Epilogue
Jamie
Four years later
“It’s your fortieth birthday. It’s monumental,” Audrey says. “We should do something special.”
“You know birthdays have never been a big thing to me. Well, except for his,” I say tenderly, looking down at my two-year-old son, currently building an elaborate tower of magnetic blocks on the floor of our kitchen.
I didn’t know what happiness was until Audrey walked into my life, and the bliss I feel being a dad is indescribable. Brooks Jameson Wahlberg was born almost two years to the day from when I met Audrey.
“What if,” Audrey says softly as she sits in my lap, “I were to tell you a secret?”
I rest my hand on her very swollen belly, full of our daughter. “A secret? Is this a secret you think I’ll be happy about, mad about, or one you feel I need to prepare myself for?”
“A little of all three, I think,” she says with a nervous giggle. “Maddox and the O-Line are planning a surprise birthday party for you, and they asked me to get you to pick out a restaurant for it. Then they’d do the rest.”
“Baby,” I sigh. “My birthday is too close to your due date. I don’t want to risk something happening to you.”
“I figured you’d say as much, which is why I have compiled a list of suitable restaurants we both like that are within five minutes of the birthing center.”
I stare at her incredulously, then throw my head back in raucous laughter. “I will never not be surprised by how well you know me.”
“That’s my job as your wife,” she replies.
I proposed to Audrey one year after we met, at the exact restaurant.
In the same booth. With the same server.
Was it the most romantic proposal out there?
No. But it was poignant and so special to us.
I proposed with a simple three carat solitaire ring, because I knew Audrey’s tastes.
She’d never want something outlandish or blingy.
She attaches moments to physical things, and she finds joy in small details.
A diamond the size of her knuckle would overstimulate her, and a band with tiny diamonds would scratch her skin.
So the simple diamond on a thin platinum band was perfect.
We had a small ceremony in our home, with only a handful of friends in attendance.
Flash was our flower girl, and the five guinea pigs were ring bearers.
Weird? Maybe. But very much us. We did invite my dad, but he’d been unable to attend.
We did not invite anyone from Audrey’s family.
They were furious when she ‘purchased’ me at the auction, saying she shouldn’t have access to the one hundred thousand she bid on me.
Audrey very firmly told them to fuck off, and reminded them that her trust was hers to do with as she pleased.
Since I wasn’t actually up for auction, I said she didn’t have to pay, but she vehemently argued that it was the best thing she’d ever purchased, and the money went to a good cause anyway.
I can’t fault that reasoning, especially when I know I’d have dropped well over a million if the roles were reversed.
We’ve run into the Carringtons a couple of times in the last four years, but my beautiful wife walks past them with her head held high.
She doesn’t give them the time of day, and it makes me so proud of her.
There have been rumblings that her father may have tried to blackmail an elected official in Douglas County, but no arrests have been made.
I meant what I said about the Carrington family business.
I pushed them out, then broke apart the business, piece by piece.
I interviewed every single employee personally, finding suitable jobs for them at a variety of other businesses I own.
In the end, fewer than fifteen employees were furloughed without a new job.
All of those individuals were tied to the Carrington family by blood or marriage, and none of them deserved the jobs they had. I fucking hate nepotism.
Audrey’s sister, Paige, was divorced by her husband a year ago.
It turns out he wasn’t having affairs all the time.
He was working nonstop to pay for all of her expenses.
He knew she was sleeping with more than one man, though, and he strategized his divorce to coincide with the demise of REC.
He immediately married the woman he got pregnant, telling Paige he’d wanted to be a father more than he wanted her family’s connections.
Audrey’s brother, Preston, was arrested for trying to orchestrate a Ponzi scheme, which was absurd because the dumbass had zero experience with investments.
He’d basically been told his entire life that he was God’s gift to business and real estate, so he thought he could get away with anything.
As soon as REC was under my control, everyone in the commercial real estate world began to recognize the Carrington family for what they were.
Preston was dead in the water before he even stuck his toe in the tide.
A few weeks after Audrey and I got back together, I called my mom.
She was in the end stages of her cancer fight.
Breast cancer had metastasized into her lungs, kidneys, and spine.
She apologized for all the things she’d done, admitting she had lived vicariously through me in high school and college.
She’d gotten divorced again, and remarried a man from Portland.
They lived a modest life up until her death, only days after we spoke.
I struggled with my decision to call instead of visiting her, but Audrey wisely reminded me that I’d been so used to being disrespected by my mother.
She never honored my very clear boundaries.
I didn’t owe her anything during the final days of her life just because she was dying.
It may seem cruel, but it was what I needed to hear.
I spent my childhood dealing with toxicity from her, and when I finally went no-contact, I had an immediate sense of relief.
Throughout those years, my mother didn’t love me for me.
She loved me for what I could do for her.
Hearing her apologize was closure that I needed, and I was able to move on without any guilt.
“Daddy.”
I look down at my son, with his cherubic face and eyes the exact shade of his mother’s, and smile. “Yes, Brooks?”
“Bay boot ball today?”
I chuckle. “No, I’m not playing football today. We played Thursday night. Remember?”
“Bay boot ball.” I will honestly be sad when he figures out how to pronounce sounds correctly, because ‘bay boot ball’ sounds so much better than ‘play football.’
“Okay, I’ve picked a restaurant,” Audrey says, putting her phone down on the counter. “I figured you weren’t going to settle on one, so I chose what I’m craving most.”
“As if I’d say anything against that,” I chuckle. “What my pregnant wife wants, my pregnant wife gets.”
“It’s wise of you to feel that way, QB.” She stops suddenly, looking at me. “I only have a few more months where I get to call you that.”
Standing, I stride to her and pull her into my arms. “You can call me QB anytime you want.”
After winning the Super Bowl, and the MVP, last season, I made the decision to retire at the end of this year. I’m not getting any younger. I love the sport, and I’ll miss it dearly, but it’s time for me to hang up my cleats.
After more than a few run-ins with fans at her clinic, Audrey made the decision to sell it to another veterinarian.
She didn’t leave the veterinary world, however.
She now does veterinary work for a handful of shelters and rescues around the Denver metropolitan area, and she’s taken on the role of CEO of my foundation.
When she was announced as CEO, people finally realized it was my organization.
I’d gone well over a decade incognito, and had managed to donate millions to Denver humane societies and shelters during that time.
We managed to pull Chelsea into the foundation as well. She’s still Audrey’s right-hand woman, and also takes on quite a bit of the donation portion of what we do.
I notice Audrey biting her lip, which is always a clue that she has something she’s struggling to say. “What’s on your mind, Doc?”
“It’s just …” she trails off, sighing. “I picked that Mexican restaurant we like for your surprise party. But now I can’t stop thinking about the queso. Oh, and the fajitas. God, those sound so good. And Brooks loves their homemade tortillas.”
I’m already putting on my shoes. “Call it in. I’ll go pick it up.”
Audrey beams at me. “You’re the best baby daddy in the whole world.”
I kiss her softly, rub Brooks’ head, then stride out the door.
Thirty minutes later, I’m surrounded by my teammates. “How the hell did you pull this off?”
Maddox slaps my back. “Aud had her list, and we told her to pick by four o’clock today. So we all just hung out in a Target parking lot until she told us what she wanted to eat.”
“Not where she wanted to go?” I ask, amused.
Maddox shrugs. “I’m not dumb. She’s a billion months pregnant, and the two of you are already pretty particular about food. I knew it would end up where she wanted to eat tonight. Ask her yourself.”
He points behind me, and I find Audrey slowly walking in, with Brooks by her side. “So not a surprise party, but kind of one?”
She smiles sheepishly. “It’s fun to surprise you every now and again. But seriously, I did order food on the way over here. Move, or I’m eating you. And not in a good way, QB.”
Our favorite server waves to my wife, then immediately puts a heaping bowl of queso in front of her. I feel someone slap my back again, and I turn to find Chelsea. “You’re here too?”
“Aud called. Said there was food. I was thinking I’d steal Brooks for the night anyway. He hasn’t had a sleepover at Aunt Chelsea’s in a couple of weeks. We need our bonding time.” Her eyes don’t meet mine, but her gaze is trained on where Audrey sits with Brooks.
“She’s in labor, isn’t she?” I ask, stepping toward her, but Chelsea stops me.
“Listen. She’s timing the contractions, and her water hasn’t broken yet.
Her bag is in the car. She knows they won’t let her eat once she gets to the hospital, so please, let her eat.
She made me promise not to tell you, but apparently, you’ve got some kind of mind reading bullshit going on, because I didn’t say a word. ”
“You wouldn’t look me in the eye, Chels. That’s how I knew.” I walk nonchalantly toward my wife and son, hoping to hell I can act like I don’t know our lives are about to change.
“You rarely look me in the eye, QB! I guess turnabout is fair play!” Chelsea shouts, making me shake my head in disbelief. They’re as different as night and day, but it makes me so happy to know Audrey has Chelsea in her corner.
Pulling out a chair at the table, Brooks clambers into my lap. Audrey looks at me with an adorable pout. “I tried to fit in a booth. These chairs are uncomfortable. It should be illegal for chairs to have odd wooden rods just haphazardly strewn throughout the back. No one can find this enjoyable.”
“Mmhmm,” I murmur, turning my hat around before scooping a pile of queso into my mouth.
“Jamie,” Audrey snaps.
“What?”
Her eyes are murderous. “You will not force me out of here until I’m done eating. Do you understand me?”
“What are you talking about?” I mumble around a tortilla chip.
“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you know. You are the worst liar. Promise me you’ll let me eat.”
“How far apart are the contractions?” I ask.
“Nine minutes apart.”
“Do you promise to tell me when they’re coming closer together?”
“Only if I get my fajitas.”
“Audrey,” I sigh.
Her eyes narrow. “No. You listen here, Jameson.”
Uh-oh. The government name. Audrey is serious now.
“I was in labor with your son for twenty-eight hours. Well over an entire day! And since the epidural wore off, I experienced pain like you will never truly comprehend. I had a second degree perineal tear because you have an enormous head, so naturally, so does your son. And for that labor, you took me to the hospital when I had my first contraction, and I was already hungry when I got there. They wouldn’t let me eat.
If you attempt to abduct me and force me to leave before I’ve filled my stomach, I’m filing for divorce. ”
I chuckle, which only aggravates her more. I stifle my laughter and regain a stoic expression. “I promise I won’t force you out of here until you’ve had your fajitas.”
“Thank you,” she says, beaming, but then she gasps. Her eyes dip to the ground, and I know.
“Your water broke.”
“It did. Please let me eat.”
“Baby —”
“Divorce, Wahlberg. Divorce. Let. Me. Eat.”
“Fine. But I’m timing the contractions.” I pull out my phone, where I’ve installed the same app as Audrey.
A plate of sizzling fajitas is set in front of her, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
We’re that much closer to leaving. Once I get her to the birthing center, I’ll feel even better.
While I don’t bring this up to Audrey, I’m pretty freaked out about all the complications that can happen during childbirth, especially to mothers’ of ‘advanced maternal age.’ I also haven’t told her I have two OB’s on call for if they’re needed.
I’m not taking any chances. She’s my life.
“Oh my God,” Audrey moans, her eyes closed.
“What?” I shout. “Is it the baby?”
One eye opens. “You seriously need to relax a little. We’re one-point-seven miles from the birthing center.
I moaned because this tastes so good. Brooks is going to stay with Chelsea tonight, and you don’t play until next Monday night.
Honestly, this little girl must be as Type-A as you, because she’s timing this perfectly. ”
I can’t help but smile at the thought. My little girl already has me wrapped around her finger, and she isn’t even born yet.
Twelve hours later, after my rock star wife pushed twice, Magnolia Elise Wahlberg made her debut.
And just like that, my family grew by two perfect feet.