Bonus track Happy （with you）

Alist of things I liked about my life: well, firstly this bed was kind of my favourite place on earth. If I was home on my own with the kids, we tended to live up here. Watch TV and read books and play and draw. Secondly, my kids. They came first actually, but whatever. Semantics. These lists were good for me when I needed to settle down. Get my head into gear. Relax.

Calm down. I needed to fucking calm down. But that wasn’t easy when I was watching The brITS gala live on TV and my husband was up for that coveted Songwriter of the Year award. He was right there, at the edge of the screen as the camera swooped past. Some famous actor presenting the award alongside that reality star with the big hair. I couldn’t remember her name, but anyway. It would come to me. Eventually.

More things I liked about my life. My husband. The scatty creature who slept in my bed and caused more chaos than it was sometimes worth. I had to smile. Gray was still Gray. He was bloody hopeless with money. Hopeless with schedules and sorting his paperwork and getting things done. Like signing forms for our son’s new school and looking at all the stuff Agnes had laid out for him downstairs on the kitchen table. He’d shoved it all to the side earlier as I’d sighed loudly. Work. I knew it was consuming him at the moment, because he was busy. So was I, but with different things. Which was why I was lying here in bed with a box of crackers and a cup of tea while he was swanning around in some designer suit at an awards gala.

He didn’t come stand at my door when I was at work. He didn’t interfere with my job. So I didn’t interfere in his. It may have sounded weird, but it was just the way we functioned. I’d gone with him to things before, and it had been really awkward and made me more panicky and uncomfortable than I was happy with. Also, it had attracted unwanted attention that I really didn’t need. This way worked for us. Whatever.

Still, there he was, shooting up to his feet as the winner was announced, fist in the air roaring as…yeah. Lee. Bloody Lee. Well, Lee deserved it, with that album he’d written for RoseLily, the now-award-winning act cheering from the table next to them. Gray looked overwhelmingly relieved because I understood this. These things were all bullshit, and the last thing he needed was more pressure thrown his way. He’d still walk away with a smile on his face, and there would be more wanky awards at the top of our bookshelf. Gray and Josh had written the song that had snagged Single of the Year, and I was sure the two of them had written stuff for Death and Other Traumas—the Emo band that had won some other wanky gong. None of it mattered. It was just work, and with that, I switched the damn show off. Too much noise. And anyway, I’d rather just lie here and chill out. Scroll on my phone. Check out my social media.

Which was even weirder, because someone had started this The Dieter The Reuben fan account. Then someone else had set up this The Reuben update account. And of course, now all The Dieter’s fan stuff popped up on my timeline. Funny how those algorithms worked. I still followed every one of those accounts. So sue me. It was sometimes entertaining just to see what people wrote.

I had to smile as another photo swooped past on my screen. Gray and me, our son skipping between us, our daughter in Gray’s arms. Just a normal family walking down the road.

We could do that, now Gray wasn’t so bloody terrified all the time. He was still a little scared. I didn’t blame him because sometimes I got frightened too.

The lawsuit hadn’t helped, but at least he got paid for his work now, and he was always in the middle of something. Taking on projects. Coming up with new ideas. Doing auditions. Learning scripts. The therapy he’d sat through had been good for both of us. His meds, not so much, so he was off them all now. He didn’t need them, because apparently, becoming parents was equivalent to taking a knockout pill at bedtime. I slept, better than I had ever slept in my life. I didn’t know if it was because I wasn’t alone anymore or because I felt safe here. Or perhaps because if I couldn’t wind down, Gray would suck my dick until I exploded and then I’d bloody wind down.

Life. Pretty perfect if you asked me.

Still, we sometimes argued. Who didn’t? Sometimes my dad drove me mad. He loved chauffeuring Gray around, going to big events, dressing up in fancy suits, getting those passes stuck on his wanky car. He loved that car. Bloody lived for it, being out in the street polishing it up, chatting to the neighbours and being all…Dad. He loved living here. I kind of did too.

Another thing I loved about my life. I had qualifications. Not anything fancy, but I was a qualified foster carer. I’d passed all my courses before we could adopt. It had been a big thing for me, sitting down and learning something. Passing exams. Small things. I wasn’t stupid. Not at all. Neither was Gray, and we had been so bloody proud of ourselves when we’d finally got our names down on those papers. Foster carers. Legal guardians. Parents. Husbands.

Family. That was what I loved most about my life. My family.

I must have dropped off because I woke up to movement and soft voices downstairs, the patter of feet on the carpet and the kids’ door being opened and closed again.

“Checked on the kids,” he said quietly, sneaking in and making me squint when he turned the bedside light on. He’d obviously dumped the fancy suit downstairs, something shiny and sparkly his stylist had no doubt borrowed for him, which would have to go back in the morning. Sometimes he got to keep clothes. Sometimes Michelle got him freebies. We’d been gifted four prams when we got the kids, which was insane because nobody had known the kids had actually been placed with us. But Michelle was good, and Agnes was even better at scoring us gifts. Sometimes, being The Dieter was a blessing. Not that we needed things given to us, but I understood how all this worked, and I always swiftly donated all the baby gear to the local baby bank. Or to Agnes, who was heavily pregnant with her first baby.

“Agnes coming in tomorrow?” he asked from the bathroom, where he was brushing his teeth. Hopefully, cleaning all that warpaint from his face too. Bronzer. Eyeliner. More hairspray than was strictly necessary in my view, but again. His job. Not mine.

“Yeah, half-day. She had things to do, and I’ve got work in the afternoon.”

“No probs.” The shower went on; I lay there listening and smiling.

We were losing Agnes for a bit, but that wasn’t an issue since she was training me up to do all the things she usually did. I’d taken some unpaid leave from work, which was no biggie either, as Luis’ mate needed a job and Dad had approved of him.

Dad. Still running that doorman team like some dodgy mafioso. I was related to every single person on our rota, and it was definitely time to bring in some fresh blood. Not that the company complained, because we were probably the smoothest-running department in that hotel, despite all the drama I’d brought. I knew who I was now, and I quite liked who I’d become. I could run that door in my sleep, and I actually quite enjoyed when fans came to see me. Asked for photos. Left weird gifts that I stashed in the luggage room.

Amy still came up and asked me all the questions. Even the ones I had no answer to. Like what’s it like being married to the hottest bloke on the planet?

My answer to that had been to laugh in her face, just like I did now as the hottest bloke on the planet came out of the shower, stark naked, his hair dripping all over the carpet.

Well…the clothes that were still strewn all over the floor.

“You okay?” I asked, as he kicked around, looking for underwear. I’d actually stashed clean stuff in the contraption next to the wall, the one which had hangers and drawers and all sorts. He’d never think to look there and instead picked up a pair, sniffed them, grimaced and dropped back onto the carpet before crawling into bed like the wet idiot he was.

“Yeah.” He grinned, planted a kiss on my cheek. “Good night. Did you watch?”

“A bit. Got a bit…you know.”

“Dull.” He smiled. “We won some. Lost a lot. I had my picture taken with that Kit bloke, though? You know? The guy from…that film.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. I knew. Hopeless. Both of us.

“And I chatted to a few interesting people. Got some good feelers out. Lee says hi, by the way. And he’s hosting some party in the summer, wants us to come.”

“Party?” I huffed. He laughed. Yeah. We weren’t really party people. We sometimes had people over for dinner, though. Just ordinary people, like Agnes and her hubby. Josh. Bash and Josie. I really liked Josie. Good food, good friends…

I swiftly added something else to my list. I loved when Gray cooked. Not only was he an absolute gourmet baby-food cook, but he also made nice things for us. Spicy curries and rich stews and delicate omelettes and stuff that I sometimes didn’t even know the names off.

“Can you make that lamb thing again this week? You know, the spicy thing you did the other day?”

“Yup.” He sniffled into my shoulder. “Can do. Might need to go shopping, though.”

“Order online.” I kissed his head. “Like a normal person.”

“But I like going shopping. Looking at things. Choosing things for myself. And making sure we all eat good nutritious food. Lots of vitamins. Iron. Lean proteins.”

“I know.” I smiled fondly. He did like shopping.

“I still want to buy new equipment for the park,” he mumbled.

“Not your place,” I reminded him. I didn’t want to repeat our stupid argument from this morning when he’d taken the kids to the playground, realised the equipment was rusty and then promptly tried to contact the council so he could donate some shiny new swings. Because his kids deserved swings, and the rust could be a health hazard.

I’d had to talk him down from that little diva outburst, gently explaining that a bit of rust never killed anyone and that the kids loved that climbing frame, and he really needed to chill.

He had. Thank God.

“I’ve got the money,” he said. “All that stupid Blitz money. I can do whatever I want.”

He could. I actually had no idea how much money he had. I knew what I had in the bank, and I spent it on my kids. Paid the bills. Upgraded my phone like a normal person. Saved up when I wanted things.

“Remember when Michelle got you those tracksuits?” He snorted like he’d just remembered something funny. I didn’t find it funny at all. I’d been saving up for this tracksuit, and I’d been in Michelle’s office, looking at it on my phone while I was waiting for Gray to get off some Teams call with some bigwig acting people. She’d snuck a peek over my shoulder to see what I was doing, and I’d arrived home to a massive box on the doorstep with that very tracksuit in every bloody colour under the sun. In the right size.

I’d shouted a little. But Michelle liked me, and her excuse was that she owed me for keeping Gray under control.

I did nothing of the sort, but I knew better than to browse on my phone in front of her now. Even so, she kept threatening me with more gifts, and she sent things for the kids. And bloody flower arrangements.

“We should go away. Just the four of us. Next week,” he suggested in a voice that was full of drowsiness.

“Your mum and dad are coming down next week.”

“Oh, yeah, forgot. All the more reason we should go away. They can have the house to themselves and go to the theatre or something. See an opera.”

“Gray.” I chuckled. “Your mum would kill you.”

“I know.” He was always like this, wanting to do things, coming up with weird ideas. He was worse than me. I’d lied when I’d said his therapy had worked. Sometimes he was a right handful. Not that I minded. He was mine. All mine.

We sometimes got the kids in the car and went on totally random road trips. Rented caravans. Stayed in budget hotels. Normal things. I loved when we did things like that. He said it made him feel free, like he could breathe, not be so bogged down with real life.

“Want a blow job?” I whispered. “Might get you settled. You’re all wound up.”

“Just a bit. You know, it was a big night. Had a glass of champagne. Really didn’t like it.”

“That’s okay.” He was so stupid. So was I. “So. Dick. In mouth?”

“Would I say no to a blowie?” He shuffled over onto his back, whipping the duvet off to reveal his very nice boner. Just as I thought.

“Want it nice and slow?” I asked, moving down the bed and stroking his leg with my nose.

“Mmm,” was all I got from him as I licked my way up his shaft, tasted the saltiness at the tip, used my fingers to gently stroke his skin before parting my lips around him. Small noises. Shivers. Tiny movements as his fingers tangled in my hair.

“Yessss,” he hissed, and I tried not to smile. Another thing I loved about my life. I was good at blow jobs. Who’d have thought? Reuben from the estate, master cock-sucker?

I almost choked on his dick, trying not to laugh. Not that he seemed to care, gently guiding my head further down. I could take it, and he knew it, bobbing carefully as his dick worked its way further down my throat. In. Out. My head went a little woozy from it all, but so what? I knew how bloody good it felt when he did it to me. How he’d work me up into a frenzy of muffled shouting and begging and sheer…yeah. I was desperate sometimes by the time he let me come, exploding down his throat.

Just like he was doing now. His back arched off the bed as I took him impossibly deep, his whole body shivering with the release that tore through his exhausted bones.

Good.

This was…good. It made me smile as I shuffled up the bed and stuck my dick in his face, grinned mischievously as his tongue peeked out of his mouth and gave me a little lick. Another smile. My hand flew over my shaft as I got myself into that state where it wouldn’t take much.

“Give it to me,” he whispered as he finally opened that mouth of his, let me slide the tip into that heat, his puffy lips all around my dick, sucking me gently as my brain did that thing where it exploded the world into darkness. Small, twinkly stars at the edge of my vision. Suction. Hardness. Almost too much for my fragile head to compute.

“Good boy,” he whispered.

I was nobody’s good boy, but I loved when he called me that. Those little words that were just mine.

“Go to sleep,” I muttered, still smiling as I cuddled up to him, shoved what was left of Mr Snuggles under my head. He was still intact, the OG Mr Snuggles. Gray had bought me another Mr Snuggles. He wasn’t the same, though. Too hard. Too clean. But he sat on our dresser, and just glancing over at him filled my heart with…happiness.

I didn’t need to say the words. He knew. Just like I did.

Last on my list of things that made me happy. This. This right here. When I fell asleep with my face in his neck, his fingers tangled in mine. My body spooning his bony arse.

Happy. Perhaps that was all we needed to be.