Epilogue
one year later
“The closet needed to be twice this big.”
Bridget angles a sassy look over her shoulder, flashing pretty eyes full of mischief. “Maybe your wardrobe needs to be cut in half.”
We both know my wardrobe isn’t the problem anymore. Between Dante and me, Bridget’s collection of designer clothes, accessories, and jewelry has reached critical mass.
It doesn’t help that she’s incredibly fun to shop for, between her eclectic taste and love of color. Not to mention how damn beautiful she is in everything we commission…
I’ve made it my mission to ensure she has all of the beautiful things and special experiences her sister kept from her.
I was already determined to provide them for her, but that desire morphed into a full-blown need once we found out Bradley was the one who originally broke the story about our fake engagement to the press.
It took a few months to prove, but after Alicia’s behavior at the ball, I had a sinking suspicion it had been one of them all along. With a hefty bribe, the investigator I hired was able to get one of the tabloids to reveal their source.
Apparently, he missed having Bridget around to sniff after and harass. He thought outing us would cause a “break-up” and force our omega to move back under his roof.
Bridget didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation for a while.
It was hard for her, knowing her own flesh-and-blood could find out something so vile about her spouse and still choose him over Bridget.
Eventually, though, our girl decided to give Alicia an ultimatum: she should either sponsor an annual summer sports clinic for Osprey House, or our pack would do a tell-all interview detailing our entire story.
Including her husband’s betrayal, the way she constantly belittled Bridget for years , and—of course—how she basically sold her own sister.
Needless to say, the kids’ sports camp is now incredibly well-funded.
Though maybe not quite as luxe as my mate’s closet.
“The size of this house is already obscene,” Bridget goes on, pouting as she adjusts her denim skirt and shrugs into Jesse’s yellow letterman jacket—the one from high school, which he dug out of storage as a gift for her. “We did not need a two-story closet.”
I loop my arm around our omega’s waist, running my palm over the ribbed orange tank top molded to her curves. Nipping her ear, I argue in a purr, “The bedroom is already two floors, with your nest-room upstairs. What’s the harm in adding a second level to the closet, too?”
Bridget softens automatically, giddy bliss sparkling through her veins as my rumble soaks into her spine. When she feels my answering burst of amusement, though, she snaps upright again, tossing me another dirty look. “How do you make something so unreasonable sound like common sense?”
I can’t help but smile at her. Because I’m always paying attention, little blue. Learning all your secrets.
Through our tether, I show her memories of the month after we bonded. How her features fell ever so slightly each time our pack discussed moving into a larger place and leaving her little house behind.
As far as I’m concerned, buying the decrepit property behind hers and building our new home around her bungalow was common sense.
We got to retain pieces of the place she’d worked so hard on, stay close to Betty and Emma, and have a house large enough for everyone, without sacrificing any nostalgia.
Hiring the best architects in town, coming up with a floor plan as unique and cozy as her little house, finding a way to incorporate the structure’s original facade…
Bridget feels the sincere emotion layered into every memory, recalling them along with me.
Our pack fell in love here , I think, repeating the words I’d told her the day I presented her with my plan. Why would we ever leave?
Sighing in defeat, she lets go of her irritation and embraces the desire to snuggle into my arms. I kiss her temple, flashing mental pictures of my imagined two-story closet. Showing her all the pretty things I’ve already ordered for her to put in it.
“Adriannnn,” she whines. “You have to stop spoiling me like this.”
Never , I think immediately, giving an easy shrug. Daddy will always spoil you .
Her heart flutters. I feel it in our bond and physically, through the thin fabric of my white shirt. I rub one hand down her back, cupping the other around her nape. Holding her against my purr.
It’s been a year since Bridget first let her Omega come to the surface—and once her heat ended, it was obvious how touch-starved she’d been. We’ve banished that issue, of course, but I still like to put my hands all over her every chance I get.
As if you need an excuse , Dante cuts in. Now, come on. You’re hogging our omega , Daddy .
Jesse chuckles in the bond. Plus, we’re going to be late.
Yeah, that too , Dante agrees.
Bridget misreads their excitement as anticipation for tonight’s main event. Little does she know, we have a whole separate plan.
Still, their eagerness puts a grin on my face. When I glance down at Bridget, I catch a similar expression on her pert features.
“I suppose they have a point,” I muse, playing off my sudden wave of exhilaration. Weaving our fingers together as I nod at the door. “Let’s go, sweetheart. We can’t be late for a playoff game.”
There couldn’t be a more perfect evening to play ball.
Except, maybe, if Betty would stop cat-calling us.
And the other team’s coach.
And— oh God —did she bring a flask ?!
Bridget hears my mental balk, giggling. “She always settles down by the second inning. Besides, it’s not like they have the same policies here that Adrian has at King Stadium.”
It’s true. The Orange Blossom baseball field is much less formal, even after all the renovations our pack donated last summer. Bridget arranged the upgrades as a surprise birthday gift for Colt—something for him to come home to after our summer of constant road games.
The dinky diamond now boasts brand-new bleachers, a beautiful concession stand, fresh turf, and a proper fence. All of it trimmed in the high school’s signature orange-and-yellow, of course.
Beside me in the stands, Bridget matches our surroundings perfectly. Right down to one of Colt’s Orange Blossom baseball caps perched on her head.
Just outside the dugout, our packmate calls out his team’s batting lineup. Without pausing, he shoots a thought at our mate through the bond.
Hat thief .
A breathtaking grin spreads over her face. She sends back an image of all the books piled beside his reading chair in their new home library. Book thief .
That finally cracks Colt’s stern Coach Face. His lips twitch slightly as he finishes reading out names and turns to the horizon.
The sun has begun sinking below the tree-line. He shoots Bridget an image of his view, along with a fierce burst of affection, before his tether blinks off.
It’s our custom whenever one of our teams plays. We decided we would shut the interior curtains to focus. A rule Dante frequently breaks to send our omega filthy ideas whenever the mood strikes him.
“Can you blame me ?” my packmate guffaws, winding his arm around Bridget’s waist. “ Look at her.”
She’s as exquisite as ever, of course. But as I gaze down at her, taking in our surroundings, my mind flings me back in time. To the night I struck out because I couldn’t keep my focus off her brilliant hair, falling in front of her face while she bent over a book.
Bridget feels the tide of devotion swamping my stomach and scoots closer, nuzzling her face into my neck. Dante’s mouth drops open in outrage.
“I compliment you and he gets cuddles?” His dark eyes snap to the green-haired elderly woman beside him. “Betty, back me up on this.”
Our neighbor scoffs, “As long as she’s shagging one of you enough to keep these nachos coming, I don’t give a shit which one she picks.” She crunches on a tortilla chip, unbothered when my packmate steals one. “Besides, Blondie is much quieter than you when he goes off.”
Oh, good God .
My face flames as Bridget bursts into musical peals of laughter and Dante chokes on his nacho.
Betty’s stooped shoulders shrug under her orange mu-mu. “Not my fault you’re about as subtle as a fireworks show,” she tells us. “Close your curtains every once in a while. Goddamn.”
She’s not wrong , Bridget points out, unbothered. She slides her blue heart-rimmed sunglasses off, balancing them on top of her head as she turns to look around.
Where is everyone? Adrian was supposed to meet Emma’s pack out front and bring them over.
Anxiety lurches behind my sternum. Dante flings a death-glare over our omega’s head, hissing where only I can hear, Be cool , cabrón. Damn.
Our pack leader flexes a solid beat of reassurance through the bond. We’re on our way, little blue .
My heart aches when Bridget immediately takes him at his word, snuggling back into my side. Her trust means everything to us. Which is one reason why planning our surprise has been insanely difficult.
Not to mention how brilliant our mate is.
Bridget snaps her crystalline eyes to my face, her brow tweaking. Everything okay, Jess?
I stare down at her, absorbing the way it feels for our souls to brush. The others have always described Bridget as light, bright, bubbly, and full of fire. But for me? She’s peace and quiet. Truth and destiny. All the things I ever wanted and never knew I needed.
I hold her closer, letting my memories of this field and what it means to us flood the tether between our hearts. Perfect, bumblebee , I think, because it’s the truth. She’s perfect now; and she always has been. Because of you .
“He’s gonna know.”
The familiar words invade my senses, throwing me back to that day in the Kings’ locker room. A spark of fond amusement lights the base of my lungs, but I smother it, snapping a glower at the players huddled over a phone.
They know those are forbidden in my dugout. I suppose they figured I’d be too distracted by our loaded bases to notice.