30. Epilogue—Kendrick
Moira’s three bulldogs are waiting patiently for me the second I get in the front door of her house. They’re well trained, sitting in a line. The only thing giving away their excitement is their wildly swinging tails. Their wayward owner isn’t home, but I can hear her voice in my head just fine. This is your fault; stop spoiling them. They’re gonna want this treatment even after you and Ken move into your new place, and I’m blaming you. That means you better watch your food carefully, mate.
Worth it.
“Do you think I have something for you?” I ask them. The only way to get privacy around here is to distract them. Otherwise, they follow me everywhere.
Porthos—sandwiched between his brothers Athos and Aramis—barks loudly. I’ll take that as a yes. I haven’t quite mastered the art of talking dog. Yet. It’s on my list. Easier than learning to speak rabbit.
“I just so happened to stop by the butchers on the way here, and I found something I think you’ll enjoy.” I’m not wrong. They’re happily munching on their bones when I go in search of Spencer. Following the sounds of the shower, he’s easy to find.
One of the requirements of the house we’re looking for is a glass shower, without frosting. For this exact reason. A perfect view of his naked body, water running down all the grooves of his muscles. He’s shampooing his hair, arms lifted and showing off more of him, almost like he knows I’m watching and wants to put on a good show for me.
I make sure to flick the lock on the door when I close it behind me—I only make that kind of mistake once; Moira and I will both be traumatised forever—and then slowly approach. He glances over his shoulder, eyes closed. The smile on his face says he knows I’m here. As if Moira would come in here—well, she won’t without knocking a second time.
“You’re home. What did you bring the dogs?” he asks with a playful smile.
“Something nice.”
“When Moira gets you back, you’ll regret all of this.”
“I never regret spoiling a dog.”
Spencer tips his head back and rinses the shampoo out of his hair. He wipes his eyes and then looks at me, brown gaze shining and water clinging to the tips of his eyelashes. “Do you want to get a dog?”
“Not particularly.” Being a dog’s uncle and being their dad are two different things. It’s like being an uncle to a human. Give them sugar and then leave. I prefer that arrangement. “Do you?”
“You said I could have a rabbit.”
“They’ll go nicely with your fish.” The dogs seem to like staring at them, that’s for sure. I have no idea if rabbits are fascinated by that kind of thing. “How was your session today?”
“Therapy is not for the weakhearted,” Spencer says dryly. “She flayed me open and then played with my insides for fun. I swear I could hear her evil cackle when I left.” He cracks open the shower door, letting out steam. The mostly healed tattoo on his chest looks fucking fantastic right there over his heart. My name, permanently etched on him. “It’s harder without you there.”
“I know.” It’s the same for me. Somehow not having him beside me while all my thoughts and feelings are sifted through makes the pain points that much sharper. Everything is sharper when he’s not in reach. “It’s important.”
“Yeah. Pass me my towel?”
“I don’t know, I like you like this. Why don’t you come out here and drip dry while I look at you?”
He laughs, and then he’s in my arms, dripping and getting my suit wet. As soon as his arms are around me, he tries to pull away. “Shit, your bandages will get wet.”
“I’m wearing a thick jumper. And it’ll be fine. Six said I can even shower now.” Fuck, I miss showering. Funny how quickly the small things that I never noticed before become important. “I have to be careful, but I can at least get under the spray.”
“One more sponge bath for the road?”
“You’ve been enjoying those way too much.” He’s learning how much fun edging me is, and I’m not sure I want him to keep studying that particular subject. Or get any better at it.
He leans up and kisses me with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. I don’t care that he’s soaking my clothes; having him wet and naked in my arms is worth any level of discomfort. “Mmm, you taste nice.”
“So do you.”
He grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist without drying himself. “I booked in some visits for houses tomorrow. There’s one I like that’s just around the corner from Six and Greer.”
“I bet Greer will be overjoyed to hear that.”
“I told him you’d make him the beef bourguignon he didn’t get if he pretends to be another prospective buyer and scares away everyone else.”
I’m not sure I want to know how he plans to do that. I do want to be there to watch the show, though.
There’s a dog waiting for us outside of the bathroom door. Aramis tilts his head, licks Spencer’s foot, and then walks off. We watch in bemusement until he’s gone. Another reason not to get a dog. They’re fucking weird, and Spencer already has that quota covered.
Spencer snickers and then heads for our bedroom. He has a pair of shorts and a T-shirt already waiting for him on the bed, and a pair of polka-dotted white-and-red briefs. “It’s that house with the balcony and the—” He stops talking, frowning as he stares at his shorts.
“Did you put dirty clothes away again?” I ask. Not the first time. When he throws them every which way—dirty or clean—he’s bound to get them mixed up sometimes. Important to always do the sniff test before putting something on.
“Oh. I need to ask you something.”
“Okay?”
“Wait, I should get dressed.” He does a circle in our room, like he’s forgotten where everything is, and then yanks open the wardrobe door. His towel slips and gives me a nice view of his ass. A drop of water trails down his thigh and behind his knee. I want to get down there and lick it.
I glance at the clothes already on the bed. “Spence? Everything alright?”
“Wait. Hold on. Can you just—get out.”
“I thought you wanted to ask me a question.”
“Stop asking questions!”
Coughing to stifle my laugh, I step out of the room and close the door behind myself. It can’t be more than ten seconds before I knock and ask, “Can I come back in now?”
“No. I’m not dressed yet.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen you naked before. Not five minutes ago, in fact.” And I like seeing him in all his glory. Why is he hiding it from me? There should be a law against that.
“Just—one second.” He sounds out of breath now, and the thud of something hitting the floor echoes through the door. What the hell is he doing in there? I thought he was getting dressed?
“Do you need some help?”
“No!”
I’m not sure I believe that. It sounds like he’s trying to wrestle a bear in there.
Athos comes bounding around the corner to sit at my feet, staring up at me with eagerness.
“I don’t have any more treats.” I check my pockets, just in case. None. I gave them the last I had last night. I’ll need to get more out of the jar. Always handy to carry them on me. “Where are your brothers?” Up to no good, no doubt. Moira trained them well, and that’s not always a good thing.
He nudges my knee and then sniffs my pocket.
“Not gonna find anything, buddy.”
A harder nudge as if that will miraculously produce more treats. He’s going places, this one. Just last week he found a way to get up near the top of the fish tank and dropped his ball into it. I bet if they could, the fish would want to play fetch with him.
The door flings open, and I jolt in surprise. Spencer beams at me, showing off that dimple I love tasting. He’s not wearing the clothes from the bed and is instead in one of his navy suits. Special occasion? What the hell does he want to ask me?
“Okay. Come in.”
“Thanks. Are we allowed guests or…?”
“No. Athos, go amuse yourself.”
As if he understands, he trots away, letting out a small bark that’s answered by one of his brothers somewhere else in the house. I swear they’re shapeshifters that are really human. Or some form of intelligent alien.
“What’s going on, Spence? You’re acting weird. Er. Weird-er.” I glance around the room but can’t work out where the thud came from. It was probably Spencer himself.
He gently tugs me into the middle of the room. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
I feel like I should be asking him that. “I’m fine.” Getting up and down twinges my side more than standing still does. And it gets better every day, which I’m glad about because I’m already going crazy at work, stuck with nothing but desk work. Hunter refuses to let me do anything strenuous until Six gives him the all clear, and Six is being a sadist.
“Okay. Good.”
He gets down on one knee before I can respond. My mouth drops open. “What are you doing?”
“Asking you to marry me.”
“You did that already. And I said yes.” Isn’t this a done deal? We decided just the other day to have the ceremony at Hunter’s place since it’s big enough for everyone, and we’re not going back to our old apartment—not for more than a few minutes at a time to grab stuff we need. Eventually, we’ll hire some movers to empty the place. Spencer has already told the real estate agency he won’t be renewing his lease when it’s up in four months.
“I didn’t do it properly last time, and you deserve better than that. So shut the fuck up and let me do this.”
He sounds so serious I can’t argue with him about it. If it’s what he needs, then he can have it. “Okay. Woo me.”
“I’m not wooing you. I’m just asking you to marry me. Properly. Again. Both.” He puts a hand on my knee and caresses right where he knows the scars are underneath my slacks.
“So… no big speech?” I don’t want a speech, but the glare he’s giving me is all kinds of adorable. Darkens the brown and emphasises how long and soft his eyelashes are.
“No, I’m not doing a big speech. I just wanted to do the knee thing.”
“You had to get dressed to do the knee thing?”
“I’m not doing the knee thing with my dick hanging out.”
I wouldn’t mind if he did.
“Also, naked bodies don’t have pockets.”
A major oversight, really. We should all just be born with pockets to save a lot of time. “What do you need pockets f—”
Spencer pulls out a small black box and holds it up. “I picked these up today.” He flips it open. “Kendrick Ryan Fischer, will you marry me?”
Two black titanium bands are snuggled in the case, right next to each other, the same way we’ll be for the rest of our lives.
This doesn’t feel like the right time to make a joke to put him at ease. That’s not what he needs from me. He needs reassurance that I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere. The therapy is helping him deal with everything that’s happened and the fear that he’ll lose me, but I know that hearing it from me, as often as possible, makes just as much of a difference. And I’ll happily hold him and tell him how much I need him every day for the rest of our lives. “Yeah, baby, I’ll marry you.”
He pulls one of the bands out, looks at the inside of it, and then puts it back.
Uh. “Changed your mind?”
“That one’s mine.”
How can he tell? They’re identical. “We didn’t get them engraved.” Did we? No, I’d remember that.
“I called back after we got them and had the place add it.” He pulls the other one out and lifts it so that I can see. Right there, etched on the inside, is “Property of Spencer.” Well, that’s hotter than I thought it would be.
“I was thinking we could get another tattoo,” Spencer says.
“Mmm?” I rotate the ring in my hand and then give it back before presenting my hand. If we’re doing it this way, he can put the ring on me. We’re probably supposed to wait for the ceremony, but I don’t care. There aren’t any rules, and we get to do whatever we want.
“Right on the curve of your hip. Property of Spencer.”
My eyes meet his. I should say no. It’s a ludicrous suggestion. I’ve already branded myself with his name, which most people would agree is a terrible idea. “Okay,” I say instead. “Same parlour?”
“Yeah. I like Britt.” Spencer slips the ring on my finger and then stands, pulling me closer. He kisses the back of my hand and then slants his mouth over mine. “I love you,” Spencer whispers, “and occasionally, I even want to sleep with you.”
“This is so romantic.” I’m not even lying. He always knows how to get my heart racing, in so many ways. “I love you too.”
“I want the world to know you’re mine, in every way. They so much as look at you and think they can have a piece, and I’m throwing them in front of a train.”
I smile against his mouth and then slip my tongue inside to lick at him. He moans and leans against me, arms moving to twine around my neck. I can’t do much more than this, not yet. But I have some plans for after I’m healed properly. Ones that don’t involve edging myself.
Spencer pulls back, face serious again. “I want to establish some rules before I agree to marry you.”
“ You asked me ,” I point out. “Why do I have to agree to rules?”
“Rule number one,” Spencer says loudly, ignoring me. “No getting shot.” He holds up a finger before I can respond. “Rule number two: I go through doors first, to enforce rule number one.”
I decide not to point out that he did in fact go in before me when Jack had us at gunpoint. I don’t think mentioning that would be good for my health, or his. He can have those two rules.
“Rule number three: you have to always make me pancakes, no matter what time of the day it is.”
I already do that. What kind of rules are these?
“Rule number four: Skittles the rabbit needs a friend. No, two friends. Three?”
“One or two?” Three friends is a no-fucking way, no matter how pretty he looks at me when he pleads. We’re not looking after an entire brood of rabbits. Three total is the absolute limit.
“Two.”
That’s a compromise I can agree with. Rabbits aren’t solitary creatures. Neither are we. “That seems like a temporary rule, though.” Once we get the rabbits, then it becomes void, right? I draw the line at three rabbits. And they have to all be the same gender to avoid any accidental pregnancies.
“We can alter it right after we get Mars Bar and Snickers.”
“We are not naming—”
“Rule number five: you don’t go on a job without me. Even if that job is picking up coffee.”
“You always come with me to pick up coffee.” Mostly because he’s adamant one of the servers is always flirting with me, and he’s waiting for his chance to drown the guy in a latte. That’d be a waste of a perfectly good coffee.
“Would you stop interrupting me?”
“How many rules are there?”
“If you let me finish—”
I kiss him, effectively cutting him off. Establishing rules is pointless. If he wants something? We don’t need rules for him to be my whole world, and for me to give him everything. All he has to do is ask, and it’s his.