Leo(A Sign of Love Novel)(62)

He starts pushing through the people to the front of the elevator and it stops suddenly at the next floor.

Then he’s running towards the escalator nearest him, even though it’s going in the wrong direction.

I run towards it as he starts parting the crowd, leaping down three and four stairs at a time to the yells and disgruntled sounds of the people trying to go upwards.

He doesn't care though. His focus is singularly directed at me as he finally leaps over the railing close enough to the bottom not to hurt himself.

We rush into each other's arms, him spinning me around, his face pressed into my hair as I laugh and cry and continue to chant, "I choose you, I choose you, Leo. Always."

We suddenly realize that people are stopped around us clapping and whistling and he grins at me, his face beaming with love and happiness.

"I love you, Evie," he says, his face sobering.

"I love you, Leo, my loyal lion."

"You still believe that, after everything?" His eyes are wide, looking deeply into mine.

I nod, "Even more. You found the courage to jump through fire for me. You found yourself on the other side, didn't you?"

He looks at me for long moments, "I guess I did. But you were the one holding the ring."

"That's the easy part, my beautiful boy. Believing in you is effortless. It always was."

He continues looking at me, that fire that I love entering his deep brown eyes. Then he grins. "I'm going to take you back to my den and maul you now."

I grin. "Yes, please."

And we walk out the door, hand in hand, into our forever.





EPILOGUE



Seven years later…



I stand on the balcony of our home watching my wife play in the pool below with our boys, Seth, six, and Cole, four.

As always, the sight of my wife in a bikini has my attention, first and foremost.

But then I laugh quietly as my youngest tries to dunk his older brother in a stealth attack.

I walk back into our bedroom, pulling on my swim trunks. I smile as I glance at the laptop, open on Evie's writing desk. Her first book is almost done and maybe I'm biased, but I think it's brilliant. She says she doesn't care whether it's a hit or not, the success for her is in writing it at all, in stepping out of another safety zone.

The empty cup sitting to the side of her computer says, World's Greatest Mom. She bought it for herself.

I step out onto our patio and my boys shout, "Daddy!" in unison as I run and cannonball into the pool, drawing a shriek from Evie as my splash drenches her. She jumps in too, wrapping her arms around my neck and we're both laughing and kissing as our boys shout, "Ewww!" from the other side of the pool.

Our first born, Seth, is the spitting image of me and yet has the gentle, steady spirit of his mother. He is easy to smile and the first to lay a hand on your shoulder if you've had a rough day. He finds the beauty in everything.

We hadn't waited long to have him. We were young but our forever was something that we were eager to begin. Time had taken enough from us.

The day in the hospital when he was handed to me, I looked into his eyes, still shaky and on an emotional high from watching my wife fearlessly bring him into the world, and I saw a depth there that didn't seem to belong to a newborn boy. He didn't cry, but gazed steadily at me as if he saw right into my heart. And his eyes seemed to tell me that, like his mother, he was satisfied with what he saw. I promised him that I would never take that for granted.

His brother, our Cole, looks just like Evie, with dark hair and large, dark eyes and a smile that lights up any room. He came screaming into the world and hasn't stopped making noise since. I smile. He is my rambunctious cub, always pouncing and laughing, full of energy and life. Fiercely loyal and passionate. My wife tells me she sees me in him and I can only look confused when she says it. But she always did see the best in me. Maybe he's who I would have been if I had been given the same start in life. More often than not, she has me convinced that there is something to her theory. Because that's who she is. It's her gift.

Everyone tells a story about themselves in their own head. That story makes you what you are, dictating all your actions and all your mistakes. If your own story is filled with guilt and fear and self-hatred, life can look pretty miserable.

But, if you're very lucky, you might have a person who tells you a better story, one that takes up residence in your soul, speaking louder than the woeful tale you've convinced yourself of. If you let it speak loudly within your heart, it becomes your passion and your purpose. And this is a good thing, the best of things. Because it is the very definition of love, nothing less.

Many years ago, Evie asked me about my tattoo and I told her that I had gotten it on her 18th birthday, the day we were supposed to start our life together.

I had spent months designing it with a tattoo artist using the only photo I had of my Evie, a polaroid she had given me when she was 13. On that morning, I stepped into the shop and didn't step out until it was well after dark.

Then I had gone home and drank myself into a stupor, trying desperately to shut out the pain and the emptiness.

She traced every element of it silently and finally her first question was why the master of ceremonies was cloaked in shadow. I had turned towards her and looked into her deep brown eyes and told her that it was because at the time, I hadn't known whether, he, the one who orchestrates it all, is kind or whether he is cruel.