Bonus Scene
JAYDEN
A FEW YEARS LATER
There are many things I expected adulthood to bring.
A bad knee.
Gray hairs I refuse to acknowledge.
A deep, passionate hatred for leaf blowers.
What I did not expect was to be standing barefoot in our kitchen at seven thirty on a Sunday morning, wearing Sutton’s old college hoodie, arguing with my husband about whether or not our dog is emotionally manipulating us.
“She is sad,” Sutton says, arms folded, gaze fixed on Maple, who is sitting perfectly still in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Maple tilts her head.
Her tail thumps once.
Slow. Calculated.
I point at her. “That right there? That’s a performance.”
Sutton snorts. “You’re projecting.”
“I am an expert on manipulation,” I say solemnly. “I played professional basketball for almost twenty years. I’ve seen things.”
Maple lets out the quietest whine imaginable.
Sutton’s shoulders sag. “She just wants another walk.”
“She’s had two walks,” I argue. “Two! That’s more steps than I took in my entire rookie season off-days.”
“She likes routine.”
“She likes drama.”
Sutton rubs his face, already losing. This is how it always goes. He pretends to be the rational one, but he’s absolutely a sucker. It’s one of the many things I love about him.
I crouch in front of Maple. “Listen to me, you furry con artist. You’ve got a full bowl, a yard the size of a small park, and two dads who would absolutely ruin themselves financially for you. You’re fine.”
Maple stares at me. Then she very deliberately looks past me at Sutton. Her tail starts wagging.
Traitor.
Sutton sighs. “I’ll take her.”
“Yes!” Maple barks, springing to her feet like she’s been resurrected. Sure, “Yes” is a bark, but still, I know the difference.
I straighten and pump my fist. “See. Proof and point.”
Sutton grabs the leash, shaking his head. “You’re unbearable.”
“You married me.”
“I know. I signed paperwork and everything.”
He leans in, kisses my cheek—quick, familiar, soft—and I feel it in my chest the way I still do, even after all these years. That warm, steady there-you-are feeling.
“I’ll be back in twenty,” he says. “Don’t reorganize the pantry again.”
“No promises.”
The door closes behind them, and the house falls quiet in that way that only happens when Sutton leaves. Not empty. Just… paused.
I make coffee. Real coffee now, not the jet-fuel stuff I lived on during the League. I drink it slowly, leaning against the counter, watching the morning sun creep across the hardwood floors.
This house still feels surreal sometimes.
Not because it’s big—it’s not, really. Comfortable. Lived-in. Ours.
It’s the ours part that gets me.
A few years ago, I was convinced my life would always be loud airports, rented apartments, and locker rooms that smelled like sweat and bad decisions. I thought stability was something other people got.
Turns out, it just took the right man, a fake engagement that blew up spectacularly, and approximately one emotionally devastating outback cabin to reroute my entire existence.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
RYAN:
Tell Sutton he’s late. Maple and I have plans.
I text back a photo of the empty leash hook. Ryan and Nate are only in the States for a couple more weeks, and Ryan is not-so-low-key obsessed with Maple.
ME:
Too late. He’s already caved.
RYAN:
Knew it.
I grin, slipping the phone into my pocket just as the front door opens again.
“Back already?” I call.
“Nope,” Sutton says. “Forgot my wallet.”
He pauses when he sees me watching him, coffee mug in hand, hair a mess, wearing his hoodie like it belongs to me.
(It does.)
“What?” I ask.
His mouth curves into that quiet smile that still gets me every time. “Nothing. Just… this.”
“This what?”
“This life,” he says simply.
Yeah.
That.
We don’t say it out loud often—how weirdly perfect this all is. How hard we fought our way here. How close we came to missing it entirely.
But we don’t need to.
Sutton grabs his wallet, crosses the space between us, and kisses me properly this time—slow, familiar, warm. Not fireworks.
Home.
“Try not to start any projects,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“No promises,” I repeat.
He laughs, shakes his head, and disappears again.
I stand there for a moment longer, then glance toward the hallway where our framed wedding photo hangs. The one where Sutton looks calm and steady and completely unshakeable, and I look like I can’t quite believe he chose me.
Some days, I still can’t.
I finish my coffee and grab my keys.
If Sutton’s out walking the dog, that means I’ve got about fifteen minutes before he realizes I’m not where I should be.
Plenty of time to pick up breakfast.
And maybe donuts.
Because adulthood is about compromise.
And love.
And occasionally letting your dog win.