Not My Brute (Angels of War Series #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Unedited ❤️

Please read: I'm sorry for being MIA this past month.  I suffer with migraines and I seem to be getting more, more regularly than I used to do. I'm under a specialist at the hospital who put me on a strict screen detox for several weeks. I'm back now, but I wanted to ask if you'd be happy with 2 updates a week to help me get back into writing again?

Anyhoo! Hope you enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

Oscar loved making the Santa rice crispy cakes, eating three in one go. The mixture  ended up looking like big white blobs, but they still tasted amazing with Oscar and Bret even licking out the mixing bowl afterwards. We put out a few for Santa, filling a glass with chocolate milk and peeling a carrot for the reindeer.

I let Oscar help me set out the treats on the special Christmas plate that Bret bought from Matalan earlier in the day on the table near the fireplace. The little boys excitement rubbed off on me and before I knew it, I was dressing in a Rudolph onesie, falling to sleep on the sofa as Elf played in the background.

Oscar is asleep in Bret's arms on the sofa opposite me. It's lovely to see them so content, my eyes not able to leave them. Bret's prosthetic is on the floor, both legs stretched out with his knees slightly open to keep Oscar still on his chest.

I clear my throat which catches his attention. "Did you want me to carry him up to bed?"

Bret keeps his eyes on me, uncertain for a while until they drop to his sleeping son. "Let me hold him a while longer. I miss it."

I smile at seeing him so content, whispering back. "Okay."

We turn our attentions back to the television until Bret speaks up again. "You were amazing today. Thank you for making our day so special."

"Don't mention it, honey."

Laughing at a funny part in the movie, my eyes fall back on Bret, feeling my heart pound in my chest when he lowers his right eye into a slow blink. I grin back, knowing it's obnoxiously toothy, causing Bret to smile back.

"You really wanting to watch this film or is it for Oscars benefit?" he say, frowning at the television.

I tilt my head. "I'm enjoying it. Why?"

"There's only so many times you can watch something before it bores the shit out of you."

I raise an eyebrow. "How many times have you watched it?"

"Too many," he shakes his head, glancing down at his son when a tiny snore sneaks past his lips.

We both smile at the noise finding it far too cute. Oscar turns his face further into Bret's chest, arm sliding down to rest down the side of the sofa. Lifting his fingers, Bret combs them through Oscars shaggy hair.

"When he was a baby he snored louder than me," he says, still moving his fingers.

Moving my body to the side, I rest my cheek on the palm of my hand, wanting to watch his face when he talks to me. "I can't imagine babies snoring."

Bret laughs at this. "Believe me, they do. It's all the noise that came from his baby monitor at night. All he did was cry and snore."

Oscar lets out a louder snore, waking himself up in the process. "Daddy," he says, seeming out of it.

Acting so gentle, Bret curls his arms around his son, whispering something in his ear to calm him down. Automatically, Oscar settles his head down on his father's chest, letting out a long sigh, eyelashes fluttering all over the place.