Epilogue
Five Months Later
“For they’re such jolly good fellooooooows!” the crowd roared more than sang, and Branson did his best to harmonize with the men around him. “Which nobody can deny!”
The small cluster of toddlers in front of the guests of honor pulled the strings on their confetti poppers, and bursts of shiny paper bits exploded into the air.
The kids laughed and squealed—except for Shylo, who screamed and tried to hide beneath a nearby table.
Ferran immediately went in search of his brother.
They’d held the party at the Porter Estate (where else?), and the ballroom had been decorated in Liam’s favorite shades of blue with silver accents.
Cool colors to offset the fact that it was mid-summer and grossly hot outside, and Trei, who was in the middle of his third trimester, had become a recluse in the Higgs house.
While Trei had grown up in the Sonoran dry heat, he hated Sansbury’s humid heat.
Branson glanced to where Trei was comfortably installed on a wide, upholstered chair, his feet up on an ottoman, courtesy of their party planner, Frey Freel.
Branson adored his pint-sized cousin-in-law, who was only a few inches shorter than Trei, and who’d also had a very uncomfortable third trimester.
Frey’s own little Yvan was running around the ballroom somewhere, probably keeping the hired babysitters on their toes.
One of Frey’s special touches at all Porter estate parties was babysitters, so parents could enjoy the party without constantly supervising their kids.
“Speech!” a deep voice bellowed as the cheers dimmed. Branson couldn’t be sure, but it had sounded like Aven Higgs, who stood nearby with his husband Yosef and their teenage son Tobias.
Frey scampered up to the dais and handed a cordless microphone to Liam, who immediately passed it to Isa like a hot potato. Isa chuckled as he took a moment to gaze out over the dozens of faces watching him.
“I’m not going to blather on about things everyone already knows, because I said a heck of a lot during our twentieth anniversary party,” Isa said.
“But our family has been through a lot in the four years since then. We’ve overcome obstacles, and we’ve also expanded in size.
” He smiled fondly at Tarius and Branson first, and then over to Miko and Linus.
“I am a blessed man, in so many ways that I cannot possibly count. Liam and I are blessed.”
Isa raised his glass of sparkling cider. “Here’s to seeing all of you and more next year when we celebrate twenty-five.”
Tarius whistled again, and Branson hurt his hands clapping.
Music resumed playing, and now that the direct attention was off the guests of honor, they deserted the dais.
Isa made tracks in the direction of the main hallway, probably to hit the buffet in the next room.
Liam went straight to Trei. Branson couldn’t hear the conversation, but he clearly saw Trei say the words, “I’m fine. ”
The pair had bonded in the six-ish months since Trei moved into the Higgs house, and now that he was nearing his due date, Liam was hovering. Branson was thrilled that Trei had so much support from his surrogate family, especially with how nervous Trei was to be a single omegin.
Tarius slid his arm around Branson’s waist for a side hug that Branson eagerly leaned into.
They’d both gotten less self-conscious of random displays of physical affection in large crowds, and Branson no longer gave much thought to holding his husband’s hand or kissing his cheek in public.
Getting comfortable with PDA was another part of their journey as a couple.
More discovery on the road to building a life together.
“You know, for all the speeches your sire has given over the years,” Branson said, “he isn’t much for public speaking, even when it’s a room full of friends and family.”
“He’s never been one to soak in praise or attention.” Tarius kissed his temple, and Branson got a whiff of the wine Tarius had been indulging in this evening. “I think it’s part of why he spent his entire career as a public servant. Helping others, lifting others up.”
“It takes a selfless person, for sure.” More selfless than Branson was, but he also liked computers and code more than most people.
He gazed around the room, locating so many men in attendance he admired for that exact selflessness: Tarek Bloom, Eriq Lars-Higgs, Javier Corinth, Aeron Danvers, Brandt Lars-Higgs, and others Branson didn’t know, who’d worked with Isa Higgs during his long, decorated career.
Someone small slammed into Branson’s shin, and he looked down to see Yvan Freel stumbled backward and fall onto his tush with an affronted squawk.
The baby was an adorable blend of Frey’s blue eyes and Gaven’s dark hair.
“Oopsie, little man.” Branson squatted and helped Yvan back onto unsteady legs.
“My fault!” Jeuel appeared, red-cheeked and panting slightly. Eager to do more than study for his GED (he had aced his practice test last week, so Branson had no doubt he’d do great on the real one), he’d applied to be one of the paid babysitters/kid wranglers for the evening.
Apparently, he’d misplaced a charge.
“No harm done.” Branson tickled the back of Yvan’s neck, making the one-year-old squeal and babble a few nonsense words.
Yvan was ahead of all his percentiles for growth and walking, but he was a little behind in his language skills.
And yet Branson had a feeling once the kid started talking, he wouldn’t shut up—just like his chatty cousins and friends.
“Just think,” Tarius said to Jeuel. “This time next year? You’ll be chasing Trei’s little one around the ballroom.”
Jeuel laughed as he reached down to take Yvan’s hand. “Gosh, don’t remind me. I’m going to be a real uncle in a couple more weeks.”
Branson hid a flinch but he didn’t correct Jeuel that he was already an uncle to the triplets.
He understood why Jeuel had trouble thinking of the triplets as his nephews.
Jeuel was still warming up to referring to Emory and Caden (and their mates, by extension) as his brothers, because Jeuel had no direct biological link to the twins.
Their relationships were still new, still forming, still finding an organic balance in their daily lives.
One day at a time, one small goal at a time, was the best Jeuel could do. And so far, those micro-steps were helping him move forward from the tragedies he’d left behind in Sonora.
No matter the biology, they were all family.
“I guess Trei still hasn’t picked a name,” Branson said.
Jeuel chuckled and shook his head. “No, he keeps vacillating between the same three, and he won’t tell me what they are.”
“Vacillating. Nice vocabulary word.”
“Heh, thanks. I really love the language studies in my curriculum. Words are endlessly fascinating, especially words from hundreds of years ago that we don’t use anymore.”
“Like what?” Tarius asked. “And think hard, because we use a lot of obscure words in the legal system.”
“How about the word yeet?”
Branson met Tarius’s bewildered gaze. “I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”
“It sounds like an STI,” Tarius quipped. “It’s not, is it?”
Jeuel laughed out loud, which made Yvan yank on his hand, pointing in the direction of the play area. “No, it’s not, and babysitting duty calls. See you guys when it’s time to go home!” He allowed little Yvan to pull him toward the fun.
“I’ll never get over how freaking smart he is,” Branson said to Tarius once they were alone. Or as alone as they could be in a ballroom full of people.
“Jeuel or Yvan?”
He pinched Tarius’s waist. “Jeuel, you dork. I mean, Yvan’s smart, too, but he’s also one, and not showing off old words that sound like STIs.”
“Good thing, or Frey would be coming for our heads. I distinctly remember orders not to teach him cuss words of any kind until he’s at least four years old.”
“Yeah, well, Frey’s expectations are high from the uncle who started repeating cuss words when he was three.
” Branson would never live down the night that Jaysan went into labor with Morgyn, and a brash, mouthy three-year-old Branson got a little too cocky with the phrases “oh shit” and “son of a fucker.”
“I’m sure Gaven has told Frey to limit his expectations.” Tarius drew him closer, his hands resting loosely on Branson’s waist. “About the cussing thing. Not about how amazing and kind and generous Yvan’s Uncle Branson is.”
Branson slid his own hands beneath Tarius’s suit jacket and cinched them behind Tarius’s back, their bellies nearly touching. “Flattery will get you epic snuggles tonight, mister. Please, keep telling me how fantastic I am.”
“You’re also a world-class snuggler.”
“And?”
“Did I mention modest?”
“Hmm.” Branson rested his head on Tarius’s shoulder so he could press his nose into the crook of Tarius’s neck, one of his very favorite ways to hold his husband. “Dance with me? It’s been ages.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Tarius led him to the small dance floor, which was filled with couples moving to the sensual music. They resumed their earlier positions, loosely wrapped up in each other, holding without trapping, claiming without guarding.
Just two men in love, loving each other in the ways that suited them.
Two years ago, they’d begun their solid allyship that, over time, had turned into a wonderful best-friendship.
Six months ago, they’d danced in a similar way at the Winter Solstice Gala, effectively coming out to the world as a couple, and nothing had turned out as Branson had expected.
No, scratch that. He was even more in love with Tarius than he’d ever expected to be, and he couldn’t imagine not being married to the man.
Not sleeping beside him every night, making him coffee every morning, and teasing each other over the hardest answers to the newspaper’s crossword puzzle.
He couldn’t imagine not having Jeuel and Trei in his life, with a new nephew on the way.
He couldn’t imagine not having the newer, stronger relationships he’d forged with his parents, now that there were finally, blessedly, no more secrets between them.
He was finally free to simply…be. To be whoever that man was. Whoever he wanted him to be.
And as he danced with his husband, surrounded by their friends and family, Branson knew that sometimes the most valuable things in life were the ones you least expected.