Epilogue
Retirement
[Ford]
There are two sports’ seasons: baseball and the offseason. I’m happy to discover a new season in my life.
Family time.
I’ve been surrounded by mine for months, cleaning up, repairing, and rebuilding the space around Sylver Sports Camp, home of the Metallic Ducks.
Cadence and I had a slight disagreement, as I didn’t think bright yellow was the best color for our camp mascot.
The duck is a mix of purple and silver, instead.
In addition to having my siblings around me, sometimes more than they should be, I had Zelle, Winnie, and June enrolled in the local school, and they are thriving in our new home. If I ever had concerns that they’d miss city living and Chicago, there wasn’t a hint of it among them.
Zelle was secretly giving some boy in her third-grade class Jolly Ranchers every day, instead of the other way around.
Winnie was making friends and protecting those without any.
June was in pre-school half the day.
And Cadence was splitting her time between production in Nashville, perfecting our new home, and building her new studio in the barn behind our house.
Life was good.
Entering the barn, I see the red light off outside the glass enclosure to her studio.
She’s started filming herself and posting videos from her new space, encouraging young musicians, and speaking about simplifying her life.
She’s still a force but not quite the storm she used to be.
More like a steady stream of controlled chaos.
When she sees me standing outside the enclosure, she waves me into the booth. I hardly have the door closed behind me and her hands are coasting up my chest, her arms suddenly around me, and her mouth on mine.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” I jest, breathless from the way she kisses me.
“Hey you,” she whispers, blue eyes lit up. She has all these looks about her.
When she’s concentrating on new lyrics.
When she’s watching our girls.
When she’s looking at me as I enter her.
“How was June?” Cadence asks.
“Eager to go to school, as usual.” I take the girls to school every morning and June loves to act like the older girls, bringing a lunchbox with her even though she doesn’t eat at preschool.
Cadence hums, tugging the baseball cap off my head and setting it on hers. Then she tips on her toes again to kiss me.
I chuckle against her mouth. “You seem extra feisty this morning.”
“Make love to me, cowboy.”
My girl doesn’t need to ask me twice.
Backing her further into the studio, I start by removing her sweater, finding she isn’t wearing a bra beneath it. She tugs my flannel shirt down my arms, but I do the rest to remove it. Our mouths hardly leave each other.
Love has never felt like this. This excitement to see every inch of her, although I know her body inside and out. The wonder every time I touch her, kiss her, hold her, that she is mine. And while she has thousands of adoring fans, I’m the person she loves the most.
Within minutes, my jeans are off, her leggings, too. We tumble to the floor of her studio which is covered in a collection of thick rugs for comfort and sound absorption. I’ve learned more than I ever thought I would need to know about making music.
When the final layer of clothing is out of our way, I make love to my fiancée. With Cadence on her back, I slide my hands to her wrists, lifting her arms over her head and dipping my fingers between hers. Forking, she calls it.
Clasping onto one another, my tip at her entrance, Cadence moves, and I easily slide inside her, finding her already wet. We’ve been going without birth control for a while now and nothing has felt better.
“So ready for me, songbird,” I tease.
“Always want you.” Her head tips back, her eyelids lowering as I rock into her. With her legs raised, one wrapped around my lower back, we move with ease, familiarity, and love.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Her eyes snap open, meeting mine. “I love you, too, Ford. So much.”
There’s something in the serious way she says this, the gleam in her eye one I haven’t seen before, and sparks something inside me. I thrust deeper in long, drawn out pushes and lingering pulls. Cadence’s fingers tighten within mine. She tilts her hips and a soft, sweet gasp escapes.
“Right there,” I strain.
“Right there.” Our bodies take over, our breathing ragged as I move within her at a measured pace until she’s begging me to hurry.
Releasing her hands, I press over her, watching where I disappear inside her, where we become one. Her fingernails dig into my biceps. My dick is slick from her.
“Ford,” she whimpers.
“Break, baby.”
She arches her back, and this look is my favorite of her expressions. One of pure bliss and calm, awe, and love.
“Ford, Ford, Ford,” she sings.
With her channel clenching, I slide home, holding out as she comes undone around me until I can’t take it anymore, and I’m releasing in her with the hope to plant my seed.
We both want that to happen.
As stars dance before my eyes, I keep still, holding myself inside her. This moment feels different from the way we’ve made love before. We’ve had sex in a dozen different positions, and I marvel at how each time feels so right.
Cadence’s half-lidded eyes open and the brightest blue stares up at me.
“I think I got you pregnant.” This is a joke we started saying as soon as she was home in November, and we stopped all birth control.
A throwback to her father’s nasty words about getting her pregnant after one night together.
We’ve discussed how there is no rush to have a baby.
When it happens . . . if it happens . . .
it happens. I don’t want her to feel pressured in any way.
She’s already an amazing mother to Zelle, Winnie, and June, and if the girls are all we ever have, they are more than enough.
I withdraw from Cadence, and fall to my side, placing my hands between her thighs and finger any wetness remaining, pressing it back inside her.
She rolls her head, eyes still bright and watching me. She likes how I touch her even after we’re spent. How I tease her with the release still dripping from her.
“Actually,” she whispers, her gaze focused on me. “I already am.”
My fingers stop tracing over her soft, slick folds and my head snaps up to look her directly in the eyes. “What?” My throat clogs, causing the question to croak.
Chewing at her lower lip, she reaches for my jaw, running her fingers along it. She tells me I have this clenching thing I do that she finds both attractive and worrisome.
Slowly, she nods, confirming what she already said.
“What? When? How?” I bring my hand to her lower belly, covering it with the expanse of my palm, and staring at her smooth stomach.
“Well, Ford, when two people love each other . . .” She giggles when I look back at her face and narrow my eyes.
“And we love each other,” she continues.
I take her chin in my fingers. “We do.”
“And we want this together.”
“Hell yes,” I interject.
“I’m pregnant.” Her voice isn’t more than a whisper before a tear spills from the corner of her eye.
Concern sets in. “What’s wrong, baby?” I swipe at the tear, scanning her face for signs of distress.
“I’m just so happy. But frightened.”
“Oh, songbird,” I softly chuckle. “You’re going to be perfect. We got this.”
“Together,” she says, eyes still watering as she focuses on me.
“Together, baby.”
We’re having a baby, and I can’t wait for our family to grow.
Leaning forward, I cup her face and rub my nose against hers. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, cowboy.”
And as I roll back over her, and slip inside her once more, I feel like the luckiest man alive. A man on a winning streak . . . of love.
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