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“Okay.” I smile at my husband, because he is the best husband in the world. “Thank you.”

He comes around the desk, bending low to press a soft kiss to my lips. “You sure you’re good?”

I nod. “I just feel a bit tired, is all.”

“Tired?” He frowns. “You coming down with something?”

Just crashing after an emotional storm.

“I’m just tired.”

He dips his chin again. “Alright. I’ll see you at home.”

“You will,” I vow.

He kisses me again before I watch him walk out the door with Tanner. I manage to get half my sub down as I pluck away at company emails. Elise decides to close up shop early, so I’m home before Tate and Owen get back from school pickup.

33

HOME

OCTOBER 2016 – 25 YEARS OLD

“Can I have a treat?” Owen bounces into the house with the kind of energy that might make one assume he’s had a direct intravenous injection of pure sugar. I release Duke from his leash to bounce alongside Owen, ever eager to share in the excitement. “Please, mama.”

Tate opens the bag to showcase a hoard of Halloween candy. I half expect drool to slither down the side of Owen’s mouth and have to work to smother my smirk as I watch him lean over the bag, jitters pulsing through his little body as he struggles to pick just one. Duke is in there like a dirty shirt, little nose sniffing at the bag.

When Owen has touched at least fifty candy bars, Tate says, “Just one more tonight, little man.”

Owen doesn’t tear his eyes from his loot as he nods. But he bargains, “But more tomorrow, right?”

“Right, bud.”

“And the day after that?”

Tate’s grin stretches, “You got it.”

“Can I bring one to school?”

Tate bends down with a wink. “You can bring two.”

“Really?” Owen snatches a KitKat with a toothy grin. “Mrs. Lark doesn’t like sugar.”

Tate shrugs. “Eh, it’s Halloween.”

“Alright, you two.” I step in before things can get out of hand and Tate tells Owen that what doesn’t kill Mrs. Lark will make her stronger—and Owen sees fit to catalogue that into his brain for prompt in-class repeating.

I look to my son. “Finish up your candy bar and boogie on upstairs, Officer Wilder, it’s off-duty time.”

Owen gives me a chocolaty grin. “I want to be a police officer next year.”

“You make a very charming police officer.” I bend to gather him for a squeeze. “And you can be anything you want.”

Owen leans back. “Can I be a real police officer? Like Uncle Colt?”

God, I hope not. My mama heart can’t handle that…

I say, “You can be anything you want to be.”