Simon Ghost Riley

The Riley household was rarely quiet.

Six children, two parents and one very exhausted mother made for a chaotic home. Simon Riley and Summer Riley had been married for sixteen years. Sixteen years of arguments, laughter, deployments, sleepless nights and raising six children together.

And six children later, they'd finally got their little girl.

Charlotte Riley. Six years old. The youngest, and undoubtedly the most spoiled member of the family.

Their five older boys had practically grown up in a house where their mother's attention was constantly divided. Simon adored every single one of his children, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been hoping for a daughter eventually.

Now, however, he was beginning to question whether six children had been such a brilliant idea.

Especially when he couldn't get five minutes alone with his own wife.

It was currently late afternoon. Simon was sitting in Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish's living room, dressed in a black T-shirt and grey joggers, a mug of coffee resting in his hand. Beside him sat Soap himself, looking far too entertained by the conversation.

John Price occupied the armchair opposite them, scrolling through his phone. Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick was leaning against the kitchen doorway, while Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra were expected to join them later.

The conversation, naturally, had turned into something Simon hadn't particularly intended to discuss.

"Swear to God, Johnny. I haven't had a moment with my own bloody wife in months."

Soap raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained.

"Months?"

"Months."

"Sixteen years married and you're telling me you've forgotten how to get your wife's attention?"

Simon shot him a deathly look.

"Don't start."

Soap chuckled, leaning back against the sofa.

"What's the problem, then?"

"The bloody children," Simon grumbled, rubbing his forehead. "Can't sit beside her without one of them climbing into her lap. Can't make her a cup of tea without Charlotte demanding one. Can't even kiss her without someone shouting for Mummy."

Gaz snorted from the doorway.

"Sounds like you've got a busy household, LT."

"You're not helping, Garrick."

Soap grinned.

"So what do you do, then?"

Simon took a long sip of coffee before answering.

"Shower."

Soap blinked.

"What?"

"Only bloody time I get five minutes with her is when I ambush her in the shower. And even then, one of the little terrors starts banging on the bathroom door."

Price finally looked up from his phone.

"Christ, Simon. Have some patience."

"Easy for you to say, Captain."

Soap burst out laughing, shaking his head.

"Actually, Lieutenant, I reckon you ought to stay away from her."

Simon slowly turned his head.

"Excuse me?"

Soap gestured vaguely towards him.

"Every time you breathe in her direction, she ends up pregnant. Six bloody children, mate. Maybe give the poor woman a break!"

Gaz nearly choked on his drink.

Price let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"He's got a point."

"Fuck off, all of you," Simon muttered.

Soap was practically wheezing now.

"Five lads and finally a wee lassie. Took you sixteen years and six attempts!"

"Charlotte was worth it," Simon replied immediately, his expression softening slightly.

"Never said she wasn't," Soap grinned.

Simon leaned further back into the sofa, taking another sip of his coffee.

For once, there were no children demanding his attention, no little feet running around the house and no wife calling his name from another room.

Just a rare afternoon with his closest mates.

Soap glanced at him again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"So, when's the missus coming round, then?"

Simon gave him a sideways look.

"She's not."

"Why not?"

"Because I actually wanted a bloody afternoon without the children."

Soap burst out laughing.

"Careful, mate. Sounds like you're starting to miss her."

Simon rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Johnny."