Chapter Fifty-Three
Claire brushed her fingers through what was left of John's hair, a small smile on her lips as he mumbled a song to their unborn child. She'd caught the last seconds of his PTSD attack earlier, and she knew that the medications he was on mixed with it had him exhausted.
He closed his eyes as he relaxed against his wife's stomach, listening to their child move inside of her and the tiny heartbeat. He gave a tired smile as Claire's touch grounded him, the feeling of her nails against his scalp sending tingles of pleasure down his spine. "Feels good…" He sighed, cracking his eyes open as Samantha and the twins climbed into the bed with them. "I'm sorry I yelled…" He whispered; his voice still hoarse from the tears during his attack.
Maya took a seat beside her father's legs, letting her brother and sister get comfortable behind him or in front of him. "It's okay. You're sick." She smiled, tracing one of the scars on his hips with a gentle finger. She could see where he'd gotten a new tattoo outlined, happy to see that her father was actually putting her drawing on his body for real. She could see that it wasn't exactly like her drawing, the lines were cleaner, but the image of a wolf was still in her style.
John chuckled as she touched his scars and tattoos, fully aware that it was a grounding technique she used when she was tired or over thinking. "What's wrong, Bug?" He asked, wincing as Sid accidentally bumped his leg.
"I'm scared that you'll get hurt again…" She sniffed, fighting back tears so that she didn't look weak.
He pulled her closer, combing her hair back from her face to press a kiss to her brow. "I won't get hurt like this again." He smiled, rough fingers brushing her tears away.
"That's what you said last time." Sid pointed out, swallowing when his eyes landed on the stitches in his father's scalp.
Claire bit her lip as Samantha retreated into her own world, looking up as Phoebe appeared in the doorway. She looked into the teen's eyes, able to see John's stubbornness and light in them. "How're you, Mouse?" She smiled, watching as she pulled her hair into a messy bun and stepped into the room.
Phoebe had changed a lot since the Standishes had adopted her, but most of all, the way she acted and looked like John. At nearly seventeen-years-old, she'd become the spitting image of her brother. "Mom and Dad wanted to know if you wanna come to the barbeque this weekend." She stated, taking a seat on the end of the bed. She rested a hand on her brother's able to see how he'd aged over the years. "It's to celebrate finding a donor…"
John gave a little nod, lacing his fingers with hers as she sat with them. "We'll be there." He smiled, closing his eyes in contentment as his family surrounded him. "I want the donor's family to be there too." He sighed, just before sleep claimed him.
