EPILOGUE
GRAYDON
“Do I look okay?” Maple fidgets in front of me in a beautiful pink silk dress, one that I helped her pick out from the many that Everly brought over for her to try.
“You look stunning,” I say, walking up to her in my all-black suit with a flamingo brooch attached to the lapel.
“Are you sure?” She presses her hands down her sides and over her stomach, where she’s just barely showing now.
“Perfect, beautiful,” I say and then walk up to her, placing my hand on her stomach, where our baby is growing. “So fucking perfect.”
It happened after we won our bid to the playoffs. We celebrated like never before since the Foghorns hadn’t been in the playoffs for several years. Maple missed her birth control, we fucked for twenty-four hours straight, and well, here we are.
And I couldn’t be happier.
I planned on proposing soon, but Maple said she wanted to wait to get married. She didn’t want me to propose just because she was pregnant. I told her I planned on proposing after she told me she loved me, but she still wanted to wait.
And that’s fine. I have no problem waiting as long as I know she’s mine.
The news broke out to the public that she was pregnant after someone caught us going to a doctor’s appointment.
I would like to say that we’re able to live our lives normally, but that’s not the case at all.
After our spectacle in the tunnel, the demand for pictures of us only increased.
Interviews and spotlights came pouring in, with everyone wanting to know our story, but we made it our mission to keep as much as we could private without taking away from the fans what we started posting to begin with.
So Maple still posts on Flock and Tackle. That’s where she posted our baby announcement. It’s where she posted a big “fuck you” to my dad when I annihilated his records, even a year early. And it’s where I plan on posting the video of my proposal when I finally make it happen.
She did move in with me the week after our kiss in the tunnel because people were hounding her apartment. Hell, they were hounding mine too, so we found a more secure building with a doorman and protection for her so she feels safer.
And now we have a place that we can call our own.
“Okay, then we should probably get out there.”
“Are you ready for it?” I ask.
She nods. “I am.”
I take her hand in mine and lead her out of the event space in the zoo where we first met and under the bulb lights that line the pathway to the new flamingo exhibit.
It’s been a year, and yes, it’s not completely finished. The zookeepers’ building still needs an overhaul, but the actual exhibit is ready, and given the popularity of the flamingos, they wanted to bring them back as soon as they could.
They expanded the exhibit to twice its original size and added an interactive section where you can pay to feed them at specific hours of the day—handled by the zookeepers, of course—a better viewing area that’s unobstructed, and a bigger lagoon.
They took the mural I painted and hung it along the side, leading up to the flamingos, and then I and a few artists from local high schools painted around the rest of the exhibit, giving it a cool graffiti look.
The zoo covered the murals with UV-protected plexiglass so they won’t get damaged.
It came out better than Maple could ever have imagined, and tonight, she gets to celebrate the hard work she’s put into this zoo and the advocacy she’s done for these birds.
“This feels so weird,” she says as we walk through a crowd that’s clapping as we approach.
“This is what happens when you do good with your platform,” I whisper into her ear. “Be proud of yourself, beautiful.”
When we reach Phil, he claps for us as well.
After Maple threatened him with a letter to the board of directors, he had a change of heart and put the donation money toward the new facility, which is beating out what any merchandise store could’ve made, especially with our celebrity behind it.
Tickets are sold out for months as well as feeding sessions.
So Phil can suck his own ass…at least that’s what I told Maple.
As for Slutty Little Glasses, well, he took off.
He found another research project to work on and bolted.
Glad the fuck is gone. I don’t need him around trying to poison Maple’s mind with nonsense.
Also, just so I don’t look like a douche, Maple did say he changed a lot, and even though he said he would try to accept our relationship, he never did, and I think it’s because he had a big old fat crush on her.
Well, guess who fucking won that competition?
This guy.
I step aside, right next to OC and Bennett, who are both dressed up in black suits as well.
When they asked what I was wearing, I assumed they were seeing what the dress code was, not trying to match with me.
OC smiled like a fool when I growled at him because now we look like three assholes who all tried to twin…
or triplet, I guess. He said it was a solid representation of the Gladdy Daddies uniting.
I told him he was one incident away from getting cut out of my life.
Of course, that’s all talk. I hate to admit it, but I kind of like the guy. I would never say that out loud, and if someone ever told him, I would deny it until the day I die, but yeah, he’s grown on me.
My girl addresses the crowd and thanks everyone for their time, donations, and love for the flamingos.
She talks about the importance of saving the birds and how they serve a very important role in the ecosystem.
She’s poised, collected, and honestly, so goddamn perfect that my heart actually aches from how much I love her.
When she’s done, she and Phil cut the ribbon, pictures are taken, and then the party starts, a soiree under the stars with the sounds of the zoo in the background.
“You were fantastic,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “I’m so damn proud of you.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.” She kisses my cheek and then is pulled in another direction, where she shakes hands with some important people.
Her parents, who are really amazing, just like her, are off to the side, talking to a few people, and as I watch them smile proudly over their daughter, the pain I once felt when witnessing the love a parent has for their child no longer exists, as I’ve spent the last year finding closure.
My dad got a job as a GM for the Tigers out in Nashville, something I couldn’t care less about, and my mom, well, we have our good days and bad days, but now with Maple by my side, the bad days are easier to swallow.
“Excuse me, are you Graydon St. John?” a man asks while tapping me on the shoulder.
I turn to find a taller man with dark hair, wearing a navy blue suit and a flamingo pocket square tucked into his suit jacket.
“That would be me.”
He holds out his hand. “JP Cane. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, wow. Maple has talked a lot about you and your dedication to saving the flamingos.”
He tugs on his lapel with a smile. “Well, it’s the least I can do. I thought I would introduce myself and maybe grab your email or give you my contact information. I’m really in deep with my mission to save the birds, and any advocate I can find, I tend to want to get on my side.”
“Oh…uh, sure.”
He hands me a business card. “All my information is on there. Love what you’ve done with Flock and Tackle and would really like to create something like that for the pigeons.” He pats me on the shoulder. “We’ll be in touch.”
And then he takes off. I glance down at the card and then at his retreating back. Hardy steps up next to me and whispers, “Lose the card, man…lose the card.”
“I don’t know, he sounded nice,” OC says. “Maybe I’ll join the fight.”
“The fight for what?” Maple asks as she loops her arm around my waist, instantly filling me with warmth.
“To save the pigeons.”
Maple’s eyes widen. “You met JP?”
“Yeah, is that a bad thing?” I ask.
“You didn’t give him your email, did you?” I shake my head. “Good, you would never get rid of him.” She then tugs on my side. “Can I borrow you? They want to take some pics of us in front of the exhibit and with Big Hermy.”
“Of course,” I say and then lead her over to the mural-covered exhibit. As the photographer sets up, I turn to Maple and say, “So proud of you.”
“Proud of us,” she says with a smile as she stares up at me.
“Who would have thought our little social media gimmick would have created this?”
“And this,” she says, placing my hand on her stomach.
Possessiveness takes me over as I lean forward and press my forehead to hers. “Wouldn’t change it for anything.”
“Me either,” she whispers and then grips the back of my neck and pulls me down for an earth-shattering kiss.