Present Day, 2024

Seventeen years. JC and I have been together for seventeen years. It would be a lie if I said we didn’t have some turbulence; it would also be a lie if I said grief, loss, depression, anger, exhilaration,  and just … extreme peace were not felt, because they were. Loving him, being with him was like the rollercoaster ride that was the biggest thrill of my life, but had some of the lowest dips, too. 

After our trip to Hawaii, things came to a head on the flight home when I finally found out what had been bothering him so much, why the sudden animalistic behavior occurred. He suddenly became even more protective,  primal. I definitely wasn’t complaining about the latter; it made for a lot of fun, a lot of sex - but a lot of questions. He was marking me, giving me looks that, unbeknownst to him, started scaring the shit out of me.  It wasn’t like he was watching every move I made, but he was calculating, withdrawn. 

Not even the lingerie he loved so much could draw it out of him. 

I pushed for answers, I nagged for answers. I didn’t care if I became that person, that wife that got on her husband. Something was wrong. 

And I was right. 

Text messages had surfaced, e-mails.  Lewd, disgusting words aimed towards me. They were volatile, angry, threatening. Words that spoke of what said person would do to me, how they could take me from JC in an instant, how angry they were at me following through with the marriage, with the baby, with even pretending to be in love with him. I didn’t belong to him; I never was his. They wanted JC to hurt. They wanted to hit him hardest when he wasn’t looking. 

JC had received word of them the morning of our flight, explaining his complete demeanor change. He knew that Kira wasn’t at risk, just my mental health having to deal with the repercussions of having to face the harasser, having to live through hell and hear the words spoken of me, about my husband. 

When the words fell from his mouth as he told me, he was visibly shaking in anger. It explained his primal and animalistic advances at me, his protectiveness, his constant watch over me. He was proving to not only himself, but to whatever negative energy had been put out in the atmosphere that I wasn’t theirs for the taking; I was his. 

He didn’t want to tell me who was involved, but I knew. I knew. After the unwanted advances at JC’s show, the bitterness that was between the two men - I knew. 

And when we stood in that courtroom waiting for judgment against Rob for everything, my hand firmly gripping JC’s, I could finally see the relief wash over him and the weight lift off of his shoulders after eight months of back and forths with lawyers and legalities. He looked over at me, his eyes still sad, but I could see the triumph, as he pressed his lips to mine and murmured with a smile, “you will always be mine”.

Animalistic or just making a point, him having protectiveness over me was sexy. 

Of course, we couldn’t round out the first year and a half of our marriage without him responding back by suing us for breech of contract - something that did scare me momentarily until I realized that had a contract existed, we were still upholding our end. 

But, as luck would have it, all that was in that room that fateful day was JC, Rob and me and a verbal agreement that no one else could back Rob up on. So, the next day, with a lawyer present, we slid our marriage license across the table for the judge to see the authenticity of it and even showed photos of us throughout the years proving our relationship and the case was thrown back in his face. 

He served 90 days in jail and double that for probation. I thought it was a shit sentence, but it got him away from us and in the end, he lost everything and moved to Chicago to be with his mother. 

Karma. 

The following year was a good year. Kira was now reaching the early toddler stage and had learned to walk about a month and a half before her first birthday. My hands were full, our planned wedding was that summer and by October, our home grew by another. 

Ella. Our sweet Ella Cecilia. The polar opposite in looks to her sister, coming out with blonde hair and the lightest blue eyes I had ever seen in comparison to Kira, who had the deepest brown hair and my eyes. 

It was fun watching the two of them grow together that year. Both girls, while polar opposites in looks, did share the same waves in their hair - let me tell you how much fun brushing it was. 

With every year that passed, I felt myself wanting to pinch a part of me. I woke up in the morning to the slumbering face next to me, face buried deep in his pillows with one arm tucked beneath them and the other wrapped securely around me. It didn’t matter how we fell asleep the night before; somehow, someway, he managed to find his way to me, wrapping an arm around me and holding securely to me at the side of my ribcage just below my breast. He never missed a beat, never backed down and never let me walk away. We had both learned from our past mistakes and I had grown immensely after Hawaii, especially.

I knew I was still immature. Even at 27-28, I was childish with how I dealt with things. But he never faltered, he encouraged, he pushed, he gave me space to figure things out - but never let me even get to the point of thinking of leaving. But I’m glad I never even thought of that after the last time I did. 

I jumped to conclusions a lot. Be it because I felt like I was burned a lot in the past or something, but I know that’s just playing the victim and I had to surrender that mindset and my God, let me tell you, it was freeing. 

How he stayed with me throughout all that bullshit, I’ll never know. But we got so strong, especially the years following Ella. 

Those years built me then broke me. 

We knew even in the midst of passionate discussions that our number was 3 - 3 children, that was it. So when I fell pregnant (again) in the summer of 2010, we were ready to complete our family. 

But the night after New Years, while at home and not feeling too great to begin with, I began bleeding profusely and ended up having a placental abruption. Even with an emergent c-section, our first son was born stillborn and I required transfusion after transfusion to make up for the blood loss. 

It was a rocky road (with recovery and mentally) for awhile. JC was my rock throughout the whole ordeal but I know it hurt him just as much as it was hurting me. I saw the pain in his eyes, the ruddy cheeks; I felt the tossing and turning at night and I heard the tears in the shower when he thought no one could hear. 

Of course I did. And when I did, I was there with him, crying for our son, for our could have been. 

We named him Gabriel Scott - a name that JC said came to him in a dream only days before that fateful day. We only found it fitting when we found it meant “strength”, and took to heart that we needed to find strength in one another to carry on for one another, for our girls. 

Because, we knew that child loss broke many marriages. It was painful, but true. We didn’t want the loss of Gabriel to be the loss of us - he was a piece of our family and would continue to keep us connected. 

To add insult to injury, my mother fell ill in July of that year. It was very unexpected, but something we thought was coming, as she never went to the doctor and had been complaining of pain for quite some time. This ended up being terminal colon cancer. 

In the months that followed, watching her receive pain management and hospice care, I unraveled. Between barely being out of postpartum with Gabriel, losing him, raising  two young daughters, and now facing the inevitable loss of my mom, I was hanging by a thin thread. 

But JC. The immense love I have for that man is indescribable. On the days that l could barely get out of bed, he was up and running around with the girls, feeding them, bathing them, dressing them and taking them places to give me space. He’d come home with my favorite food and held me as I cried. On days that I’d spend the entire day with my mom, I would come home and the house would be spotless, he’d have dinner made and the girls would have already been down for the night so I had a moment for myself to breathe. 

Those moments, when I walked in the door and saw him standing there waiting, knowing, just being, I felt everything drop to my feet and he’d be there to catch me before I could collapse from the weight of it all. 

When my mom got sicker, he called for reinforcements and had Grammy and Pa (Karen and Roy) stay so that he could be with me and spend time with my mom, also. It meant the world to me, watching him sit at her bedside, speaking sweetly to her, singing her favorite songs to her and just telling her stories that he knew she’d love to hear, keeping her spirits up and the mood light. 

I wholeheartedly believe he’s the reason she held on longer than they expected. 

My mom passed away in February of the next year. Just seven months after she was diagnosed. Her last words to us?  “I can see Gabriel, Lily; he’s beautiful. Oh, he looks like you, Joshua … I’ll take care of him for you.”

JC and I went into therapy for more than a year after that. 

But I do take a deep, deep comfort knowing that in the end, a little boy who looks just like his father is waiting for us. 

The next few years went by thankfully without anything exciting. JC had moved on to focus more on writing and producing so that he was home more for me and the girls, a choice he made on his own and was quite happy with and I settled in as a stay-at-home-mom.  While I missed working, I didn’t want to miss them more. 

The year Ella started preschool we began to talk about our three. I was longing for that third set of feet running around but I worried that it felt like we were replacing Gabriel - the one who never had a chance. I mourned him every day, lit a candle on his birthday every January 2 and told his sisters all about the little brother they almost had. He wasn’t forgotten or replaceable, but I felt my clock ticking and suddenly, Gabriel had to be a big brother. 

JC was on the fence about it. By this time, we did have a solid system down, my mental health was steady and he worried about if something were to happen to me again. 

"I almost lost you once, Lily; I can't go through that again."

And I understood, I really did.  I was put under general anesthetic after a quick ultrasound saw blood pooling in my uterus and the little movement Gabriel had done since they began their exam; I had never seen so many hospital personnel run into a room as I had that day.  After delivering him, I required bag upon bag of blood as JC, who couldn’t even be in the room but stood in the gallery, was ushered quickly and far away as his newborn son was attempted to be saved and his wife crashed on the table. His fear was understood and valid - so after much talk and deliberation, we decided on a surrogate. 

Who just so happened to be Charlotte. 

My beautiful, punk rocker sister who had a little boy of her own, chose to carry our fourth child, our third living into the world - and by far the biggest. 

The running joke is that I am glad it was her delivering him and not me. 

Our bookend, Joshua Gabriel (named after his brother and dad, of course) came in August of 2015, just four days after daddy’s birthday. He was the spitting image of his father right out the gate and as the years sailed on, continued to look more and more like him. 

With our family complete, I could now watch it grow and develop as the days went on. And on and on they went. While it was painfully obvious in my children’s eyes, it was watching JC through the years that tugged at my heart most - I had someone to grow old with. 

My strikingly handsome, lean, dark-haired man was beginning to show that time was passing. Lying in bed, I’d run my fingers through his hair (as I often did) and would see the grays moving in where his dark hair used to be. Don’t get me wrong, I found him wildly attractive regardless, but it became painfully obvious how much time had gone by since the beginning of the story. Of our story. 

When this all started, I was Lily Hennessy; I had a full-time job and my best friend was my boss and also someone I was secretly in love with but insanely in denial about. I was lost, had a lot of growing up to do and honestly needed someone to love me and turn my world upside down. 

And with someone’s stupid idea that my boss and I (thankfully) went along with, I got married on a glimmer of hope and my world began to teeter. 

I don’t know how many times in the last seventeen years or so that I’ve apologized to him for my insecurities and inability to cope properly - each and every time, his response back was that I made all the frustration worth it. 

Seventeen years. 

Kira is almost sixteen now. Sixteen. She is Josh’s princess and has him wrapped around her finger. She’s smart; so smart - musical like her father and classically trained on the piano since she was 2. She sings in vocal competitions and writes music for local commercials. See what I mean?  Her father’s daughter.  She still had my dark hair and dark eyes and seemed to follow in my footsteps in height. Sorry, kiddo; you win some, you lose some. 

And Ella.  The name of our possible first child that was never used and yet we held close to the vest; thankful to use it not too long after bypassing it.  If Kira is the princess, Ella is the baby. At 14, going on 24, she very much gets what she wants at all times, but like her sister, musically inclined - she hates to sing, but loves playing piano.  She used to pull herself up to stand at the piano bench and watch her big sister pound on the keys as soon as she could, and when she was an infant, the only way she fell asleep was if Josh was wearing her in a sling, playing the piano and singing softly to her.  She’s part of the National Honors Society and is a competitive dancer. She’s damn good, too. She’s stubborn and sarcastic - she’s all me. Then the blonde wavy hair comes in from God knows where with her dad’s bright blue eyes. Both girls are built like me, but it does seem like she may gain some height in comparison to her older sister. 

Joshua was our wild card. He is still very much his daddy’s twin at eight, but musically, he has no interest. He is trained to play, and while he hates it, continues to do so for the sake of his dad. Every once in a while, though, when he thinks no one is looking, he will tinker on the keys a solemn tune - and if you looked long enough, it’s like looking into a time capsule at his dad from behind. He loves baseball and soccer, excelling at pitching and midfield, especially. 

Of course, JC and I were doing great, too. Honestly, I think we are better now than when we were when it all began. He has started traveling a bit - from California to New York and back for a musical he is working on and has been for years. He has been pouring his heart and soul into that project and I couldn’t be more proud of him - the kids are, too; it’s something quite foreign to him and he has been doing amazingly. 

He got back with the group momentarily, too. I say “momentarily” because we still don’t know what exactly the plan is for that, but as a wife, being her husband’s confidante and person he relied on most, hearing his worries about the reception of their small return and then seeing the flood of relief wash over him when he saw just how momentous it actually was, eased my stress level quite a bit.

Though, I really shouldn’t have been stressed - I saw the demand for their return even years ago and how it boiled over into a frenzy when the rumors began to circulate. 

And I got to watch, as a first-timer, how his eyes lit up being around those other four men and the magic they produced. 

“Babe?”

I looked up from chopping up peppers, a smile stretching across my face as I heard his voice echo through the foyer and into our kitchen. Speak of the devil. As I looked up to see his face, he crossed the threshold into the large dining/kitchen area, setting his bags at his feet with a sweet smile on his own face. “Hey. Welcome home.”

It only took a few large strides for him to clear the space between us, he pulling me away from the counter, taking the knife gently from my hand and placing it on the counter before lacing his hand in mine and holding it at my back, other hand woven in my hair at the nape of my neck. “I missed you,” he murmured, lips against mine before kissing me once more.  He held to me tightly at the hip as he rested his forehead to mine, sighing in content. “Where are the kids?”

“I missed you, too,” I smiled, taking in his familiar scent momentarily before pulling away to continue the task at hand. “Kira’s at voice, Ella’s at dance and Joshua is at conditioning for baseball - Charlotte took him.”

“Ah,” he nodded, reaching over and putting a piece of pepper into his mouth, “so that means we have the house to ourselves?”  

I laughed, looking over at him and shaking my head as I tossed a piece of the pepper at him, he grinning and popping it into his mouth, leaning over and pressing a kiss to my mouth. “I love you, you dork.”

“I love you, too, Mrs. Dork.”

He continued to grin, reaching over and grabbing a knife to help me chop vegetables, setting it on the cutting board and rolling his sleeves up as he washed his hands. It was true, though: he hadn’t changed that much, aside from a few laugh lines and had grown out his hair. While for a long time he had let his hair turn completely gray, the project that he did with his former, not-former, bandmates had him dying his hair back to his deep brown color - be it going back to the identity of back then or just wanting to feel better about himself on camera, I didn’t know. 

Oh, and he also wore glasses now, too. And not for show. 

But I couldn’t tease him too much; I had readers that I had when I read in bed. Getting old is a bitch on your vision. 

I finished chopping what I needed, tossing it all in the dish and waiting as he did the same. I washed my hands, he stepping up behind me and burying his face into my neck,

Inhaling slowly as he put his hands on either side of me. “Hi,” I chuckled, turning my head to look at him as he pressed a kiss to my forehead and then to my lips. “I did miss you, by the way. How was your trip?”

He hummed against my cheek, a smile forming. “Eventful,” he finally said softly, “I’m learning a lot, getting a lot done.  I’m hoping by the end of the year to have an actual musical done.”

I arched an eyebrow, turning into him. “Really?”

He nodded, beaming. His entire face was lit up like the Vegas Strip. “I can’t wait for you to see it, to hear it …” he trailed off, jittery like he was shaking off the last bit of a concert high, “but I want you to wait until it’s finished for you to see it.”

I reached up, running my hands up his arms and then held his face, scratching at the stubble that I loved so much. He leaned into my touch, still grinning widely. “I’m so proud of you, do you know that?  What you’re doing, the moves you’re making, the chances you’re taking …”

He stepped into me, trapping me against the counter firmly now - I could feel his sudden rush of adrenaline, feel his happiness - but then, looking into his eyes, I could see his need. “I’m doing this because of you,” he said softly, “I’m doing this because I know I can because of you.”

“You’ve done a lot of things, babe. A lot of things that are scary and different and you did them on your own. You would have done this just fine.”

“Just take a damn compliment, would you?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly. “What I’m saying is you being here, raising our kids, supporting me, holding me up … I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I smiled against his shoulder, gripping him tightly. His  woodsy scent teased my senses, my eyes fluttering shut as he continued to hold me. This was my favorite thing about him, and had been for many years. It developed over time, really - he held me to protect me from the world and wouldn’t let go until I released him and I was quite alright with not letting go until … well, forever. 

My eyes popped open as I felt him lift me, gripping him tightly. “Josh!  What’re you doing?!”

“Kids won’t be home for another hour …”

“I have to finish making dinner!”

“Dinner can wait,” he said, and I could just picture the devilish smile on his face. “Lucky for you, our bedroom is just down the hall …”

I screeched as he playfully smacked my ass, kicking open our bedroom door with his foot and then kicking it shut with his heel. I laughed as he tossed me to the bed, he wasting no time in pulling his sweater up and over his head, tossing his glasses to his side of the nightstand and pulling his jeans down and into a pile with his sweater. 

I sat up, he walking in between my legs as my hands slid up and over his shoulders, gripping him tightly. I placed a kiss to his collarbone, trailing across the delicate bone to the other side and up his neck, finally meeting his mouth, his lips meeting mine with a feverish intensity.  I felt him grip the back of my knees, flipping me onto my back as I cried out once more, laughing as he leaned forward, kissing me again. I snaked my hand around his neck, tangling in the longer hair he had, gripping tightly. “You must have missed me a lot, huh?” I couldn’t help but giggle as his mouth found the sweet spot on my neck, his stubble tickling my skin. 

“Oh, baby, you have no idea …” His voice was soft, seductive near my ear as he nipped it gently, causing me to  shudder. 

I let my eyes fall closed as he continued his slow assault on my skin, gently nipping then soothing with every movement he made, his hands skirting up and down my legs, clad in yoga pants and comfy socks (because why the hell not?) before hitting my hips and hooking his fingers at the waistband and pulling down slowly. Long gone was the girl who tried to hide her body; this body went through hell and back with three pregnancies, nearly bleeding out and coming back from hell to find a way to survive. I was not in the body I once had but I was damn proud of it for maintaining two of those three lives (I was a bit mad about the third one). 

For maintaining mine. 

On days where he was feeling super sentimental, he paid close attention to the vertical scar that ran from just at my belly button to my pantyline, a reminder of the hell that I went through and the loss of our son, and he nearly losing me. His fingers would slowly trace the scar with a far away look on his face, lost in a moment in time that I know he and I have forever burned into our memories. 

Thankfully, today wasn’t that day, though. He pressed a kiss to the scar, continuing to move upward until he found my lace bralette, hands reaching up and grasping, thumbs  swiping over my nipples through the thin fabric. I arched into his touch, inhaling as I felt his warm tongue tease a nipple to its peak, doing the same to the other. 

“You know,” I breathed out, he looking up at me with an arched eyebrow, “you’d think at 47, you’d wanna slow down …”

I know my teasing tone wasn’t lost on him, he reaching up and grabbing my hair, hair that was now shoulder length, yanking me into a sitting position, closer to him as he crushed my lips to his.  “You watch your dirty mouth,” he smirked, mouth moving against mine as his words breathed against me, “because I might have to put those pretty lips to work later.”

I feigned fright, he grinning as he smoothed my hair away from my face. His face took on a softer tone, his eyes watching his hand play with my hair momentarily before going back to mine, studying them. “How did I get so lucky, huh?  Of all the women in the world, how did I luck out with you?”

I jut out my lip, reaching up and holding onto his arm that still played with my hair, holding tightly to it as he pulled it towards me, his hand now cupping my cheek. “You could have had any woman in the world and chose to stay with me.”

His eyes searched mine, an intensity scorching me deep in my soul as the slow, sweet smile began to stretch on his face, triggering the trademark squint as I ran my fingertip gently along the soft lines of his face.  “Lily, there was never going to be anybody else,” he said softly, shaking his head, “I was stupid to believe that there was gonna be anybody else but you for me.  It was always you.  You were it, baby.”

“You gave me a beautiful life,” I said softly, “beautiful kids, a beautiful home …”

“You gave me all those things,” he interrupted. “I was just along for the ride.”

My eyes fluttered closed as he kissed me again, pushing me down gently as he nestled himself between my legs. “Everything I have done since you walked into my life was done with you in mind,” he whispered against my skin, “and  seventeen years later, that hasn’t changed.”

Gasping slightly against his mouth as I felt his hand dip below the lace of my panties, he humming in appreciation, I gripped his neck, relishing in the feel of him after his absence. 

His body was like a weighted blanket: comforting, secure and covering every inch of me as much as he possibly could. I felt lulled in his presence, sedated; his rhythmic movements were not lost on me, though - I was lost in the moment more. I felt the coolness hit my body as he lowered himself, placing kisses down the valley of my breasts and to my stomach, his hands gently caressing my thighs before pulling my panties down. “We don’t have long enough for what I really want to do to you,” he said softly, sliding his body back up me as I nodded, he resting on his elbows as he looked at me, smiling widely, “but tonight? Tonight, I will make up for it.”  

I felt him slide slowly into my entrance, the sweet pressure giving way as he began rocking slowly against me. Reaching back, he grabbed a leg that was beside him, hitching it around his back, doing the same to my other. I gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin.  It didn’t get old, this thing between he and I. Maybe that’s what they meant when they said when you found the person you were meant to be with, everything fell into place, everything was your comfort, you were at ease regardless of the situation - 

He flipped us over, then, he now beneath me with a gleam in his eyes as his hands reached up, squeezing and kneading my breasts, tweaking my nipples before sitting up and sucking one into his mouth. “Fuck me, Lils,” he said lowly, his breath against my skin, “it’s been too long.”

- Situations like this, where I would have been self conscious and attempting to cover-up, waiting for his reassurance. 

But now?  Now, I was 43. Long gone were those reservations. He had watched me birth children, fall apart, pick myself back up; he built me back up, loved every single part of me, even when I couldn’t love myself. He brought me stability, confidence, peace. 

He brought me him. 

I was brought back to earth by his groans, his grip on my breasts loosening as he dropped to my waist and then to my hips, digging into my skin, thrusting in time with my hip rolls. “Like that?”

“Just like that, babe,” he whispered, sitting up and holding his weight with an elbow, capturing my lips again. I didn’t care how many times, how many years we had done this, it never got old - even if we were. 

“What’s so funny?” 

I realized I was smiling against his mouth, his own now mirroring mine as I pulled away. “Nothing,” I rocked against him, watching his head drop back at the sensation. “Just realized how old we have gotten.”

“Speak for yourself,” he growled, pushing himself up, grabbing the hair at the back of my neck, yanking my head back with just enough force as he assaulted the skin there, one hand flattening against my breastbone before using both hands to hoist me up and back onto the bed. “Turn over.”

I looked at him, his chest heaving with exertion and passion, body slightly shiny with sweat. He was still the golden ticket. I bit my lip as I let my eyes travel downward, grinning widely at his erection: still large and still very much in charge. 

“Lily, I said turn over.”

I opened my mouth to speak, eyes moving up to meet his normally bright blue ones, they looming with a storm. He stepped to me in one quick movement, taking an arm, flipping me onto my stomach. In one slick movement, I felt him enter me hard and fast, his thrusts rough and purposeful. He was proving a point. 

Okay, Jace, you aren’t old. 

I reached for the closest thing, it being his pillow and pushed it into my face, biting down to muffle the moans. I knew the kids weren’t home, but I wasn’t taking chances. 

I cried out as I felt a sharp slap to my ass, groaning again. God, he knew what he was doing. 

“Jesus, Lil, I hope you’re close, because I can’t -“

I nodded, close to seeing taste and smelling colors, feeling the familiar build-up as I thrust my hips back in time with his. It was close. So close. 

I focused on the sensations: the grip of his hands on my hips, the animalistic moans escaping his mouth, the thickness taking over my insides …

I cried out his name as I came, gripping the sheets as I felt my heart race and my toes curl. Jesus Christ. Every time.  Every. Fucking. Time.  

It only took him a few moments after, he soon leaning against me as he laughed, head on the small of my back. “How’s that for an old man?”  

I wiggled under him until I was flipped back over, hand resting on my belly as he placed a tender kiss there before sitting up, looking at me as I smiled. “You’re not old, Josh. We’re just … well-versed.”  I studied his features, putting a hand to his cheek as he leaned into it. “Age isn’t anything but a number, anyway.”

He shrugged, giving me a half smirk as his finger traced a line from the valley of my breasts to the dip of my belly button. “Old or not, the sex is still as good as it was in the beginning so I’m not complaining.  At least some things haven’t changed.”  He cupped my breast, squeezing it gently as he placed a sweet but quick kiss to my lips. “No one else I’d rather fuck than you, Lily Anne.”  He gave me a wink as he got up, modesty be damned as he grabbed his glasses and walked naked to his dresser, checking his phone and still facing me. 

It was almost as if we were back on the boat; I could feel the heat creeping up my cheeks at the double whammy of his dick, still mostly hard, pretty much in my face and the wink. 

Ugh. His winks kill me. 

“I can feel you watching me,” he said softly as he smiled, eyes casting up and over the top of his lenses. “Keep looking at me like that and dinner will never be done and the kids will really know their parents have sex.”

I grinned, unable to help myself. Time had been kind to him, even if he was hard on himself sometimes. With he no longer touring and making music for himself (for the most part), he didn’t need to endurance train as much, and because of that, meant less time at the gym. He still would run on the treadmill or cycle a few times a week, and he always made time for weights so his arms and legs didn’t suffer, but with age, much like mine, his body did shift a bit. But it suited his lifestyle. He was still thin, but broader in the shoulders and hips, softer in the stomach and chest. He had wanted to dye the graying chest hair to match his head, which I put a stop to right away and I think the hair growing out was his way of rebelling against his aging process. 

Me?  I relatively stayed the same size, give or take a size, depending on the clothes, have breastfeeding boobs, a soft belly which unfortunately is hard to get rid of because of my incision, but I’m working on it, and to r