The Peyton-Harris Equilibrium

They Take After Us

A/N: I have been so lazy and I apologise profusely, but I've been busy and more motivated with other works and also totally lacking ideas. But I know you guys love Max and Rylie's story so I was stoked when I finally came up with an idea for it. At 11pm. 

So now it's 2:30am and I've just written a lot of words and I'm tired and I have to be up early tomorrow so I really hope this is good and that you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. I have another idea for a chapter after this too which, if you like this one, you'll love. Don't forget to vote, comment and enjoy!

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- They Take After Us -

Sleeping in on a Sunday morning was not a luxury I often was allowed. Usually I would be woken up with little feet pattering down the hallway to our door, where it would push open and reveal our little bundle of energy.

Finn was about to celebrate his fourth birthday. Never had I experienced such a challenging, emotional, love filled four years in my life.

I thought I loved Max, and I did, I do, but the love I feel for my son is incomparable. The first time we left him with Imogen to get away for a weekend was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do. Leaving him was, both literally and metaphorically, leaving a part of myself behind. I struggled through the weekend with thoughts of Finn and his wellbeing constantly in my mind, and Max had got so bugged he'd driven us back early.

I smiled at the memory and rolled over to find nothing more than an empty bed, the white sheets turned up and scrunched to the footing.

I already knew he would be with Finn, playing or reading or cooking him breakfast like he sometimes did on weekends. Max was still cautious about my sleeping patterns, even years after I'd been in the coma. My heart warmed at the care he still showed when our attentions were both primarily focussed elsewhere, but it didn't mean I couldn't be annoyed when he put his health in front of my own.

I slid out from under the covers and pulled my hair up into a low bun, slipped Max's old Uni jumper over my head and went to stand by the window.

It was the middle of June, what was supposed to be only the start of winter. Clouds covered the once blue sky like a thick blanket, preventing the sun from shining it's rays down on us. It must have been almost 9am, an incredible sleep in on my part. Snow was already powdering the front lawn, creating a dusting on trees which looked like flour dusted on a cake. Winter was arguably my favourite season of the year, and the snow sparked excitement that could compete with my four year olds.

With that reminder I slipped out of my bedroom and paused outside the door, waiting for the sound that would tell me where my boys were.

Music started blasting from the radio in the kitchen before it was drastically turned down, undeniably an argument over control between Max and Finn. My lips turned up at the thought of the scene I'd witnessed a hundred times before, and then I heard a crash.

The motherly instinct in me took over and I fled down the hall, panic building up inside me like a air inflating a balloon. When I reached the kitchen, it popped.

My beautiful husband was in the process of standing up, closing the cupboard doors behind the stove where all our pots and pans were kept. That cupboard was a trap; and if you ever wanted to retrieve a pot, banging and crashing was inevitable.

"Mumma!" Finn's adorably sweet voice hit me and I turned to him with a huge smile. He was sitting on the bench by his dad with his innocent eyes and beaming face. His little, now pudge-less arms were stretched out towards me and my feet of their own accord took me over to him.