Later that evening, Alex lays Max gently in his cot, pulling the pale blue blanket over him while being careful not to disturb his slumbering body. Then we tiptoe out, softly flicking the light switch, pulling the door closed with the most feather-like of movements.
He sighs and I look at him with amused eyes.
“That was hard work,” he says.
My grin widens. “I think he suspects something's up.” Max did seem extra sensitive tonight; whiny and needy. It was past nine before his eyes started to flutter with sleep. When Alex tried to feed him, he spat the milk out, soiling his dad’s trousers. It looks like he's had some kind of accident.
“You think he knows I've been messing about with his mum?”
“Messing about?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yeah. And I wanna mess you up some more.” He grabs me by the waist, spinning me round until we are chest to chest. Brushing the hair from my face, he kisses me, and I sigh.
Then a cry comes from the bedroom. It’s loud and angry—insistent. Alex's lips curl against mine and he pulls away, his hands still clasping my waist.
“Your baby's crying,” I point out helpfully.
“So's yours.” He smiles at me and walks to the bedroom, as I fall onto the sofa with a sigh. It's been a long day. Full of lofty highs and dark-as-night lows. I think about Laurence Baines, sitting in his house, his son dead, his wife a broken shell, and once again I thank God for all I have.
Alex is gone for a while. Long enough for me to curl my legs up on the sofa, and for my eyelids to become heavy, as my breathing evens out. I loll my head against the armrest, letting my eyes close for a minute.
Only a minute.
It's eight hours before I wake up. Eight glorious hours of uninterrupted sleep. I shift in the bed, stilling when I feel a warm body next to mine.
My eyes fly open.
“Hi.” He's staring at me as if he's been awake for a while. “Did you sleep well?”
“It was the best.” I smile and nestle into the bedcovers. My hands are clasped together, beneath my cheek. I never want to move.
“Good.” He does that sexy little smirk with the corner of his mouth. I could eat him up.
“Did Max wake up?”
Alex shakes his head. “He slept through. We must have worn him out.”
“You wore me out.”
More smirking. “We need to get a bigger flat.”
“Why?”
He says nothing. Instead he grabs my hand and pulls it down, until it meets hard, hot flesh. His, of course.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” He sighs loudly. “I'm not used to waking up in bed next to a gorgeous woman.”
This time it's my turn to smile. “I bet your mum brought you in a cup of tea every morning.”
He groans. “Don't talk about my mum.” He's deflated, in every sense of the word. Which is a good thing, because I can hear Max stirring at the foot of our bed. It won't be long before he starts to stand up in there, demanding attention. Alex is right, we do need a bigger flat.
One with two bedrooms.
“We can't afford anything bigger in Shoreditch,” I'm thinking out loud. “We might have to move out East.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Plaistow?”
I make a face. “Stratford maybe. Or Romford.” It's one thing to move closer to his mum, another to live right on her doorstep. As much as I love Tina, that would drive me crazy.
“I'll call some estate agents tomorrow.”
Taking advantage of Max's slow return to wakefulness, I roll over and close my eyes. Alex spoons into me, his arm slung across my waist. It feels so natural, so easy. Very different to the awkwardness of the past few months. The perfect contrast to the arguing, the bitterness.
He's grown up. We both have.
“How are you feeling?” he murmurs, lips pressed against my neck. “Have you been to the PND group recently?”
“I went last week after I heard about Lawrence’s son. I feel so much stronger now, I think I’m going to be okay.”
His lips press against my skin. “Yeah?”
“Mm.”
He runs a finger down my spine, lingering at the sensitive base. “That's a shame. I've got a really good cure for depression.”
I'm smiling as he says it.
“All you have to do is swallow three times a day.”
“Piss off,” I say in good humour.
“Seriously. It cures everything. Depression, stomach ache, you name it. I'm a walking bloody miracle.”
“You are.” I reach behind and punch his side. “Now shut up, I'm trying to sleep.”
“It's good for that to—” His retort's cut off by Max's cry. I watch as he clambers out of bed, boxers slung low around his hips, revealing curling vines that climb up his side. He reaches down, scooping Max into his arms, grinning at his son who smiles toothily back. “Hey, Maxie.”
The baby’s wails melt into babbles, and he reaches up to grab Alex’s ear, tugging hard enough to bring water to his eyes. I simply sit and watch, pleased that for once I’m not the one bearing the brunt of the injuries. Then Alex carries him back to bed, putting Max between the two of us, so his pudgy soft baby skin is pressed into ours. It’s warm. Smooth.
“We made this,” Alex whispers, looking over Max’s head and right into my eyes. “The two of us, we did this together.”
His words choke me enough to fill my throat and wet my eyes. Because he’s right. Max is amazing. He’s everything.
“The job isn’t done yet,” I say. Max rolls over, grabbing hold of my pyjama top; he scrambles to his knees, ready to lunge. Before he can, Alex sweeps him up again, holding him above us, swooping him up and down like an aeroplane. Love for them both rushes through my body. It marks me, burning me, because they’re my boys, my men. The two people I can’t imagine being without.
I don’t want to waste a single minute.
“We’ll never be done. I wouldn’t want to be.” He pulls Max in for a kiss. Dark stubble rubs against chubby cheeks, making Max cry out. His tiny nose wrinkles and he pushes Alex away, indignant.
When Alex kisses me, there’s no pushing away. No anger, no cries, only the tiniest sigh that escapes my lips, whispering across his own.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you.”
Max clambers over us, giggling delightedly at this climbing frame made of flesh and bone. Our eyes meet again and I see mirth buried deep beneath the brown, a wrinkle of the skin, a curl of the lips.
“Shall we stick to the one baby?” I ask.
Slowly Alex shakes his head. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
And though I know it might be years before we have another, I marvel at how far we’ve come. Somehow we’ve made it through the first months of Max’s life by the skin of our teeth. Battered but not broken. It makes me proud. Lucky. Not everybody gets second chances at love, at life. But we’ve got it and we’re taking it, letting life lead us where it wants to.
And it feels good.
It feels amazing.
It’s everything.