to look up at me.

“Probably,” I agree without a shred of regret, and she laughs, wiping the tears off her
cheeks.

Looking around the room, I take in all the familiar faces, and then my eyes land on the large
photo of my parents. Harmony wanted them with us today. I didn’t know she had it planned,
but when we walked into the reception hand in hand, I saw that photo and knew that, even
without the picture, they were here. In some way or another, they have always been with me.
I still miss them every day, but I know they had a hand in me finding the woman I married
and the life I live.
Harlen

Six Years Later

Hearing Ava cry through the baby monitor on the nightstand, and feeling Harmony starting to
get up, I place my hand against her round stomach to still her. “Stay, I got her.”

I kiss her bare shoulder then roll out of bed and head out of our room, down the hall to our
five-year-old daughter Ava’s room. Seeing her shadowy figure sitting up in bed, I walk across
the dark room and flip on her lamp. The base is the head of a unicorn, the shade a soft
cotton candy pink that is the same color as pretty much everything else in her bedroom.

“You okay?” I ask my baby girl, picking her up when she holds her arms out to me, and she
shakes her head.

“There’s a monster.” She sniffles, and I run my hand down the back of her long, soft hair as
she tucks her face into my neck and wraps her tiny arms around my shoulders.

“There’s no monsters in here, baby,” I assure her quietly, feeling her shake.

“There is. I saw it.” She pulls her face out of my neck to look at me, and then points. “It’s in
the closet.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” She nods, and I give her a squeeze then kiss her forehead.

“Okay, let me get my sword.” I go across the room with her still in my arms and pick up the
plastic silver sword leaning against the wall by the door. Taking hold of the hilt, I whisper,
“You open the door to the closet, and I’ll kill him.”

Nodding, she leans over and opens the door to the closet then quickly tucks her face into my
neck. Like I do at least a few times a week, I swing out the sword, making grunting noises,
spinning around and dancing, and then finish with a downward plunge into the imaginary
monster’s chest.

“There. He’s gone,” I say, and Ava lifts her head and looks around the room then peeks into
the closet. “See? All taken care of.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” God, no matter how many times a day I hear her call me that, it never
gets old.

“You’re welcome, baby. You ready to get back into bed?”

“Yes.” She nods. Dropping the sword back to its spot by the door, I carry her to her bed and
lay her down, pulling the blankets up around her shoulder and kissing the top of her head. “Is
tomorrow doughnut day?” she asks, sounding already half asleep.
I grin. “Yeah, baby. Tomorrow’s doughnut day.”

“Yippie,” she whispers, as her eyes slide closed.

“See you in the morning.” I kiss her hair once more, turn out her lamp, and then head across
her dark room. Climbing back into bed with Harmony, I fit myself against her back and rest
my hand over our soon-to-arrive second daughter.

“Harlen Alistair MacCabe, the Scottish lord and slayer of monsters,” she says, and even
though I can’t see her face through the dark, I know she’s smiling.

“Do anything for my girls.”

“We know.” She scoots back, cuddling closer.

“Sleep, Angel.”

“Still so bossy,” she mumbles, sounding like she’s still smiling.

Ignoring her comment, I kiss the top of her head then listen to her breathing even out as she
falls back asleep.

Harmony

Four Years Later

“No, it’s mine!” Ava cries, holding a pink-frosted sprinkled doughnut over her head, just out of
her little sister’s reach.

“No, I want it!” our daughter, Lillian, yells, standing on her tiptoes trying to reach the
doughnut but failing, since she’s about a foot and a half too short.

“How about neither of you get it?” Harlen growls, and I look down at our six-week-old son
Alistair to hide my smile from our girls.

“Dad, that’s not fair! I saw it first,” Ava says, and I’m sure if I looked up at her, she would be
jetting out her bottom lip in a pout, a look she has perfected over the years. A look that
normally gets her whatever she wants from her daddy. I also know she’s lying. When Harlen
came home and dropped the box of donuts on the table, both girls opened the box at the
same time, and both of them reached for that doughnut at the same time. Ava just got to it
first.

“Give me the doughnut, Ava,” he orders, and I look up just in time to watch him hold out his
hand and her place it in his upturned palm.

“Daddy,” Lillian whispers in horror, as he shoves the whole thing in his mouth and swallows it
without really even chewing.
“Now it’s gone. Pick another one, stop arguing, and go watch TV,” he orders, and I hold back
laughter, because he’s seriously funny when he’s trying to be tough. Something he’s not
very good at being with his babies.

“Need some milk, honey?” I ask, and his eyes come to me and narrow. “What? Just asking.”
I bite my lip, and his eyes drop to my mouth then down to our son that is attached to my
breast, where he’s enjoying his Saturday breakfast. When his eyes meet mine again, I see
frustration there. Then again, he hasn’t gotten laid for over six weeks. I just got word from
the doctor that the seal could finally be broken a couple of days ago, but with the girls and a
new little one, we haven’t had a chance, so he’s not the only one who’s frustrated.

“Did you eat?” he questions, and I shake my head. “Angel, you need to eat.” He comes to
me, taking Alistair when I lift him off my breast, then bends to kiss me. Hearing the doorbell
ring, he leans back to look at me, ordering, “Eat something. I’ll get the door.” Kissing my
forehead, he carries Alistair toward the front door, patting his back.

I listen to the door open, and then hear the sound of my dad and mom greeting Harlen. My
face softens as my dad says something that makes Harlen laugh while the girls run through
the house—a house we bought after Lillian was born—both of them yelling for their grandma
and grandpa. Hearing all that, I smile to myself, get up, and head to the kitchen to make
myself something to eat.

***

“Honey,” I whimper against Harlen’s ear eight hours later, and his fingers that had been
playing lazily between my legs speed up.

“Do not wake the kids,” he orders gruffly, and I bite my lip.

“I need you.”

“You’ll get me.” His thumb rolls against my clit, and my back arches off the bed, sending his
fingers deeper. “God, so fucking tight, and so goddamn wet. I’ve missed this,” he says, still
toying with me.

I squeeze my eyes closed then move quickly, rolling him to his back, straddling his waist,
and impaling myself on his cock. “I’ve missed this,” I tell him, riding him hard as one of his
hands wraps around my hip, the other cupping my breast.

“Fuck,” he groans, and I look down at him, his eyes meeting mine.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Angel.” He lifts his hips into mine then sits up, capturing my breast with his
mouth and pulling my nipple deep, sending a shockwave of pleasure through me. “Give it to
me.”
“Yes,” I pant as I start to come, going over the edge and pulling him along with me when I
feel him pulse deep inside me. Falling against his chest, breathing heavy, I shiver as his
hands slide up and down my back.

“That was way too quick. Give me twenty minutes and we’re gonna try that again,” he says,
and I laugh, tucking my face into his neck then closing my eyes when I hear Alistair wake
through the baby monitor.

“I’ll go get him,” he says, kissing my lips then my forehead before pulling out of me and
rolling out of bed. He puts on a pair of pajama bottoms and leaves the room. Watching him
go, I know without a doubt that some of the most beautiful things in life are things you don’t
plan for, and my amazing life is proof of that.