Epilogue Two
One Year Later
I’m starting to think that I’ve set up my chair on the opposing team’s side of the field.
I could probably still move, since me and the team are some of the first ones here.
I guess it would have helped if I had paid attention to any of this shit back in school, instead of kissing on girls under the bleachers.
Or, you know, if I had seen the big letters spelling AWAY on the back of the dugout.
This whole adult softball league thing is still new to me, so cut me some slack.
The town of Ternbay itself has a new team now, the Ternbay Titans. This is their first year playing, and, actually, this is their first home game. Gordy, having realized just how much he missed playing, decided to pull together a team and joined the league.
Interestingly enough, Gordy kept running into Weston Dunphy at Forge Fitness, and, much like West’s son, Easton, predicted, he got over whatever the hell problem he had at the batting cages last year. Now, he’s reclaimed his old high school position of first baseman.
“Gannett!” Taryn shouts at me from the other dugout, his hand cupped around his mouth. “You’re on the wrong side! Quit flirting with the enemy!”
“I know, I know!” I shout back. “I’ll move in a minute!” The girls got here and promptly took off with Twink to the snack shack to see what candy they could scrounge with all their swear jar tips. I don’t want to disappear on them before they get back.
“Good grief!” the petite, blonde haired lady sitting next to me gasps as Gordy starts stretching outside of the dugout. “What do they put in that man’s Cheerios in the morning, steroids?!”
Her friend, a brunette who has got the most unfiltered mouth I’ve ever ever heard from anyone—he, she, or they—in such a short amount of time, snorts.
“Kels, we’re not in kindergarten right now, it’s okay to just say ‘holy fuckin’ shit’ like the rest of us, ‘cuz, come on—holy fuckin’ shit.
He makes Shane look like a shrimp!” She bobs a baby on her knee.
“Who makes me look like a shrimp?” a deep male voice asks from behind me. When he steps around to drop off a giant duffle bag in the away team’s dugout, I realize I recognize the guy. The blond wall of muscle from the pub over a year ago whose name was, in fact, Shane.
He spies me when he turns around, and cocks an eyebrow up. “Hey, you’re the guy from the bar up the way, aren’t you? Gannett, right?”
“The one Elliot kissed?” The brunette lady hisses, leaning forward to glower at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The blonde woman stuffs her friend back in her seat. “Lay off, Cailin. El already told me he didn’t mean anything by it.” Then, she twists in her seat, facing me. “Hi there, Gannett. Fancy meeting you. I’m Kelsey, Elliot’s unfazed wife.” She holds a dainty hand out for me to shake.
“He’s here because he lives here, Cailin,” Shane supplies.
“Uh, yeah. That’d be me. And, uhm, nice to meet you too.”
She giggles. “I’m seriously not mad, don’t worry. He said he did it only to get you a guy. I have to ask, because I myself am a dedicated matchmaker, did it work?”
I nod over to Gordy and fidget with the choker on my neck. “It did.”
Cailin, I guess, gasps. “You’re with Mr. Steroid Cheerios?”
I chuckle. “I am. And for the record, he likes protein waffles, not Cheerios.”
She raises her eyebrows and gives Gordy another appreciative sweep. “I feel sorry for your ass. Literally. It must hurt to sit.”
“Je-sus, Cailin. No filter what-so-fuckin’-ever,” Shane huffs in disbelief as Kelsey swats at her friend.
“What’s my wife saying now?” a shaved head man wearing a Ridge Falls jersey asks, tossing his bat bag into the dugout. “Do I even wanna know?” He cocks an eyebrow up at her.
“Probably not,” she hums, giving zero fucks.
The new guy looks at Shane. “Your heathens and Kenzie all took off with Jake and Riley to go to the snack shack,” he tells him. “Levi’s not coming, he got a call he had to go work.”
“Where are Quinn and Elliot?” Shane asks him.
“They found a garbage goose napping in the bed of someone’s truck up in the parking lot,” the new guy notes. “Elliot’s trying to convince Quinn to let him bring it home with them.”
“No!” I shout, shooting up out of my chair. “That’s my Gulligan! My baby!”
All eyes turn to me. “You have a pet seagull?” Kelsey asks me.
“He was a wedding present,” I note, because, yes, Gordy and I did, indeed, get married. No big ceremony, just a quick courthouse formality when we were getting the paperwork to change both his and Taryn’s last names.
And yes, he rolled his eyes and got all “that’s so hypocritical” on me, before he actually sat down and heard me out.
After we talked like rational adults for a bit, we both decided that we wanted to do it because who the fuck knows how the climate of the world will be on the topic of gay marriage.
It’s legal now, and we wanted to make sure that we were in case that right is ever taken away.
Knock on wood, but in the event that, god forbid, anything should happen to either Gordy or I, we wanted to make sure that we were each other’s legally recognized benefactors.
Plus, I just like the sound of calling him my husband over calling him my partner.
And I get to rub it in Evan’s face that Gordy and I got married on his birthday, just like he and Brooks did on mine.
What can I say? There’s only so much maturity one man can ever really get.
Speaking of Evan, I can see him, Brooks and Tally all descending down the hill to get to the field. Tati, Terra, and Twink all catch up to them. And—holy shit—I just realized how many T’s there are in the Waters clan, because we can’t forget Taryn t-t-too.
“Welp, I’m gonna just go set up on the right side of the field, I guess,” I tell the bunch. “Family’s all showing up for the big first day for us. Nice meeting you all.”
Shane nods in my direction. “Win or lose, why don’t we catch up at the pub after? I think us continuing to run into each other is some sign we ought to all just hang out.”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” I tell them before packing my chair up and making my way over to sit behind the dugout labelled HOME.
My phone buzzes in my pocket as I unfold my chair on the right side of the field, setting myself up right next to Petro and an empty chair, which I assume is Colt’s. Huh, hadn’t noticed them show up, but glad they came up to cheer the Titans on all the same.
“Where’s Colt?” I ask Petro.
“Changing the baby,” he nods up to the parking lot.
“Oh, good, you brought her! My girls are going to probably try to steal her away again, fair warning.”
He chuckles. “Doubt it, once Chloe starts crying for a bottle, they’ll hand her right back. Girl’s got a set of lungs on her.”
My phone buzzes again. “Alright, alright. Jeesh,” I mutter, yanking it from my pocket.
Caleb
Let Gordy know I’m running a little late, but I’ll be there soon!
Marcus won’t be, though.
The multiple green, pukey emojis he included told me all I needed to know about why Marcus would be absent.
Me
Rough. Your kids bring that shit home from school too?
Caleb
There was a solid fight for porcelain rights for a bit there. We may need to think about adding another bathroom.
Thinking I might ask the boss for a raise so I can afford it.
I promptly follow up that remark with a middle finger emoji.
Me
Getting pretty good at sign language, aren’t I?
Caleb
LMAO Eh… You’re getting there.
Me
Least you’re honest. See you when you get here, bud.
Caleb
K
“Babe,” I call out, approaching the fence. Then I whistle when he’s too in the zone, barking out batting orders. “Gordy!”
He glances up from his notebook. “Yeah?”
“Caleb just texted, he’s on his way, but—you’re down a catcher.”
“Marcus isn’t coming?”
I shake my head. “Caught that stomach shit, I guess.”
“Fuck,” Gordy murmurs, studying his sheet again. “The hell we gonna do without a catcher?”
I spare a glance over my shoulder, spying Evan giving Tally a piggy-back ride behind me. “I know a guy who knows a thing or two about getting some balls in his mitt,” I tell my husband, who, yes, does look very fucking strapping in his baseball uniform.
Mr. Steroid Cheerios will look better with it off him later though…
He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “That’s your brother, Gannett.”
“What about me?” Evan asks, passing Tally to Brooks and approaching us.
I shrug. “Told Gordy you like fondling balls.”
He grimaces. “I do, yes, but why the hell are you talking about it?”
Gordy sighs dramatically. “We’re down a catcher. Evan, do you think you’d be able to fill in?”
Evan’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. I mean, hell yeah, man. I’d have asked you to take that position full time if you lived even remotely in the area anymore.”
“Marcus is that bad, huh?”
Gordy clears his throat. “No, Marcus does alright. He’s just not as good as you were though…”
Evan blinks at him.
“It’s okay if, you know, you don’t want to. If it brings back bad memories or whatever,” Gordy continues.
My brother nods, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth. “It’s uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ll do it. I don’t have a uniform though.”
I strip off my sun-blocking hoodie, revealing the one I was wearing with Gordy’s number on it.
Doing the husband thing, you know—wearing your favorite player's jersey. I had meant it to be a surprise, but now it’s become a bit of a necessity.
I’m sure that, with some duct tape, we can change this number one into another number in the teens or something.
It’s like Wagner always told me, if you can’t duck it, fuck it.
“Ow ow! Looks like we’ve got ourselves a stripper on the sidelines!
” someone inside the dugout shouts when I yank my Waters jersey over my head.
When I finally rid myself of the shirt, I see it’s Steve.
“I’ve got a sweater vest you can borrow, if you need.
I know how much you admire my collection,” he teases.
I hold up my hoodie and give it a little waggle. “All good, bud. Thanks for the offer.”
He shrugs, taking a practice swing. “Well, it was worth a shot.”
“Sarah coming to watch you play?” I ask him.
He grins. “My wife said she’d never miss a game. She’s on her way here now; she just had an open house run into overtime.”
I snort. “And she used to call me the workaholic.”
Behind me, there’s more muttering. “Christ, Mutha. Was this hill always this steep when Evan was in little league?”
Dad’s here.
Ma titters. “Yes, hunny. Your old bones just ain’t what they used to be.”
“Old bones my ass,” he grumbles. “You weren’t complainin’ about my old bones last week when I—”
Evan and I both cut him off yelling, “Wagner!”
Dad’s fluffy white brows knit. “What? I carried all the friggin’ groceries into the house on one trip. One trip, and, mind you, I’ve had two heart attacks. Kiss my ass, old bones.”
“Gannett, dear. Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Ma asks.
“Giving it to Evan. He’s gonna fill in catching this game. Why? Problem with me letting the nips out for some fresh air?”
She gives me a sardonic smile, but Evan cuts her off before she has a chance to answer. “No, but they are hard, and it’s making things a little fuckin’ awkward, since there are kids here. Put your hoodie back on.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Grow up.”
“Make me.”
Evan’s about to reach out and give me the biggest purple nurple I’ve ever gotten—I can see that glint in his eye—but Gordy steps in between the two of us. “Uh-uh,” he tuts at my brother, then lowers his voice and politely says, “Those are strictly mine to discolor, thank you.”
Hey, at least he used his manners.
“Then keep your husband in check,” Evan whisper-growls.
“You know I can’t do that,” Gordy admits. “You and I both know he’s an absolute brat.”
“Everything alright over here?” Brooks checks in, his expression etched with concern.
“Yeah, babe,” Evan huffs. “Gordy and I were just having an agreement.”
Brooks brows knit. “Disagreement, you mean?”
“Nope, an agreement,” Gordy confirms. “Gannett, put your shirt on. Once Caleb gets here, we’ll be about ready to start. Other team looks like they’re all present. Shit, is that the Harnden twins?”
I nod, noting that they haven’t gull-napped me. “Kinda forgot they were from Ridge Falls,” I note, amused.
He snorts. “Me too. Small world. Anyway, thanks for stepping in today, Evan. Shall we?”
As they disappear into the dugout, I hear Weston exclaim, “Hey, hey! Look who’s here! It’s a Ternbay High reunion up in this bitch!”
I return to my seat and wait for the game to begin. Colton nudges me and asks, “How’s the new art doing? All healed up?”
I nod. “Came out great. Thanks again, Colt.” I hold out my hand and show him how the knuckle tat looks.
I got a lighthouse—one that matches Gordy’s—on my left ring finger.
In my line of work, having a ring is more dangerous than decorative, and having one of those rubber rings just reminds me of having a cock ring on my finger. A tattoo seemed appropriate instead.
He passes me a freshly changed baby Chloe when I make grabby hands for her. Christ, don’t I miss it when my girls were this small. My doe-eyed great-niece studies me with her brown eyes as I feed her a bottle. I make faces at her and boop her little button nose playfully.
“Doodle!” Morgan huffs at Colton. “You promised me I could hold her next!”
“Well, you should have been here instead of over there making out with the short stop!”
I chuckle and poke my tongue out at Morgan. “Wait in line, sucker! It’s myyyy baby tiiime.”
Caleb arrives, so the game is about to start. Right before the Titans take their positions out on the field, Gordy exits the dugout and comes over to give me a good luck kiss. One that sliiightly borders on being a little too racy for the setting here.
“Hey,” I call to him in a hushed tone before he takes back off again. “Don’t I look good with a baby?” I waggle my brows at him.
He blinks at me, stunned. “You’re asking me this right now? I thought we agreed we were both all set with the three we have between the two of us?” Then he leans in and whispers. “Besides, we’re both snipped.”
“Yeah,” I whisper back, nipping at his earlobe playfully. “But it doesn’t mean we can’t at least try. And try. And try. As many times as it takes, right?”
He chuckles. “You’re a damn idiot, Wee-Waters.”
I reach into the backpack I brought with me and pull out the surprise treat the girls and I packed for him. I wink, tossing him a snack cake. “Love you, Croot. Kick ass out there, but kick my ass even harder at home!”
And they do kick ass and win the game.
And he does kick my ass at home, because we still love to fight first and then fuck after.
Good times.