Cleaning it out, I got the special cleaner Addy used and dowsed the tub with that, then left it to soak overnight.
Well, when my wife came back tomorrow, she’d come home to a sterilized bathtub, hopefully, a new bathmat, and a non-constipated child. Oh, and a sterilized husband.
I hadn’t thought for one minute that parenting would be easy, but nowhere in my brain did I ever think I’d encounter what I had tonight, and I didn’t ever want to again.
“Stop laughing,” I hissed, tugging at the short sleeves of my t-shirt to try and cover the raw patches on my arms. “It’s not funny.”
“You removed skin washing off dookie water,” Remy wheezed, holding his side while the guys laughed around us.
I’m sure most of them had initially winced when I’d been filling them in on why I looked like a poison oak victim, but now they were over the initial shock and enjoying the humor of my shituation.
Humor, FYI, that likely wouldn’t ever hit me, given that I was the victim of the floaters.
“You’re telling me you didn’t do something similar when Toby peed on you? I woke up to you howling at the moon and scrubbing yourself with the car cleaning shit.”
Still grinning, he raised his cup of coffee at me. “That may be the case, but at least he didn’t play Battleshits with me.”
Glaring at him, I stalked out of the stables, shuddering once I knew I was out of sight. God, would I ever get over it? I’d done three rounds of head-to-toe scrubbing this morning as well, but I swear I’d never be the same again.
Feeling the arms wrapping around me from behind, I twisted around to tuck Addy closer to me.
“I’m so glad you’re back.” Burying my nose in her hair, I inhaled deeply. “You smell so good, baby.”
“So do you. I’ve missed you so much.”
Eyes narrowing at the pillow behind her, I mumbled, “You’re lying, I don’t smell good.”
When she just buried her nose in my chest and inhaled, I winced, wishing she wouldn’t do that. In fact, maybe I shouldn’t be hugging her yet?
I was just pulling back from her when her nose skimmed over a particularly raw patch on my chest, making me flinch.
“What’s that about?”
“Nothing. You must be exhausted, Addy. Why don’t we go to sl—” Light blinding me suddenly cut off what I was saying, and by the time I’d blinked away the pain of it, she had me on my back and was staring at my chest. “It’s not contagious, I promise.”
“Contagious?” she choked out, lifting a hand to touch it and then thinking better of it. “What the fuck happened, Marcus? Oh, God, is Seb okay?”
Before she could swing her leg back over me and hop out of bed, I clamped my hands down around her waist. “He’s fine. In fact, he’s more than fine. He’s not constipated anymore.”
Eyes narrowed on me, she rolled her lips. “Did your chest have something to do with that development?”
I was about to lie. I had my mouth open, ready to grasp the first thing that came out of it and hammer it home as what had happened. Except, I never lied to my wife, ever, so in the end, I let the whole story pour out of me.
“Battleshits?”
“Yeah, like the game Battleships, but with shits as the ships.”
Her even white teeth bit into her bottom lip, but it was the sporadic flaring of her nostrils that made me glare at her.
“You’re trying not to laugh, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I just- Well, it’s just—”
When she didn’t go any further, I rolled my eyes. “Fine, get it all out. Everyone else has, so you may as well, too.”
I regretted it. Oh, fuck me, did I regret it. The second the stopper came out, Addy laughed so hard she cried. In fact, if it was possible, she laughed herself to sleep, then woke up the next morning and started all over again.
Fifteen years later…
Addy
Today was a proud day—our daughter, Dana, was competing in her first competition on her horse called Matahari, who, incidentally, was also Rocky’s son. She’d decided on the name after saying his mane looked like the sunshine and had chosen the Malaysian word for it.
Sitting beside my husband, with our son next to us, watching Dana as she completed jumps and gave a flawless performance, I smiled the smile that came out of me every day. Sure, there were days I wanted to brain my husband with a skillet and days I wanted to go on vacation—by myself—but I still smiled.
Maybe it was the music that kept me sane—I mean, there was a kind of therapy called music therapy, so it could truly be the reason—but life was good. Better than good.
As the next rider came out and completed the course, I caught sight of Dana standing next to one of her friend’s brothers, their attention not on the friend as she got ready to go out next.