Chapter 52
EPILOGUE
About three years later…
The lights flash across the stage and momentarily blind me as I’m watching my guys play at their final show of their ‘comeback’ American tour.
We’ve spent the last five months touring around the USA, hitting all the major hubs and some smaller places, for their new album, ‘Never Too Late’ .
We started the tour in New York City and are ending it here as well.
Just as well, my due date is in two days and I just want to be near home.
I moved back in with the guys the same week they told the world about our relationship three years ago.
It was bumpy for a little while. They had to essentially go into hiding for a few months until our ‘scandalous, hedonistic relationship’ wasn’t the most talked about thing in the news circuit.
We didn’t mind. It was more time off for the guys to spend making it up to me and making up for lost time.
The guitar rift pulls me back into the moment.
The way Markus' fingers fly along the frets and his lips push together as he concentrates, letting the music flow from him, is so mesmerizing to watch. This album might be my favorite. I’ve finally been able to listen to their entire discography and was more blown away than I ever thought possible.
They’re… amazingly talented. I always knew that, but hearing the range in how they play their instruments, how they weave stories through their songs, how they make their audience feel something, how each song is so fucking relatable for a multitude of reasons. They’re fucking astonishing.
And they’re all mine.
“You walked right back in/ Let me see you completely/ And finally, finally, it’s like the world fell back into place,” Reis sings softly.
Their title song, ‘Never Too Late,’ is a slow rock song—not new for them, but also not common.
Their label tried to convince them to have one of their more pop-centered songs be their single, but the guys pushed for ‘Never Too Late.’ And they were right.
It’s been the top song on the charts for the last three weeks.
I rest my hand on my belly; it’s large, fucking heavy, and tight.
I’ve been feeling these little twists of pain all day, but nothing I can’t handle.
Shifting my weight from side to side, my left hand sparkles in the low light.
The light from the stage reflected on my four wedding bands.
They didn’t get me an engagement ring, and honestly, I didn’t want one.
Instead, they each got down on one knee and proposed with a band that represented them.
It was the cutest, most thoughtful thing ever.
Six months in, I came back from the bodega down the street, setting the grocery bag down on the counter and when I turned, they were all on one knee, looking at me like I’d hung the moon and was the answer to every problem they’d ever had.
They all had a little speech about how much I meant to them, how they’d always take care of me, always love me, and wanted me to stay with them forever.
I cried, screamed ‘yes’ and they slipped the rings onto my fingers.
Markus had made a signet ring to go on my pinky, no diamonds, just sleek white gold with a double M that he’d designed just for us. Markus and Melody.
Adam had made me a more traditional wedding band that slipped onto my ring finger effortlessly. It’s a sparkly eternity band with diamonds all along the side and inside he engraved, ‘You echo in everything I do’.
Kai slipped a chainlink, rose gold ring onto my middle finger, where every other link had micro-diamonds embedded into it. He told me that it was like us. Strong, intertwined, beautiful.
And Reis put a solid silver tungsten carbide ring onto my index finger. I was surprised he picked a thin, plain band, but then he told me why. He picked tungsten carbide because it’s the strongest metal they make rings out of. It can go through hell and still stay intact. Like us.
They’d discussed how all four of them would look on my hand and picked rings that would be aesthetically pleasing for me to wear together, because ‘every time you look down at your hand, you can see each relationship, separately and together.” Cue the fucking sobs.
We talked a lot about how we were going to legally be married, seeing as I can’t marry all of them.
After looking at all our options, we decided that we were going to literally pull a name out of a hat and I’d marry them, but we’d all change our name so that legally, we’d all have the same last name. They’re all Sullivan’s now.
Technically, I’m married to Adam. But emotionally, mentally, physically, I’m married to all of them and they’re married to me.
The four of them joked and teased about it, but decided that because Adam got the marriage certificate, he would have to be the last to get me pregnant.
Then they had this dumbass fight, where I sat back on the big plush couch and let them duke it out.
I knew I wasn’t getting pregnant right then, so I let them have their hypotheticals.
That fight wasn’t about me and honestly, I plan on getting pregnant at least four times, so… they get to decide the order.
Look, I have four very fertile, sexy as fuck, possessive men all wanting to fill me up over and over until it takes? I wasn’t going to complain.
We ended up getting pregnant almost a year later.
Six months after we got married, all of us.
We went down to the courthouse; I was in a simple white dress and they all put on their business casual outfits to go sign the piece of paper that told me what I already knew: that they’re mine and I’m theirs.
I thought that was it, but the guys had put together a small surprise.
When we got back to the penthouse, they brought me to the roof at dusk.
While we’d been gone, they’d set it up so the roof would be decorated ornately.
It was breathtaking with a beautiful floral arch sat against the New York skyline with rose petals covering the ground, making an aisle where Paul—who’d become my bestie, much to the chagrin of my men—stood with a goofy smile, ready to marry us. The five of us. Together.
We stood there, looking at each other with tears in our eyes promising forever, loyalty, love, happiness. It was perfect.
A year and a half later, I’d started throwing up uncontrollably.
We thought it was the flu, and they all braced to get it after taking care of me.
I was sick morning, noon and night; I could barely lift my head up because I was so sick.
By day five, Reis came storming into the bathroom as I threw up the water I’d choked down and he held my hair back, screaming for someone to call a doctor and have them come to the penthouse.
Adam came in, pulling at his short hair with his phone by his ear.
Thirty minutes later, after having checked me out as my four looming husbands stared him down, the kind doctor smiled softly and asked me about my last period.
I was pregnant.
Smiling at the memory of how Reis' jaw dropped and Kai’s eyebrows shot up as he yelled, “Fuck yes!” Adam covered his mouth with his hand, but I could see tears forming in his eyes—we just pretended that I didn’t start crying because he was—and Markus…
Markus fell to his knees, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles.
“You’re a goddess. Our goddess. And now, you’re bringing our child into the world. Fuck, ” he’d said shakily, “thank you so much.”
The guys were so fucking excited to be dads.
I wanted for nothing. I wasn’t allowed to carry, do, or move anything.
Seriously, they were protective before I got pregnant, but the moment they found out, I was pretty much put in a plastic bubble.
Then the tour came about and I put my foot down. I was going.
They all fought me on it. They were worried the baby would be hurt by the noise, that I’d be put under too much stress, blah, blah, blah.
I told them I was going and that I’d do whatever they said to keep their surprisingly high anxiety levels down.
The next day, they all came to me with a PowerPoint— a fucking PowerPoint —and presented their rules for the tour.
I’m not allowed to stay the whole concert, just half but it’s up to me which half.
I’m not allowed to pull all-nighters. They took special care to get their tour bus refitted, so now there was a queen-sized bed in the back for me and I was to sleep well each night. No excuses.
I was to let them move everything and let them handle the schedule, it was purely there for a good time. Absolutely no stress would be placed on me. And hell, they made sure everyone knew it.
I was to be escorted by one of them or Paul, everywhere. No chances were to be taken.
The four of them all stood by the TV, clicking through slides like they had to convince me to agree to their rules when I’d already told them I would.
But I just sat back, licking an ice cream cone–the only thing I could keep down after the tenth week–and let them give me the cutest presentation I’ve ever seen.
Reis was, of course, passionate and made it clear there would be no room for discussion while Kai stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to be intimidating. All it did was turn me on.
Adam and Markus stood on the other side and nodded along, jumping in here and there with the why behind the rules. I made sure to make eye contact with them when they spoke and take a long lick of my ice cream and stifle my smirk when they’d stutter.
When Reis gritted his teeth, I knew I’d won. I made sure to tell them I agreed to everything before I took turns choking on their cocks.
It’s been the best three years of my life. I feel so completely full of love and happiness.
A strong pull around my belly takes my breath away and I fight to stay upright.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, bending just slightly.