Creed

Epilogue Dreamweaver

Present day, two days later…

I felt the crack of Creed’s hand on my ass, my body jumped and fire shot between my legs.

“Spread,” he growled and, instantly, I did as he said.

I was draped belly down over his thighs, naked except my bronze sandals and Creed was spanking me. This was after he spent some time doing other delicious stuff to me.

No sooner had I opened my legs than Creed’s hand dove in. His fingers scored through the wet, rasping across my clit and since I was beyond ready, my head flew back and I came.

Hard.

Still coming, suddenly I was flying through the air. Creed lay back on the bed, his legs still over the side, feet on the floor and suddenly I was on top of him, my pussy to his face, his hard, thick cock right in front of me.

“Suck me off,” he ordered, voice thick and I moved, lips latching around the tip, immediately I sucked deep.

He lifted his head, buried his face in my pussy and groaned against me.

Then, his hands at my hips yanking me down, he commenced eating me. My head bobbed, sucking, stroking, I engaged my hand and gave him everything I had as he devoured me.

I came in his mouth.

Creed returned the favor.

After, coming down, he lapped. I licked.

He let this go on awhile before I was up again, Creed repositioned so we were righted in the bed, my head no longer at his crotch but at his throat and he settled us down, him on his back, me partly on him, partly pressed to his side with his arm around me.

“You take it up the ass. You like to be spanked. And you swallow. Seriously, Sylvie, you were born for me,” he muttered.

I lifted my head and looked at him. “That was hardly hearts and flowers.”

Creed grinned at me. “A man finds a woman who swallows, that alone, for a guy, is totally fuckin’ hearts and flowers.”

I rolled my eyes.

Creed kept talking.

“Add gettin’ off on bein’ spanked, we’re talking rainbows and pots of gold.”

Again, I rolled my eyes.

“Takin’ it up the ass and beggin’ for it every time, baby, seriously, you and your body, slice of heaven.”

“Not sure any of that will make it into poetry books, hot stuff,” I informed him.

“If badasses read poetry, it’d be a bestseller.”

I couldn’t argue that.

“I just came hard twice, stop annoying me,” I ordered.

He transferred his gaze and grin to the ceiling, muttering, “Anything for my Sylvie.”

That got me a tingle, not the usual one, but a great one all the same.

I settled in, cheek to his chest and saw the still ugly, livid, blue and purple bruise edged with yellow that marred him where the bullet hit his chest.

I tipped my head back, my cheek sliding against his skin and saw the bandage that covered the stitches at his neck.

That would make another scar.

My arm stole around his gut as I righted my head and sighed.

If I asked, he’d become an accountant (or something) for me. I knew it. All I had to do was ask.

But then he wouldn’t be Creed.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly, reading my thoughts.

“I know.”

“You’re okay,” he went on.

“I know.”

“We’re together, we’ll always be okay, Sylvie. Always. It’s when we’re not together that we’re not. You with me?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, giving his gut a squeeze.

I was with him. I was so with him.

Gun jumped up on the bed, looked at me, looked at Creed, understood who her chances were better with and said to Creed, “Meow.”

She was right.

Creed moved, sliding out from under me, muttering, “Be back. Getting Gun some treats.”

I looked at Gun and shook my head.

She didn’t spare me a glance.

She pranced out of the room behind a naked Creed.

I rolled to my back on the bed and stared at the ceiling realizing my ass burned a little.

It was then, I smiled.

Seven days later…

“Your round, Pip,” Live declared, grinning drunkenly at me.

“It was my round last time,” I replied, staring soberly at him thinking it was seriously unfun being out with the guys and not drinking.

“I know. You’re leavin’, you’re not gonna be around. That means you gotta get ‘em in before you go,” Live returned.

“That makes no sense, Live,” I informed him.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Tiny put in.

I glared at Tiny then declared, “I’m not even drinking so I’m definitely not buying another round.”

“You’re supposed to stop drinking after you know you’re knocked up,” Live educated me. “Not when you think you are.”

“Man, were you not there when I explained my history with Creed? I’m not pushing my luck,” I shot back.

He swung his beer around, slurring, “Mishin’ out.”

He was wrong. I’d so take a healthy baby over a drunken night out with the guys. Absolutely.

“Go home.”

This came from behind me and I turned, looked up and saw Rhash standing there.

“What?”

“You got a long drive tomorrow, it’s after midnight, you aren’t drinkin’ and these guys are three sheets so, in about ten minutes, they won’t even know where they are much less why they’re here. So go home,” Rhash answered.

“Do I have to give out hugs?” I asked.

“Fuck, no. You hugged me, I might puke,” Live answered the question I asked Rhash and I turned back to him.

Tiny grinned stupidly at me. “You can hug me.”

“I’m not hugging anyone,” I declared.

“Aw, come on, Pip. Give me a hug,” Tiny encouraged, lumbering toward me.

“Tiny, stand down,” I ordered, retreating.

“A little one?” Tiny asked.

“Fuck off,” I snapped.

He lifted his hand with his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A teeny, eeny, one?”

Jesus.

I put my hands to the massive wall of his chest and pushed. “Fuck off, Tiny, or I’ll shoot you.”

His hand shot out, curled around my neck and his face was suddenly all I could see. “I’ll miss you, girl.”

As fast as it happened, he turned and lumbered away.

Live caught my eyes and tipped up his chin before he looked away, swallowed and jerked his chin up again at the bartender to order another beer.

My eyes slid through the guys and I got more looks, chin lifts and then they turned away.

They were all going to miss me.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

“Go home,” Rhash said quietly from beside me and I looked up with him.

“Right.”

He held my eyes.

I lifted a hand and placed it on his chest.

“Quality, Pip,” Rhash was still talking quietly, “you are pure quality.”

I pressed my lips together, pressed my hand in his chest and jerked up my chin.

Then, before I lost it, I said not a word, turned on my boot and left.

As I was walking to my girl in the parking lot, I saw it.

A shiny, black Aston Martin.

My lungs started burning.

For over a week, Knight hadn’t returned my calls. At first, this was unsurprising. It happened often, he was a busy guy. Then it got kind of annoying.

Then it hurt.

He knew Creed took off a few days ago to get back to life in Phoenix and prepare for me to join him there.

He knew I didn’t like to be separated from Creed.

He knew that tomorrow, I was climbing in my ‘Vette and driving away from Denver and everything that meant whole worlds to me.

Including him.

Now he was standing in the dark, hips against his superior, high performance vehicle and I knew his eyes were on me.

I started to move toward him but saw his head in the streetlamp shake once and I stopped dead.

We stood there staring at each other through the lights illuminating the parking lot and we did this for some time.

Finally, Knight pushed away from his car, turned and opened the door.

He was beginning to fold his long body inside when I shouted, “Bottom of my soul!”

I heard his door slam, the car purred to life and then he shot around in a tight circle, stopped with the driver’s door beside me, his window down.

He looked out and said softly, “Bottom of mine, Sylvie.”

Then the window whirled up and he purred away.

Total badass.

Total cool.

Totally fucking sweet.

I went to my girl, opened her up, slid in and rested my forehead on the steering wheel.

Creed had wanted to come up, be with me while I said my good-byes, ride with me on the way down. I told him he needed to get back to his life, his kids and I wouldn’t be far behind but I would be okay without him.

I was wrong.

I sucked in breath, lifted my head, started her up and headed to Charlene’s were I was sleeping on the couch because my house was empty.

The next day, early…

I stood in the back room of my house, Adam leaned heavily into my side.

I hated my house.

I loved this room.

I had Creed for the second time in this room (and a few other times too).

I saw his tat for the first time in this room.

And right then, I was standing with a little boy I loved so much it hurt leaning into my side in this room.

I put my hand on his head and slid it down his hair to curl around the back of his neck.

“Is Gunny okay?” he asked the room.

“Yeah, baby. Tucker said she made the trip just fine in his truck,” I replied.

He looked up at me. “Mom says you’re gonna come to visit us at Grandma’s.”

I nodded. “I absolutely am.”

“Will you make me Cocoa Puffs?” he asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

“Will Tucker bring donuts?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” I answered.

He grinned. “Good.”

“Good,” I whispered, sliding my hand to his cheek.

He tipped his head to the side and asked, weirdly, “Sylvie, do you know what love is?”

I stared into his face and answered softly, “I do, Adam. I absolutely do.”

He stared into mine and replied just as softly. “I do, too.”

That was when I knew.

I knew.

I had to lose Creed and endure Richard so I could have Adam.

And Knight.

And Charlene, Leslie, Theo, Ron, Rhash, Live and everybody.

So that was also when I knew…

It so totally sucked.

But it was worth it.

Sixteen hours later…

I barely got one wheel over the curb in my turn into Creed’s drive before I saw his garage door go up.

The Expedition was to one side in the garage. The sedan was parked out in the drive. Creed was walking out the door that led to the kitchen.

My heart skipped.

I rolled my baby in, turned her off and exited, a stray candy bar wrapper falling to the cement of Creed’s garage floor.

I’d pick it up later (maybe).

That was my last thought before my feet left the ground, an arm around my waist holding me close, a hand shoved into the back of my hair pulling my face down and Creed kissed me.

I slid my arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

We did this a while.

When we stopped, I opened my eyes and looked into his blue ones just as he said gently, “Welcome home, beautiful.”

Home.

I smiled.

Two minutes later…

Hand in hand, Creed walked me through the dark house into his bedroom.

One light was on at Creed’s nightstand and, at what it illuminated, I stopped dead.

Holy shit.

Holy shit!

“How’s that for hearts and flowers?” Creed murmured and I tore my eyes away from his huge bed that looked entirely covered in deep red, velvety soft rose petals to tip my head back and look at Creed.

I opened my mouth.

I closed it.

I opened it again.

I closed it.

“Fuck me, she’s speechless,” he kept murmuring as he grinned down at me.

“I… holy shit,” I muttered and his grin turned into a smile.

I pulled my hand from his and walked to the bed. “Jesus, babe, how many flowers did you have to pluck to do this or can you buy just the –?”

I stopped talking abruptly when I saw it.

In the middle of the bed, a black velvet box, opened, and in black satin sat a humongous, princess cut diamond ring, set in what looked like platinum, inlaid with more diamond baguettes around the band.

It was stunning.

It was exquisite.

It was huge.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

Creed’s arms wrapped around my chest from behind and I felt him arch so his lips could be at my ear.

“Gonna do it, go big,” he whispered.

I agreed. I so totally agreed.

That rock was completely ostentatious. It had to cost a mini-fortune.

I fucking loved it.

“How you feel about marrying me?” he asked in my ear.

“How I feel is, Vegas is a six hour drive away so that’s not outside checking off our to do list for tomorrow. That and stopping by the grocery store so I have Cocoa Puffs.”

Creed’s arms squeezed me reflexively.

Then he burst out laughing.

Then he picked me up and threw me on the bed and, as I bounced, he put a knee in and joined me. He tagged the ring case, pulled out the ring, threw the case aside, shoved the ring on my finger and, eyes on mine, he kissed it.

My heart swelled.

Then he used his hand around mine to yank me to him.

Other things swelled.

Then he made love to me on a bed of rose petals.

Seriously.

My man.

Was.

Genius.

Three weeks later…

I was pacing the bathroom, phone to my ear, white stick in my hand.

“Nothing’s happening,” I told Charlene.

“Honey, you just peed on it. I heard you. And, by the way, I love you but I never want to hear you peeing again.”

“Charlene, you’ve heard me peeing in bathroom stalls in bars. This is no different,” I replied.

“Oh, right,” she mumbled then, “Adam’s here. You want to talk to him?”

“No!” I hissed. “I’m waiting for a plus sign, Charlene. I love him but I can’t talk to Adam while waiting for a plus sign on a pregnancy test. Jeez.”

“Oh, right,” she mumbled then I heard her cover the phone but not well because I also heard her say, “You can talk to Sylvie next time she calls, okay, honey?”

“Okay, Mom,” I heard Adam say then a shouted, “Hi Sylvie!”

God I loved that kid.

I couldn’t think of that now. I was busy staring at a plastic stick.

Charlene came back to me. “Anything?”

“No,” I answered.

“Give it time.”

Fuck. The suspense was killing me.

“Should I shake it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. What does the box say?”

I snatched up the box and it didn’t say anything so I dropped the box and snatched up the instructions and read them.

“It doesn’t say anything about shaking. It just says one to three minutes. How long has it been?” I asked.

“Well, definitely over one minute but not over three.”

Shit.

I dropped the leaflet and stared at the stick.

A plus sign showed.

Holy shit.

I was pregnant.

Holy shit!

I was pregnant!

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered.

Silence then more silence then a soft sob.

“Charlene,” I said gently, “I need to go tell Creed.”

“Go. Go make a good man happy,” she replied quietly.

Right on.

A fabulous way to start the day. Making a good man happy.

Better, he was my man.

“Love you, babe,” I told Charlene.

“Love you too, Sylvie,” she told me.

I beeped off my phone, put it on the bathroom counter and wandered into the bedroom, down the hall and to the kitchen.

Creed’s back was to me, bare, his tat on display, his hips and legs encased in faded jeans.

God, he was hot.

He obviously heard me coming because he asked the inside of the fridge, “Cocoa Puffs or are you gonna join me in eggs and bacon?”

“You should always be ready,” I told him.

He closed the door instantly and turned.

I tossed the stick across the kitchen and he caught it.

I watched him look at it.

I watched his body still.

And finally, I watched his head come up and his eyes lock on me.

“Dreamweaver,” he whispered.

“You bet your ass,” I replied, smiling huge and not even close to whispering.

He dropped the stick on the counter and started stalking toward me.

I started backing up, sharing, “Creed, I peed on that.”

“Later, I’ll get the Windex out.”

Good call.

He kept stalking.

I kept backing up.

Finally, he lunged and I turned and ran.

He caught me two feet from the bed, tackling me and we both went down on the mattress.

This time, there were no rose petals.

Still, it was awesome.

Then again, it always was.

One month later…

“Partner, this sitting in the getaway car is for the birds,” I said, my voice going straight to Creed’s earpiece.

“Shut up, Sylvie, I’m breaking and entering,” Creed said back, his deep, smooth yet rough voice filling the cab of the Expedition.

“I’m just saying, next B&E job, I get to do the B&E,” I declared.

“You can do the next B&E that happens when you aren’t pregnant or nursing,” he replied and I blinked.

Then I snapped, “I’m not nursing! Nothing latches onto one of my breasts except your lips.”

“Now she’s making me hard while I’m breaking and entering,” Creed griped.

“We’re talking about breast feeding, Creed,” I returned.

“We’re talking about my lips and your tits, Sylvie,” he shot back.

He had a point.

I shut up.

Then I waited, staring at the building Creed was breaking into waiting for an alarm or a siren or anything while scanning to make sure he continued to have privacy, no cars or passersby.

There was nothing.

Ten minutes later, I saw his shadow jogging toward the Expedition.

Not surprisingly, it jogged to the driver’s side.

He pulled open my door and ordered, “Scoot. I drive.”

“Other side, Creed. You got to break in. I get to drive.”

“Baby, scoot,” he clipped.

“I’m not moving.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning and I just nabbed a hard drive with stolen formulas that are patent pending and worth seven hundred million dollars and now I’m standing by a truck arguing with my woman. Seriously?” he asked.

“Other side, Creed,” I answered then he moved, swiftly, and I found my seatbelt was unfastened and my cowboy booted feet on the ground.

I glared up at him.

He angled into the truck and looked down at me.

“Other side, Sylvie.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” I hissed.

“Right back at ‘cha, baby.”

I narrowed my eyes.

Then I stomped to the other side and dragged myself in.

“Let’s roll,” I snapped.

Creed rolled.

I scowled as the landscape passed by.

Then I announced, “I’m putting out my own shingle. You’re too bossy.”

“You’re welcome to do that, Sylvie, when you’re not pregnant or nursing.”

“I’m not nursing!” I bit out.

“We’ll see,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes.

Creed turned on the radio then switched it to news.

I immediately leaned forward and switched it to country.

“Pain in my ass,” he murmured.

“Bite me,” I replied.

Silence.

Then Creed burst out laughing.

I was in a bad mood but, still, I liked that sound so much, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

But I did it with my head turned to the side window so Creed couldn’t see.

Five months later…

The lady behind Bashas’ bakery counter handed Creed the bag of donuts.

I snatched it out of his hand, opened it, pulled out the chocolate covered, chocolate buttercream filled donut, opened my mouth huge, shoved in as much donut as I could get, bit down and chewed.

Creed stared down at me.

I stared up at him and chewed.

Creed looked to the bakery lady.

“She’s eating for two,” he shared.

Her eyes went down to my enormous belly then they went back to Creed.

“This was not lost on me,” she replied.

I swallowed and shoved more donut in.

“Give us another of those, would you?” Creed asked.

“On it,” she muttered.

My Creed.

Totally genius.

I shoved more donut in and Creed looked back at me.

Through donut, I announced, “While we’re here, we need to pick up some Snickers.”

Creed blinked.

Then he tagged me behind the head, forced me to do a face plant in his chest and burst out laughing.

Four months later…

“I feel the hot coming through my shoes,” Kara and Brand’s cousin whined.

My eyes swept to Kara and Brand.

Kara was looking at me, lips twitching.

Brand was pressing his together, probably so he wouldn’t say anything.

He lost this fight and opened his mouth but not a word came out before…

“Brand,” Creed warned low and I looked at him to see him tuck our son, Jesse, tighter to his chest.

I loved that.

Loved it.

I looked back at Brand and his face was red, not from embarrassment, from trying to keep his mouth shut.

I burst out laughing.

Creed

Thirteen months later…

Creed shut the door on the rental, his other hand curled around the handle of the cooler.

He moved through the trees into the grass, feeling the warmth of the sun shining on his head and beating through his tee.

He walked through the grass, his mind registering the cool of the turf on his bare feet.

Something you didn’t get in Arizona.

Something you got in Kentucky.

He lifted his head from his study of the grass, his eyes took in the scene and his body rocked to a halt.

Brand was in the lake, screwing around, able to entertain himself just as he was skilled at entertaining others. He was happy to be swimming on his own.

Kara was in her bikini at the side of the lake, feet probably sunk to the ankles in mud. Still, she was smiling and bouncing in the water, a giggling, squealing Jesse in her arms.

Sylvie was sitting at the end of the pier in shorts and a cami, her tanned legs over the side, her arms behind her, weight in her hands, head tipped back to the sun. The huge rock that he’d placed a diamond encrusted band under in Vegas two months after she moved to Phoenix blinking in the rays.

As he suspected, neither of his kids had a problem with him making Sylvie his wife. They also didn’t blink when told they were getting another sibling. Brand had two new people to jabber to and Kara had two new people to love.

They were happy.

Sylvie was happy.

So was Creed.

He forced himself to come unstuck and started moving again thinking what he thought when Kara was put in his arms. When Brand was set there. When he tucked his and Sylvie’s bundled Jesse close. When he studied his Sylvie, sleeping in sheets filled with rose petals.

He was thinking his Dad would like one fuckuva lot all the love that Creed had created, but better, earned.

“You got him?” he called to Kara as he put his foot up on the pier.

“Yeah, Dad,” Kara called back and shit, she was growing into her beauty. A year, two, he was going to be fucked.

God, he hoped the kid in Sylvie’s belly was another boy.

Please, God, he prayed, let it be another boy.

He moved down the pier and saw Sylvie had twisted, her torso just slightly but her neck all the way around. Her arms were still behind her. The diamonds he gave her twinkling. The green at her neck sparkling.

Every day, every single day, she wore his green.

Every day.

She smiled at him.

Warmth that had nothing to do with sun radiated down the pier and saturated him all the way through.

Creed smiled back.

There she was, his woman wearing his ring, his green with his baby in her belly sitting at the end of their pier.

His Sylvie.

His dreamweaver, able to weave dreams doing nothing but sitting on a pier and smiling.

The way it always was.

The way it always would be.

He stopped at the end by his wife and put the cooler down. She instantly flipped the top open. Creed bent and rolled up his jeans.

When he got them up, he settled at the end of the pier with Sylvie, his feet in the water and he saw hers were covered to her ankles, her watery toes painted a bright pink, the same color that was on her nails. His feet were covered up to the tops of his calves.

She handed him a frozen Snickers bar, he took it and she tore into hers.

Pregnant, his woman could eat. He’d never seen anything like it. She consumed everything in sight.

She also didn’t slow down and she was nourishing two so she needed a lot of energy.

Then again, not pregnant, his woman could eat.

She just ate like she lived, consuming life and enjoying the fuck out of it.

It was one of the myriad reasons he loved her.

Creed ripped open his candy bar and slid his arm along Sylvie’s shoulders.

She leaned into him, head to his shoulder and bit hard into her Snickers.

Creed followed suit and his eyes moved to the lake.

They were back in Kentucky because they told the kids a little of their history and Kara and Brand were curious about where their Dad came from, something, for obvious reasons, he had never shared much about. Something, because of this, they’d always been curious about.

Now they were in the lake that, since they could cogitate, they’d seen on their father’s back.

Creed didn’t want to come and Sylvie kept her mouth shut even though he knew she didn’t want to come either. She did this so he wouldn’t put his foot down and not come and therefore not give this to his kids.

Sitting there, eating a frozen Snickers bar, holding his pregnant Sylvie on the spot where he gave her her first green, practically on the spot where she gave him her virginity, his three kids splashing around him, he wondered why the fuck they hadn’t come sooner.

“We need a dog,” Sylvie said through frozen chocolate, caramel, nuts and nougat.

She had said this repeatedly since approximately seventeen hours after moving into his house in Phoenix.

“Gun would hate a dog,” he replied, having said this repeatedly since approximately seventeen hours after she moved into his house in Phoenix.

“You spoil that cat like she was your child,” Sylvie bitched and bit off another hunk of candy bar.

“Does she depend on me to eat?” he asked.

“Creed.”

That was all she said.

That meant yes.

“Does she depend on me to keep a roof over her head?”

“Jesus,” she muttered.

“Does she depend on me for affection?”

“Partially. She also depends on me, Kara, Brand and now Jesse,” Sylvie returned.

Creed ignored that.

“Does she depend on me to enforce rules so she gets along in our household?” Creed kept going.

“Like Gun follows rules,” she mumbled.

Creed ignored that too.

“So she’s like another child and if a dog’s gonna make her unhappy, we’re not gettin’ a fuckin’ dog.”

“Jesse loves dogs.”

“Jesse’s gonna have to wait until he has the body coordination to feed it to get one.”

“You’re so strict,” she muttered.

“I’m a Dad. That’s what Dads are.”

She pulled slightly back so she could tip her head to look at him.

When her green eyes locked with his, quietly, she said, “Creed, I want a dog.”

To which Creed immediately replied, “When we get home, I’ll get you one.”

She grinned.

Creed bent his head and kissed her.

Her lips tasted partly of Snickers but mostly of sun…

And Sylvie.

Thirteen hours later…

Creed stood beside the bed in the dark.

Sylvie was in it, on her side, her legs curled up.

Jesse was in his Diamondback pajamas on his back, tucked to her front with her arm around him. He had his arms over his head, his legs splayed out, his little fist tucked against Sylvie’s lips.

Carefully, Creed pulled the sheet up to his wife’s waist before he turned to his bag, dug into the bottom and pulled out the envelope and the flashlight.

Silently, he left the room, the hotel and got in their rental.

Then he drove.

He entered from the south side and parked where his research told him it would be.

He shut down the ignition and sat in the car.

“Understand why I gotta do this,” he said into the car.

As ever, over the years when Creed spoke to his father, Brand Creed didn’t reply. And as ever, over the years when Creed spoke to his father, he hoped like Christ his father heard.

And this time understood.

Creed got out, turned on the flashlight and illuminated the headstones as he walked until he found it.

Bissenette.

He turned off the light, shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans, ripped open the envelope and sprinkled the grass with its contents.

Jesse’s hair. Not the first that had been clipped, that was pressed in a frame that sat on Sylvie’s nightstand.

But it was his.

Jesse’s.

A Jesse made by Sylvie and Creed.

Once the hair was out, Creed rumpled the envelope and, for the first time in his life, he littered by throwing it at the base of the headstone.

He stared at the grave.

Sylvie’s father had died of a heart attack at an age too young for a good man to leave this world but way too late for the man he was.

“I win, asshole,” Creed whispered.

Not surprisingly, there was no reply.

Creed didn’t need one nor did he wait for one.

He turned on his boot and went back to his family.

Two years and four months later…

“It’s good you have a big table,” Knight muttered and Creed looked from the stove to the man standing, hips to the counter, bottle of beer in hand, surveying the scene.

He looked over his shoulder.

Outside he could see Brand and Adam with Charlene’s new man. God only knew what they were doing but, not surprisingly, whatever it was, Adam was smiling and Brand’s mouth was moving.

Inside, Anya was chasing after Theo, Leslie, Kat, Jesse and Rayleigh, Creed and Sylvie’s petite, wild, curly blonde-haired daughter and Kasha, Knight and Anya’s second girl.

Anya had company. Sylvie’s white, west highland terrier was jumping around, panting and barking at Anya and the kids.

Kara was sitting in an armchair, phone glued to her ear, talking either to a girlfriend or one of her, God help him, boyfriends.

Yes, he said one of.

Jesus.

Charlene and Sylvie were on the couch, gabbing.

He looked at Knight who was still looking through the full house, his expression not giving anything away.

“Sylvie says you’re not big on holidays,” Creed muttered as his eyes went back to the stove.

“Wasn’t.”

Creed looked back to Knight at his answer.

“Wasn’t?” he prompted.

“Got three women in my house who go wild for every holiday. Swear to Christ, Creed, even when the red, white and blue M&Ms make their appearance for the Fourth of July, they act like Uncle Sam swooped in and personally asked them to watch the fireworks at the White House with the President. It’s impossible not to be big on holidays with those three dragging me in their wake.”

Creed grinned back down at the stove.

Knight was totally fucking full of shit.

Not about the part where he didn’t give a shit about holidays. He probably didn’t.

He gave a shit about his girls and he’d do anything that would make them happy. Even eat red, white and blue M&Ms and take them to see fireworks.

“Kara!” he called. “You wanna give your Dad a hand?”

“Be right there, Dad!” she called back.

Translation: She’d get off the phone when the turkey was on the table.

He turned his head and pinned his eyes on Sylvie.

“Baby? Preparations are coming to a head. You gonna help out?”

She had her hand on her enormous, again pregnant belly and her eyes on him.

When he stopped speaking, her mouth moved to say, “Who did you marry?”

No help there.

“I’ll help, Tucker,” Anya offered.

“Me too,” Charlene pushed up from the couch.

Creed looked back at Sylvie and lifted his brows.

She grinned and leaned down to snatch Kasha up in her arms and give her a snuggle.

Right.

Again.

No help there.

Knight moved out of the room and as he did, he tagged Rayleigh, swung her up in the air and made her laugh.

No help there either.

A miracle occurred when, fifteen minutes before the food would be set on the table, Kara got off the phone and joined them in the kitchen.

Seventeen minutes after that, the table was covered in food and surrounded by people, some of the kids were sitting on stools at the bar, others were in highchairs.

It was not surprising when Brand piped up and asked for a chance to run his mouth.

“Dad, can I say the blessing?”

Creed jerked up his chin. “Have at it, son.”

Brand, Anya and Charlene all looked to their laps.

Sylvie’s eyes went to Creed.

“Dear God,” Brand started. “Thanks for health and food and family and friends. Oh, and love, I guess. Amen.”

Creed’s firstborn son lifted his head and reached immediately for the potatoes.

Creed watched Sylvie’s shoulders start shaking.

He grinned at his wife.

“Mommy! I wanna sit by Adam!” Jesse shrieked.

Sylvie shot out of her seat.

His wife spoiled the dog and her son.

Creed spoiled the cat and his sweet little Ray.

Both of them, in different ways, spoiled Kara and Brand.

Kara and Brand spoiled all of them.

The perfect family.

Finally.

Creed drew in a breath and grabbed the platter of meat.

One year and nine months later…

Creed sat at the end of their pier, jeans rolled up, feet in the water and he stared at the moonlight glinting on the lake as Sylvie burrowed her shoulder into his side.

He wrapped his arm around her.

When he did, Creed remembered the first time she did that, in the woods when he told her he intended to be Creed.

He felt his lips tip up slightly and curled his wife closer.

She didn’t put her feet in the water. She curved them under her. Since he’d just finished making love to her, she was wearing nothing but her panties and his tee and he remembered the last time he had that, too.

Vividly.

Years, the memory of his Sylvie finally becoming all his at the age of eighteen had been bittersweet.

Now it was just sweet.

She snaked an arm around his gut and shoved closer even as she asked, “Do you think we should get back to the hotel?”

“Kara’s got ‘em, baby,” Creed muttered and he was right. His girl would look after the kids. All of them, even Brand, were with her in their adjoining suite.

“You wanna stay,” she murmured.

Yeah, he did. He always did. Every year, when they came back and he brought his Sylvie out here in the moonlight, he wanted to stay as long as they could.

So they did.

“Yeah,” he answered softly and she snuggled closer.

His Sylvie.

Their spot.

Their lake.

Their pier.

No more bitter, just sweet.

Yeah, his Sylvie, weaving dreams.

He drew in a deep breath and felt every millisecond of its release as he stared at the water, holding his woman pressed close.

He did this a while.

Then he was done doing it and he turned into her. She knew his intent and she tipped her head back to prepare.

Creed took her mouth.

Then he moved her to the blanket he spread on the pier.

There, again, he made love to her.

And when he did, Tucker Creed finally gave Sylvie Creed everything she wanted.

Because when they made love in the moonlight on their pier, he planted inside his wife, his Sylvie, baby number four.

Thus proving, yet again, Tucker Creed could also weave dreams.