Epilogue #2
Keeping my focus on the field, I hold my palm out, curling my fingers. Linus grumbles a curse, dropping his cell into my hand.
“What’s the rule?” I ask, narrowing my gaze at the opposing team’s pitcher. Damn, he’s good .
“Save the stupidity for after the game,” my players intone.
I nod, pocketing the phone. “Something more important than winning this playoff game, Linus?”
To my surprise, he doesn’t grunt a comeback. Instead, our second baseman elbows him in the ribs, cackling, “Linus found an omega.”
Oh.
Damn.
I remember the day he told Adrian he didn’t understand the point of Bridget’s sex-ed class; and learning all the “stupid alpha-omega bullshit.” Amusement tickles my throat.
Of all the things that have stunned me about this job—mostly, how much I love it—I think I’ve been most surprised by how fucking funny teenagers are. Watching them fight and fail and figure things out is touching, but it also gives my omega and me plenty to chuckle about at the end of the day.
It’s the same when my pitcher—affectionately known in our house as “mini-Jesse”—strikes out. He’s pissed as he jogs back to the dugout and receives my requisite slap on the back. But I’m old enough to know that one day? All of this will be a fond memory for the guy.
That same perspective has me smirking at the stormy look on Linus’ face. It’s clear he fully appreciates the irony of his situation, which only makes it funnier.
Bridget is going to love this, I think . I can’t wait to tell her tonight. After ? —
One of our outfielders gets a decent hit, sending one run in and leaving the bases loaded once again. I shift my gaze to Linus, nodding at the field. He’s on deck.
“Your omega is here?” I ask, handing him a helmet.
Linus is smart enough to know that none of us are going to leave him alone. Especially given the merciless way he’s mocked some of his teammates for their relationships.
He blows air out of his nose, admitting, “He’s here.”
An involuntary grin splits my face. “Better not embarrass yourself, then.”
He won’t. Linus is, ironically, my best player. I can tell before his walk-out song even ends that he’s about to smash this shit.
Sure enough, his bat makes contact on the first pitch. The crowd goes berserk as the ball goes screaming over the outfield and clears our new fence.
Bridget breaks our standing rule about keeping our curtains closed during games just long enough to send me a rush of pride and excitement. Grand Slam!
My grin only grows.
Not my favorite kind , I tell her. But I’ll take it .
By the top of the ninth inning, I’ve discovered that I, in fact, am the one who needs to be cool .
Jesse and Adrian immerse their thoughts in the game easily enough. But I cannot keep my mind off the surprise burning a hole in my pocket.
We unanimously decided that I should be the one to hold it. I’m also supposed to give it to her. Just as soon as this inning ends…
Jesse’s team is down one run. If they can close this down and score just two runs during their final turn at-bat, they can still win it.
Luckily, our mate is fully immersed in the action—and her conversation with Emma, who’s sitting beside her with a matching mint-green version of Bridget’s sunglasses perched in her blonde curls.
The two omegas bounce and cheer when our pitcher strikes out his third player, sending the opposition out to the field. Adrian tenses next to me, doing everything he can to hold back the urge to interrupt Colt.
I swear, you’d think Daddy was the assistant coach for all the work he does with this team. Our whole pack spends a bunch of time here, actually. And not just because we like defiling our librarian in her natural habitat.
Although…
Bridget senses the bent of my thoughts and casts me a sharp look. Don’t you dare , slugger. I am not missing the end of this game .
Normally, such a challenge would only make me hotter. But I doubt I can get her to the car, undress her, make her come three times, and put her skirt back on before this inning is over…
Maybe twice …
Focus , Adrian growls internally, leaning over with his forearms braced against his knees. Peering at the field like this is the World Series. Out loud, he adds, “Colt already has a player on base.”
Oh shit .
The next five minutes are enough to put me in a chokehold. We’re all on the edges of our seats when Linus comes up to bat again.
The bases are loaded, and we have two outs.
This is it .
Everyone in the stands holds their breath as Linus swings and misses. My heart fucking stops when he gets a second strike six seconds after the first.
Colt is outside the dugout now. I watch him give the player a solid nod. Reassuring the kid.
Another fastball flies forth. Linus swings and gets a chunk of it.
It’s not as perfect as his last hit, but it’s enough . The players on base sprint. One hits home before the other team retrieves the ball. They move to get it to first, trying to tag Linus out before we can get a second run…
FUCK .
The first second baseman catches the ball and turns to tag Linus as he slides in, mirroring his teammate’s desperate attempt to hit home before the inning ends.
A plume of orange dust explodes over the plate, engulfing our runner, the other team’s catcher, and the umpire.
The cloud settles, revealing the umpire’s stance—arms spread straight across, palms down.
“SAFE!”
We won!
The words swirl through our bond from all sides, surrounded by delirious joy and dizzying exhilaration.
Maybe that’s why I don’t notice how my pack somehow gets us to the field within seconds.
The team is still whooping and shouting, celebrating their victory in front of the dugout, when Adrian guides me onto the turf. I blink, trying to clear my mind enough to understand how we got here so quickly.
Unless, of course, our pack alpha planned it this way.
Of course he did , I realize, noting the steely determination on his handsome features.
I assume he simply had this plan in place because he suspected we would win and knew I’d want to get to Colt as quickly as possible. He’s not wrong, either.
I break into a run as soon as I can, darting for my salty alpha. Colt grins as he scoops me off my feet, spinning in a circle.
“I’m so proud of you!” I gush, pressing kisses all over his face. “Best coach ever!” Just like I knew you would be.
Colt hears both sentiments, grinning. “Of course you find a way to take credit, Bubbles.”
I laugh, trying to feel my way into our tether. Wanting to show him how immensely happy I am for him.
But, uh…
Why do they all have their curtains up at a time like this?
My alphas have formed a circle around me. I cast each of them a questioning look, trying to figure out what they’re doing.
The stands have gotten inordinately quiet, with our players shushing the spectators until the hum of cicadas is the only sound interrupting the pearly purple dusk.
Narrowing my eyes, I cock my hip at Colt. “What in the?—?”
Before I can finish, our pack alpha drops to his knees.
In his suit.
In the dirt.
Jesse follows, reaching out to squeeze my hand in a reassuring gesture. By the time I turn back to Colt, he’s kneeling too. Along with?—
Dante reaches into the pocket of his shorts, extracting a small, sparkling item. He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger.
A ring .
But not just any ring.
It’s the one he batted into oblivion. I can tell, because the platinum band has a noticeable scuff on the side.
If it weren’t for that one small detail, I wouldn’t recognize the piece at all. Because instead of the one flawless diamond I always disliked, four colorful gems glitter in the field’s overhead lights.
They’re each different colors.
Yellow for Jesse, like his letterman jacket and bumblebees and the sunflowers he brings me every week.
Blue for Adrian, of course. His special nickname for me, his gorgeous ocean gaze.
Amethyst purple to represent Colt. And all our evenings under these ombre sunsets, watching the way the clouds glow lavender.
Which leaves the pink for Dante. Post-Its in my lunchbox, the back of his head, always framed by my pink refrigerator. All our nights in the kitchen.
I note the solemn intensity in his dark eyes, my middle melting. Of course he’s the one giving this to me, now. Wanting to make up for the last time he gave me a ring.
Emotion rises to block my throat, my heart aching. Even before Adrian clears his throat, his Adriatic irises burning hot on mine. “It’s engraved, little blue.”
I turn the band, tears welling as I read the words carved there.
There are two lines. One small and stricken out; and another, carved in deep, beautiful cursive.
Fake fiancée , it reads, with a clean, permanent line through it. Followed by a two-word correction.
Forever fiancée .
A watery smile spreads across my face. “Forever fiancée?”
“Or wife!” Dante blurts. “Or both!”
Adrian chuckles, scent-marking my left hand. “Whatever you want, Bridget. But we’re yours. We always have been.”
Jesse meets my gaze, his brimming with affection. “We wanted to give you the proposal you deserve. Here, in front of everyone.”
“With a ring we made,” Colt puts in, his mouth quirking up. “One to match all your colors.”
Please, baby? he adds in our bond. Say yes .
I honestly didn’t know how I’d feel about wearing another ring from them. I should have guessed they would make it an irresistible offer. A spectacle worthy of a queen.
I stare into Colt’s stormy eyes for a long second before giving each of the others the same consideration. My soulmates, my sparring partners, my caretakers, and lovers .
YES! the voice inside me begs. Bouncing with joy, lighting me up. Yes, yes, y ? —
“Yes,” I whisper, my heart igniting like a Roman candle. “I’ll wear your ring.”
Adrian grins, sliding the band onto my left hand.
Now the circuit is complete , Jesse thinks, mentally tracing each of their bites. Colt’s on my hip. Adrian’s at my throat. Dante’s half-moons over my left breast, and Jesse’s—branded over the hand still in our pack alpha’s.
Somehow, their glimmering ring feels like one final piece, snapping into place. Tying all of us together, bonding us to our past and all our promises for tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next.
Until the end of forever.
Thank you for reading Knot Her Catch!