RENTHROW

“How do I look?” Cordelia steps out of the bathroom wearing a bright pink sweater with my hockey jersey number and my last name on the back. A long flowing white skirt falls to her ankles.

My throat gets dry and I feel that familiar thrum in my chest. It’s been ten years of marital bliss and I’m still so in awe of this woman.

She’s dazzlingly beautiful—inside and out. And I still have to pinch myself every now and again to make sure I'm not dreaming.

“Babe?” Cordelia arches a black brow, her big, doe eyes sparkling. She knows the effect she has on me. Of course she does. I don’t know how to hide it.

“You look incredible.”

“Pink isn’t exactly my color.” Cordelia pulls the sweatshirt away and scrunches her nose at it. “But I will say that Rebel found the softest cotton on the planet.”

I walk up to my wife and cup her stomach, my heart dancing as I connect with her baby bump. “It was a very thoughtful gift. Maybe if you get enough sweatshirts from our friends, you’ll stop stealing mine.”

My wife laughs. “Never.”

Cordelia’s laughter is music to my ears and I can’t resist pulling her close for a long, sweet kiss. She melts into me and tries to press forward but her belly makes it difficult to close the gap.

She groans and pulls back, looking frustrated. “I’m getting so much bigger than I expected.”

Seeing her staring at herself critically, I walk around her, slip my arms around her waist from behind and pull her into me so her back is flush against my chest.

She makes a little gasp of surprise when I dip my head to her neck and kiss the delicate skin of her throat and then her pulse point right at her neck and then behind her ear, letting my stubble scrape against her the way she likes.

Cordelia makes another delightful moan and snakes her hand around my neck, leaning her head to the side to expose more of her delicious throat.

Even as she does so, she scolds me, “Cool it, Mr. Renthrow. This is how we got Baby Number Two and Three. I told you, I’m done after this one.”

“It’s your fault for being so stunning,” I whisper, noticing the way she shudders as I deepen my voice.

“You really think so?” she asks, getting a little emotional.

I’ve learned, after ten years of marriage, that Cordelia is not as tough as she’d like the world to believe. And I love that she trusts me with the soft, vulnerable parts of her. It's been a journey to this point.

Before we got married, Cordelia went to therapy to talk about her feelings on marriage and motherhood. I supported her every step of the way and attended every therapy session she asked me to. Though she agreed she wanted to be a mother, she was still a little scared about it. I deeply wanted that decision to have kids to be her own and not something she felt she had to do to make me happy. And I also wanted her to know that she is my wife, my number one priority and whether or not we had kids together would never change that.

And it hasn't.

But... now that we do have a growing family, I can't imagine my life without them.

“Don’t you think I’m much bigger now than in any of my previous pregnancies?”

I shake my head. “I think you’re perfect. I love your belly that’s carrying our child now. And your stretchmarks from carrying our two babies before. And your scent—oh, your scent when you’ve had a long day at the garage and you smell of engine oil…”

She tilts her head up. “No way. That’s gross.”

“Gross or not, I can’t keep my hands off you.” I graze my fingers down her arms as evidence.

Cordelia tilts her head toward me. Her eyes are more black than chocolate brown as her pupils dilate and I lean down to start necking her properly when there’s a crash downstairs.

We both jerk apart.

“Everything’s okay!” Gordie yells nervously from wherever she is in the house.

“Uh-oh. What happened now?” Cordelia grumbles.

I laugh and shake my head. “Let’s go check it out.”

I hold my wife’s hand as we move briskly down the stairs—but not too briskly. I can’t risk Cordelia tripping.

“There, there,” Sasha is helping our youngest to her feet from the rubble of an over-turned kiddie tricycle.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart.” My mother is bundling our middle child into her arms. He’s crying just because his sister is.

Gordie bounces behind her youngest sibling. “Are you okay?”

“What’s going on?” Cordelia asks.

Gordie looks at me with a flash of guilt.

“Gordie,” I say in a scolding tone.

“I was on my phone for one teeny-minute and they got their bikes out,” she explains.

“I asked you to watch your sister and brother, not be on your phone.”

“I know, dad.” She makes a long-suffering sigh.

My eyes land on the tricycles that are both shaped and painted like motorcycles. Cordelia’s love of bikes has been handed down to each of our children, including Gordie. And it makes me a little nervous.

“If you want a bike at this young age, you have to prove your responsible,” I add.

“Dad, I am responsible. I take perfect care of the e-bike. I even studied the engine and helped mom fix it because it breaks down so often. Tell him, mom.”

I glance over at Cordelia and notice her stifling back a smile.

“She has a point,” my wife says.

“Don’t encourage her,” I answer quietly, feeling a smile growing too.

Our moms have quieted the toddlers and they totter to us.

“It’s not a big deal, Viking,” mom says. “The kids are no worse for wear.”

“They have their mother’s adventurous spirit,” Sasha agrees. She grins at Cordelia who grins back. “I’ve seen how fast they go on those bikes. A few scrapes are a part of the deal.”

I pick up our youngest while Cordelia lifts our middle child into her arms.

“Even so, Gordie…”

Gordie sighs the way teenaged girls universally do. “I know. I know. If I want to prove I can handle a motorcycle, I have to prove that I’m mature enough to make good decisions. I’ve heard it a million times, dad. Mom, please…” Gordie pouts. “I didn’t mean to not pay attention.”

Cordelia sets her hand on my arm. “None of the kids are hurt.”

“But—”

“Our friends and family will be here any minute. We don’t want to ruin the mood.”

I’m helpless against this woman. How can I stay mad when she bats her eyes at me like that?

“Fine.” I wag a finger at Gordie. “But your age limit to ride a bike just went up to thirty-two.”

“Dad…” Gordie sighs. “I can legally ride one when I’m eighteen.”

“Your mom knows how to set up a bike engine and she knows how to take one apart too.” I warn.

“Don’t bring me into this,” Cordelia interjects laughingly.

Gordie swoops into my arms and gives me a hug. Batting her eyelashes, she says, “I’ll do better, daddy. I promise. Now about mom’s bike—”

“Knock, knock!” A voice sing-songs and the front door opens to let Rebel, Gunner and their brood of children in.

April and Chance are right behind them with their kids as well.

In about two seconds flat, the population of human beings under ten years old in the house quadruples.

Our toddlers rush to Gunner and Rebel’s kids. And Cordelia rushes to Rebel and April as if she didn’t just see them last week.

To be fair, my wife hasn’t been at the garage now that she’s so close to giving birth. If I didn’t throw a fit about her safety and how exhausted she was after work, Cordelia would probably give birth to our fourth child inside a broken-down car.

While the ladies gush, my teammates walk over to me.

“The rest of the team isn’t here yet?” Chance asks.

“Those guys are chronically late," Gunner says with a shake of his head.

"As usual.” I smirk.

But one by one, our other friends and family trickle in. People use the kitchen chairs for somewhere to sit while most of the kids take the floor or the porch outside.

I look around at the packed room, at Gordie who’s chatting with her friends and showing off her new motorcycle jacket from Cordelia. At Sasha and my mother who are weaving in and out of the crowd, making sure everyone is taken care of.

At my teammates—who are like my family.

But when I look for my wife, I can’t find her.

I immediately bristle, ready to go into hunting mode when I feel her presence at my side and look down.

“Hey.” Cordelia smiles.

“Hey.” I place my arm around her shoulders and give her a gentle squeeze—after ten years, I’ve learned the correct pressure of hugs.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Just had to give my mom the slip. She was starting her little rant about our house being too small for these get-togethers.”

Sasha offers us the mansion she has outside of Lucky Falls at least once a month. The woman is persistent, I’ll give her that. “At least she’s stopped trying to hoist the yacht on us. I don’t even know where we’d put a yacht.”

Cordelia laughs and then she studies me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just grateful.” I brush her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for making my wish come true.”

Her eyes soften. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. The moment I met you, I knew you were an amazing father. But somehow, you’re an even better husband. How is that possible? How’d I get so lucky?”

“I ask myself that question everyday.” I lean down to kiss her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” my wife says. And then I hold her close while listening to the laughter ring from a house filled with family and friends.

***

Thanks for reading this exclusive deleted scene from ICE DARLING!

Come back to Lucky Falls soon,

Lia