Epilogue #2
“Baby, shhh. People might be out on their porch.” Your parents, might be out on their porch, I think to myself about the house just a hundred yards down the beach from the pier.
As we come down from our orgasms, I realize we probably need to get dressed before we get caught so I help her stand and shake the sand out of her clothes as best I can.
Laughing, Shannon says, “It’s like getting exfoliated.”
I pull her to me and kiss her cheek. “Once we’re dressed, I’d love to talk to you about something.”
“Sounds serious,” Shannon says, a hint of concern lacing her voice.
“It is, but it’s not bad,” I say, putting her mind at ease.
Slipping her leggings up her thighs, she says, “Well, I’m all ears, Hud. What’s up?”
“What would you think about buying Knox’s place?”
Shannon freezes for a second, no doubt processing the words I just spewed at her.
“There’s no way he’d really give that up, right?” The hopefulness in her tone has my heart soaring. I knew she’d want it.
“He would for us. It’s past time. He hasn’t been here in years. He doesn’t rent it out. It’s a great property that gets no love except when we come down.”
“Let’s do it,” Shannon says, throwing her arms around my neck. “This can be our thing. We’ll come every year and our kids can grow up with memories made here. Monica’s too!”
Cupping her face, I stare down into her eyes, fascinated and grateful that this woman chose me. “Let’s shower off and make love all over again,” I suggest.
“Before we head back…I have some exciting news of my own,” she says, her eyes drifting back and forth between mine as her hands splay across my pecs.
A smile lights my face just because anything that is a big deal to Shannon is a big deal to me. Anything that makes her excited and brings out her passion and light is something I want to encourage.
“Hud, we’re pregnant.”
“We…we are?” I stammer, my eyes going wide. I’m fucking elated, but I know Shannon never wanted kids to begin with.
She nods right before burying her face in my chest. I wrap my arms around her and cup the back of her head, holding her to me because she’s the most precious thing in the world.
“Baby…” I only get the one word out and then stop both because that word has a whole new meaning besides a term of endearment, and also because I’m so choked with emotion, I can’t finish the sentence.
“So, you’re happy then? It’s okay?” she asks with a slight tone of hesitation.
Pulling back, I pepper kisses all over her face until she’s laughing so hard, she’s gasping for air.
“It’s more than okay. Shan, this is incredible. I’m so fucking happy. I can’t wait to tell the guys!”
We spend the next few days celebrating, soaking up the sun, and enjoying the peace that has finally settled in our lives.
Life is a funny thing: sometimes so stressful and full of pain you think the sun will never shine again.
And sometimes, so bright and full of joy that it feels like the sun never sets on you.
No matter which stage you’re in, life is always precious.
Shan and I learned the hard way that if you play with fire, you will undoubtedly get burned. But I’ve also learned that sometimes it’s worth it because things have a way of rising from the ashes. If I’m not proof enough…just ask my friend Phoenix.
CONTINUE READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK OF PHOENIX’S STORY…
ONE
Phoenix
Our eyes meet for the fifth or sixth time over the flames of the biggest bonfire I’ve ever seen.
It’s so big that if either of us were sitting, we wouldn’t be able to see the other.
He’s been stealing glances at me for the last hour.
Every time it happens, my heart rate ticks a little faster and I’m unsure if it’s because I want to punch him or fuck him.
Losing to him tonight means I have to win tomorrow in order to hold on to the World Champion title in bareback bronc riding for the third year in a row…
which was supposed to be easy until Walker-fucking-DeVille entered the circuit.
Nonetheless, I’m still the reigning champion even after the loss to the rookie.
As a reward, the two girls hanging off my left arm have been trying their best to get me to leave the celebration in favor of what they promise to be an unforgettable night…
but it already is thanks to the pair of eyes that keep finding mine through the flames.
I don’t mind a roll in the hay with a buckle bunny every now and then, but the first time Walker snagged my gaze, I knew what I wanted tonight.
The first problem is that his snarl matches mine and I’m pretty sure he only wants to fight me.
But if he’s a good fighter, it could be as good as fucking him, I remind myself.
The bigger problem is I’m careful to keep my bisexuality under wraps where my job is concerned and I’d be handing a hell of a lot of ammunition to my biggest enemy, especially because the chances that he swings the same way I do are slim to none.
Of course, the professional rodeo circuit wouldn’t kick me out or tell me I can’t compete, but I’d be a fool to think it wouldn’t taint my career.
Sure, I could switch to the International Gay Rodeo Association (IGRA).
They welcome riders with any and every orientation, but I simply don’t want to.
My skills as a bronc rider have absolutely nothing to do with who I like to fuck.
And while I appreciate the inclusiveness of the IGRA and what they stand for, as a competitor, I want the focus to be on my ride, not my sexual orientation.
I don’t want to enter the ring as a bisexual cowboy.
I just want to be the best cowboy. Not to mention, most people don’t even know the IGRA exists and I want to compete on a larger stage.
Normally, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea of hooking up with a guy on the road.
Quarters are close in the camper my team travels in and privacy is non-existent.
I’ve been caught with my pants down more than once, but when it’s with a busty brunette whose tits are bouncing in the moonlight, Banks, the guy I share a bunk with, just laughs and cracks open another beer before heading back out.
If he were to walk in on me going to town on a guy?
Well, that might make traveling, showering, and sleeping together six months out of the year a little awkward even though Corey Banks is definitely not my type.
But the more I stare, the more I’m certain Walker could be. I lean over to hear what the girls are saying, realizing I’ve been mentally absent from their conversation for too long. It’s a couple minutes before I can disengage again and when I look back across the flames, Walker isn’t there.
I scan the area for his lean frame and find him with his back to me, walking toward the dark rows of vehicles. I can just make out the curls sticking out from underneath his cowboy hat as he retreats and they decide my next move for me.
Untangling my arm from Mindy? Mandy? Morgan?
and her friend, I follow Walker, not yet ready to let these butterflies off the hook.
He’s been alone all night, dismissing the advances of the numerous women trying to flirt with him.
With his hat low and his head down, his fuck off vibes are strong despite his win.
Like I said, just my type.
It’s probably the bronc rider in me, but I love a challenge, especially when it comes to taming a brooding beast.
I fall into step beside him and casually ask, “Where’re you off too so early?
Party’s barely gotten started.” That’s a lie, of course.
That fire’s been going for at least two hours, but cowboys and cowgirls party hard and it’ll be burning another four or five.
“I thought you’d at least come say hi. Maybe let me congratulate you on your win,” I taunt, smirking to myself about how I’d like to congratulate him.
At the sound of my voice, he turns and his eyes go wide as his lips part in shock.
Fucking perfect lips.
Goddamn, I’ve never seen lips like that on a guy, but now that I have, I know with certainty, I’ll picture them for a long time to come when my hand’s wrapped around my cock.
Walker’s all lean muscle and about an inch shorter than me, but he’s fucking beautiful. The fading firelight makes the light smattering of freckles pop on his clean-shaven cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
More than just having “gaydar” — which is a ridiculous term by the way — I know bi/gay guys flirt just like straight guys.
The signs are all the same. Glances, smiles, light touches, excuses to interact.
If they’re reciprocated, it means the other party is interested, just like flirting with a woman.
So, I shoot my shot because I’m buzzing heavily and this moody fucker doesn’t seem like the type to blab his business everywhere.
He raises his beer to those full, soft lips and I see him try to hide his wince.
Can’t fault him there, Busch Light isn’t for everybody and I know for a fact he only turned eighteen a couple weeks ago — he had to get special permission to enter the adult circuit.
Since he’ll be eighteen during the championship rodeo, they approved it, pissing me off and making my season a lot more challenging.
Walker stares at the can for a second before raising it again and finishes it in three swallows. His features twist in disgust the entire time.
If I were a lesser man, I might be concerned his reaction is because of me and not the beer, but thank God I’m gifted in the confidence category. So, I just stand my ground and wait him out.
“Helluva ride tonight,” he finally says. Although, it sounds like his words come out against his will. “Looks like we both have our work cut out for us tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Riding is just one of my many talents,” I flirt and give him a wink. When he stays silent, I press on. “I’ve got something better in my truck…if you’re interested,” I tell him, nodding toward his beer can.