P.S. You’re Intolerable (The Harder They Fall)
P.S. You’re Intolerable: Epilogue

Two years later

MY HEAD. JESUS CHRIST, my head.

This barbershop was not getting repeat business. My head was yanked back, and a comb bashed against my forehead.

The barber squealed with delight and climbed on my lap to stand on my legs. Then she dragged her comb through my hair, scraping at my scalp hard enough to draw blood.

And I let her do it without complaint.

How could I not? She was fucking adorable.

Catherine walked by and rubbed the tiny demon barber’s head. “Be gentle with Daddy. He doesn’t know how to say no to you, love, but I think you might be hurting him.”

Joey frowned, her forehead crinkling. She took my face in her sticky little hands. “Hurt, Daddy?”

“A little, baby girl. Just a little.”

She poked her bottom lip out. “I sorry. I be gentle.”

“I know you will.” I held on to her little hips while she balanced on my legs and made a concerted effort to go lighter with the comb. “That’s much better, Jo-Jo.”

“I know. I do good,” she replied, one-hundred-percent sure of herself.

That was what I wanted for my daughter. Always. To be confident and empowered because she had so many people who loved her in her corner, she was able to take chances and be herself without being afraid.

So far, at almost two and a half, Josephine March Levy was living up to her name. Our girl was fierce and bright, rough and tumble, but achingly sweet and empathetic. I didn’t know any other toddlers, but I could say, without a doubt, mine was something special.

Joey finished up styling my hair, then Catherine returned to whisk her away for her nighttime routine. I checked over my scalp, pleased to replace no blood this time.

That’s my girl.

She’d been officially mine for over a year now. Liam had made a half-hearted protest, but once his wife had gotten pregnant with their first child, he’d agreed to sign his rights away so I could adopt Jo. Catherine had agreed to send him pictures when he requested them—which was every few months, more often than we’d expected—and Liam had agreed to meet her one day if she asked. That was as good as we were going to get from him, so I’d contented myself with it, and Liam’s existence rarely crossed my mind.

Life was far too busy to spend time on inconsequential things like that.

Catherine was no longer my assistant, though her office was now right next to mine. With Miles’s help—fucking Miles—she’d started a small nonprofit subsidiary of Levy Development that rehabbed old houses for the unhoused and impoverished.

She was happy and fulfilled in her new job, and I felt like the super genius who’d facilitated her replaceing her path while keeping her side by side with me.

There was never enough Catherine.

Not even when we got married three months after I’d asked her.

Not when I held her through her frustrated tears when she’d come to realize her parents were capable of being warm and loving with their granddaughter when they hadn’t been able to give their daughter the same.

Not when we’d spent our one-year anniversary in Paris, fucking, eating baguettes and cheese, spilling wine all over our sheets, and fucking some more.

Not when we’d decided it was time to have another child, and not when she’d shown me the stick with a second line two months later.

I walked into the bathroom, frowning at Catherine kneeling next to the filling bathtub while Joey banged her palms on the water. “You should have waited for me, sweetheart. There’s no reason for you to be down on the floor.”

I took her hands and yanked her up, her round belly bumping into me.

“I like giving her baths,” she protested.

“You’ll give her plenty of baths in a few months. Let me do it now.” I patted the bench I’d bought for just this purpose. “Sit here and watch, grumpy girl.”

“I’m not grumpy,” she grumped.

I kissed her cheek and brushed her hair aside to whisper in her ear. “You’re cute as fuck, Catherine. Just wait until I show you what grumpy girls get.”

When she shivered, I pushed her onto the bench and took care of Joey’s bath. She splashed and made a giant mess, soaking me and the floor, but Catherine was right. Saying no to her was painful. I liked seeing her happy and splashing in the bath was a yes in my book.

After Joey went to sleep, Catherine and I spent time in the den, stretched out on the couch. She pulled her shirt over her head without me asking and lay with her head on my shoulder and her legs tangled with mine.

I had a thing for rubbing her pregnant belly. I’d missed most of this our first time around, and though I could never get that back, I wasn’t missing a second of the little boy growing inside my wife.

He kicked and squirmed, pressing on my palm with his feet. When Catherine started talking, though, he settled down, and so did I.

“You haven’t shown me what grumpy girls get,” she reminded me.

“Oh?” I pushed up on my elbow, peering down at her. Her auburn waves were splayed around her lovely, flushed face. “I better get to that.”

I yanked her shorts off her body in one fluid motion and got down on my knees to bury my face in one of my favorite places to be. Her thick, creamy thighs locked around my head, her fingers digging through my hair, I licked her pussy until her mood had sweetened and she went boneless against me.

Then she climbed onto my lap and rode me gently while I sucked her ripe, pretty breasts and touched her everywhere I could reach.

“I love you,” she said against my lips. “I’m not grumpy anymore.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

I gave her ass a smack and took her mouth with mine, kissing her through her climax and mine moments later.

We fell back on the cushions, tangled and wrapped in each other, like always, both sighing with contentment and the certainty we’d made the right decision in choosing each other.

Catherine traced the tattoo over my heart. My one and only I had gotten after we’d gotten married. As a surprise, I’d taken Catherine to Mexico, where we’d both been tattooed by her favorite artist. She’d refused to match with me, which had made me grumpy, but I’d gotten over it after seeing what she’d chosen.

Her tattoo was on her ribs. It was an embroidered anatomical heart with roots growing marigolds, my birth month flower.

Our minds were aligned. My tattoo was a single chrysanthemum and a daisy, Catherine and Joey’s birth month flowers. There was room for the children we would have, but it was also complete as it was.

Just like me, complete with Catherine and Josephine, but eager to accept the bonus of everything else to come.

“Let’s go to bed, sweetheart.”

She blinked her sleepy eyes at me. “Mmm…okay.”

Like every night, I checked all the doors and set the security system. Catherine was waiting for me in bed. When I walked into the room, she pulled back the covers, welcoming me beside her. I slid in, pulling her against me, and clicked off the light.

“I might be grumpy again tomorrow,” she whispered in the dark.

I grinned. “If you are, I might have to give you the same treatment.”

She laughed and snuggled closer.

I shut my eyes and nuzzled her hair.

In less than a minute, her breathing deepened, sleep claiming her. Soon, I was drifting too, joining my wife and daughter in their dreams.

P.S. Thank you for making me feel…making me feel.