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 f**k 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 f**k 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 f**kin’ 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, ass**le,” 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, h*ps 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.