Epilogue – Five Years Later . . .
MACK
FIVE YEARS LATER . . .
Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I’m old. And that ageless wife of mine, who is sound asleep beside me, doesn’t look like she’s weathered a damn day. She’s practically glowing. Never saw the big deal with birthdays, except Ma’s. Not until Grace came along. For me, I’m another year closer to forty.
Yip yip fuckin’ hooray.
I roll over, burying my head into her hair. The smell of it still mesmerizes me and sends me hard as fuck, every single time. I should let her sleep, she’s been so exhausted lately. I untangle myself from the best thing in my life and slip out from the covers.
I pull on my boxers and head for the kitchen.
Coffee time for this old man. I set the coffee maker up and flick the button over. The gurgling and sweet tang of fresh beans being scalded floats through the kitchen. I check my phone, still charging on the counter from last night.
Birthday messages from Ma, Reed, and Huddo. Never miss a beat, my family. Wouldn’t have it any other way. Grace’s phone vibrates beside my own, also charging.
Helena.
Those two are closer than ever now. After the shitstorm that was their family years ago, I’m glad Gracie got her mama back. I can’t imagine not having Ma in my life. Soft footfalls snap my head from my daydreams.
Grace wanders in, wearing the tiniest sleep shorts on the planet and one of my old t-shirts that is so baggy on her it almost covers them. The same one she’s been wearing for a month now. A vision that would send even the toughest man to his knees. She runs a hand through her messy brown hair, eyes homed in on the coffee pot.
“Hey, Mackie.”
I wrap my arms around her as she reaches for a mug in the cupboard overhead. The charm bracelet on her wrist slides down her arm a little way. A permanent fixture on her body since the day Ma, Rubes, and Adds gave it to her. My name is on one charm, the ship’s wheel on the other.
I sink my face into her hair, letting my hands wander under the baggy t-shirt, a finger brushing over her nipple. Her hand releases the mug, and it clinks back down onto the shelf. Her head falls backward to my shoulder.
“God above, Mackinlay, how does this need for you never wear off?”
I slide my hands down her side, over her ribs, and into the front of her shorts.
She’s bare.
No panties.
Good girl.
I growl over threadbare breath. “Pretty damn sure you were made for me, and I was made for you, gorgeous.”
She moans as my finger finds her clit. She’s fucking soaked already.
The coffee hisses. It’s done.
Her head snaps up. Her body goes rigid, and she turns in my hold.
“Shit,” she gasps, clamping her lips down, face twisting. She wriggles out of my arms and takes off down the hallway.
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay?”
I take down the mug she was handling before I distracted her and fill it with coffee, adding the cream. I take another mug from the cupboard and pour myself one, too. The first sip is delectable. Almost as heady as my incredible wife.
A few minutes later, she reappears with a sheepish smile. Her hands are struggling to hold up a large box behind her back. Which makes her perfect tits push out. They’re all the birthday present I need. Maybe without the t-shirt. My teeth clamped over them as she writhes on my lap?—
“So, I know you don’t like birthdays. But...” She pulls the bulky box around to her front, almost dropping it. “I still had to get you something.”
“Gorgeous girl, you’re all I need.”
“Well, you might change your mind when you see your present.”
I tilt my head, giving her a quizzical look. Okay, I’ll bite. “Give it here, then.”
Arms outstretched, she hands over the gift. I take it and pad to the sofa. This sounds like a sittin’ down gift. She drops onto the seat behind me, arms wrapped over my shoulders and face beside mine as I lift the lid. She worries her bottom lip through her teeth as I glance at her.
“Mack, open it,” she rasps.
I pull back the tissue paper. A black cowboy hat sits in the box. Pristine condition. Not like my old one that’s more than earned its keep over the last decade and is now sporting a more battered appearance. I lift it out. Another layer of tissue paper rests under it, over something smaller, but still bulky. I reach for it. Grace’s hand lands on mine. “Try the hat on first, please.”
“Gracie, just the hat is enough. You work hard, I don’t want you spending your money on me.”
“I like giving you things. It makes me happy. So, deal with it.”
Her face is ridiculous, and I couldn’t love this woman more.
I push the hat onto my bed hair and turn on my seat to face her. “Better?”
“Better,” she breathes, studying the hat.
I adjust it a little to lean in and kiss her. Something pokes into my forehead. What the? I pull the hat from my head. Grace rests on her heels, gaze stuck on my face, hands wringing in the old t-shirt she wears. I drop mine to inside the crown. An envelope is tucked into the brow band. I slip it out.
Bottom lip running through her teeth again, she whispers, “Open it.”
I slide a finger under the back flap. My heart cracks up a storm as I pull out a small black-and-white image.
Is that?
“Fuck,” I rasp, staring at the sonograph photo that shows something akin to a few swirls. I have no idea what’s what.
“Happy birthday, Mackinlay.” Tears stream down her face now.
“Gracie, you’re?—”
She nods, swiping her face with both hands, trying to dry it off. “You can open the next part now.”
“No, wait,” I draw her onto my lap and smother her into my chest. I’m going to be a father. Like a full-on Harry. Fuck me. Tears burn and flood my cheeks.
Grace pushes out of my hold. “Are you happy?”
“Hell, Grace, you have no idea how much.”
She smiles, though emotion wrecks her face. She waves a hand to the gift behind me. I turn back and lift the last layer of tissue paper up, tossing it to the floor. What else could this amazing woman give me?
Another black hat is tucked in the center of the box. A tiny version of the one she just gave me.
“Turn it over, Mackinlay.” The words are soft, breathy, too raw.
I rest a hand on the crown of the small hat. It fits in my palm. Goddamn. So fuckin’ small. Emotions clamber up my throat. My hand trembles as I pry it out, turning it over. Another envelope.
“Grace, is this?”
I’m assuming whatever is in this one is something pink or something blue.
“If you don’t want to know...” she starts.
I tear the envelope open like a little kid at Christmas. Blue hearts explode from the cream paper, scattering everywhere.
Blue.
A boy.
Holy fuck.
I’m going to have a son.
Grace’s weight settles in my lap. She leans into my side and takes my hand, resting it over her stomach. I manically brush the tears marring my vision.
“We’re having a boy?” I choke.
“Actually...” Her pretty blue eyes hold my gaze as she smiles and stands. She holds the tiny hat up and it pulls apart, shifting it—no, them—into two small black hats.
What the . . .
My throat closes over, my vision blurring instantly. “Shit.”
“We’re having twins. Say hello to daddy, boys.” She rubs my hand over her belly. It’s only now I see how it’s swollen low between her hips. How did I not notice this? It seems so obvious now. The thought that Grace swells with my baby—my babies —takes my breath away, sending my cock instantly hard.
“Gorgeous girl. Come here.”
She sinks onto my lap.
“God, I thought you would never ask. Pregnancy has my hormones hopped up on something hard. I’m horny. Swollen. And so desperate for you. All the damn time.”
“Is that why you stopped wearin’ panties to bed?”
Honestly, I thought the long floaty dresses she’d been wearing lately were her latest thrift store finds. She tends to have phases of wearing her finds continuously.
God above, I’m daft.
“Took you long enough.” She giggles, grinding over my lap.
“I was too busy watching you bloom into the incredible woman you are.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispers, shifting my boxers down. I strip the T-shirt from her body, and she stands, pushing two fingers into the waistband of those tiny fuckin’ shorts. They shunt down over her hips. As they hit the floor, her belly takes all of my focus. I palm it, caressing the woman I love. Who has given me so much. When I trail a finger down into her center, she’s soaked. Wet need slicks her inner thighs.
“Come on. Sink that sweet pussy onto my cock.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. Not my Gracie.
Knees pushed into the sofa on either side of me, she lowers onto me. Torturously slow. Like she’s trying to lull me to a sweet, sweet death by ecstasy.
I would gladly follow her anywhere she cared to take me.
Any-fuckin-where is better with Grace.
After all, I’d still be an angry, lost, and wandering man without this incredible woman.
She was, is, and always will be my saving grace.