Chapter 34
Tilly
It’s another two hours before I can get to my own reception, thanks to the photo shoot Cora shells out big money for. Not for Blaise and me to have the best wedding photos ever, although we’ll certainly take them, but so she can use them to advertise her clothing line catering to larger women.
I don’t mind at all. And Blaise is looking sexy as hell in his suit. They’ll be great promotions. Emily Hess has already signed off on it, as long as Donovan’s not in any of them.
Because of the timeline, of course.
There are plenty of pictures of the three of us for the private album.
There’s another big round of photos in the cocktail dress Cora surprises me with for the reception, and then we party.
The reception is beautiful. It’s casual, a buffet catered by a couple of our favorite restaurants in Camden and basic tables and folding chairs that were borrowed from the Jugs’ supplies.
Lots of pretty lights, lots of ribbons, but nothing too fancy or expensive.
It’s not even a full bar, just beer and wine plus champagne for the toast, but we’re in the middle of the season and most of the attendees are Blaise’s teammates and their plus ones.
I know the boys smuggled in just enough whiskey for them to each get a shot in a sappy-sweet team huddle they do, but otherwise, it’s a chill night.
I cry through half of it. It’s overwhelming.
And I dance with my father for three whole songs. All we do is sway around, and after the first song, everyone else comes out on the floor with their dates, giving Dad and me more privacy by creating a wall of bodies, but I’m just not ready to let him go yet.
I know I’ll have to soon. There will be no miracles here. That’s just how life goes. But he was here with me tonight.
Dad and the nurse who traveled with him leave before the sun goes down.
It’s not long after that when Blaise’s grandma leaves with Donovan so we can have a honeymoon night.
I’m nervous since we didn’t plan it already and this might be a bad night for Donovan, what with how weird the day was, but Blaise reminds me that she’s a nurse and sickle cell runs in his family.
She’ll know what to do, and everything she might need and all the emergency contacts are packed in his bag.
It’s odd trying to figure out the right time to leave one’s own wedding, but then Cora and Merrick get into some stupid squabble about her sitting with Wes Foster — who’s seriously just her friend, and Merrick has never asked for anything exclusive — and Cora tells me we should leave before she brings some damn drama into my special day.
I don’t need any more encouragement than that.
We ride off in a limo that has HAPPY BIRTHDAY painted on the back window, which has me cracking up the whole drive.
There’s a privacy shade which we take advantage of, making out heavily, and I’m barely able to keep Blaise out of my panties.
We’re so caught up in each other that we don’t notice until we’re navigating through a neighborhood that the driver’s gone the wrong way.
I make sure I’m as presentable as possible while Blaise lowers the screen. “Hey, man. Sorry about this, but you’re going the wrong way. Lemme give you our address.”
“This is the address Bradley gave me,” the driver tells him, pulling into the driveway of a quaint two-story house with a decent yard, a realtor’s sign with a JUST SOLD! placard on it, and a giant bow on the front door.
“Maurice Bradley?” Blaise asks. “My GM?”
The driver shrugs. “Here, these are for you.”
He hands us a set of keys before getting out to open the door for me.
“What the hell is happening?” Blaise mutters as he runs up to the front door and tests the key in it.
It works.
A million ideas pop into my head, but none of them seem real.
I look around the outside of the house as I walk up, but it’s too dark to see much.
It’s nothing gigantic, but it’s got a two-car garage and a nice, big driveway, a porch with a swing on it, and both the downstairs and upstairs have lovely bay windows.
We’re in one of the nicer areas of Wilmington, a compact enough city that we’re probably only three or four more miles from the stadium than where our apartment is, but I can see the silhouette of the hospital close by, too.
I walk up the front steps and start to walk inside, only for Blaise to belt out, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!”
I jump back, scared that some little terror is lurking inside, but then Blaise sweeps me off my feet. “This is the husband shit I gotta do,” he says very seriously, so I wrap my arms around his neck and let him carry me across the threshold.
And on into the house, past the narrow beige stairs and down the narrow white hallway into the minimalist gray kitchen.
I catch sight of a small living room and dining room, dimly lit and sparsely furnished with basic furniture.
Everything about it screams realtor-furnished so boring people can imagine what it would look like with their boring furniture, but it’s furnished.
Blaise carries me all the way to the kitchen counter before setting my butt down on it.
There’s an envelope addressed to the bride and groom, and Blaise pulls a card out from it.
He opens it before I get a good look at it, but the shimmery champagne and silver is clearly the front of a card congratulating us on our wedding.
“Dear Tilly and Blaise,” Blaise reads aloud for me. “Surprise! This isn’t—damn, it’s all cursive. I can’t read this shit.”
I snicker and take the card, recognizing Joss’s florid handwriting. “Surprise! This isn’t just your honeymoon getaway. It’s your new home. On and off the field, we’ve always had each other’s backs—because that’s what a team does.”
“Is that true?” Blaise asks, cracking a joke, but his hands are shaking.
I give him a little kick. “Stop with that. We wanted to make sure you had the space, comfort, and stability you deserve, so we all came together to make this happen as a wedding and early Christmas gift. Oh, gosh. Oh, gosh.” I clear my throat before I can continue.
“This house isn’t anything fancy, but it’s enough, and it’s close to the stadium and Donovan’s doctor, and it’s yours, filled with love from all of us.
May it bring you joy, laughter, and countless happy memories.
No matter what, you’ll always have your team behind you.
Welcome home. With love, your teammates, friends, and family.
Oh, Blaise. We can’t accept this, can we? ”
Blaise thinks on it a moment, seriously considering it. He looks around, as do I. Now that I know exactly what’s happened, I’m seeing it differently.
I’m seeing a breakfast nook with a table sturdy enough to hook a seat to for Donovan, so we don’t have to fight with a kitchen chair.
I’m seeing a porch outside where Blaise and I can relax after a long day when the weather is nice.
I’m seeing a fridge we can stick Donovan’s art to when he gets a little bigger.
I’m seeing a dining room that, I know me, I will take over with sewing supplies.
We have a nice, big driveway. I could use the garage as a workspace, and then when I need ventilation, I wouldn’t need to leave, just open the door.
I’m seeing a hallway that will take us to all the rooms needed by a family, especially one that’s planning to grow.
Blaise isn’t looking around anymore. He’s looking at me. “I’ll pay everyone back. I’ll just find out how much everyone donated and I’ll—”
“You can’t pay people back for a gift.”
“Some of these guys don’t really make that much money. I can’t take it from them. But this is . . .”
“This is our home.”
Blaise’s grin breaks into a sort of manic happiness he generally saves for chaos and Donovan. “This is our home. We have a home!”
I squeal in excitement because holy cow, we have a home, and throw my arms around him.
“It’s our honeymoon in our home!” Blaise shouts at a game day volume, but I don’t even care as he scoops me back up, this time with my legs around him.
He makes a beeline for the stairs and charges up them so quickly I bounce with him even as I rain kisses down along his cheeks and neck, streaking the last remnants of my lipstick on his face.
At the top of the stairs, he plows into the first room, but it’s a nursery.
Donovan’s going to have his own room.
My eyes start to water.
“Don’t you start,” Blaise rushes out. “This is our goddamn honeymoon. We’re going to explore tomorrow.”
I nod, but yeah, I take a quick peek, and already, my brain is swimming.
Blaise gets it right the second time, finding the master bedroom, its furniture a king-sized four-poster and matching nightstands and dressers that are far too nice to have been furnished by a realtor. And the bed is covered with an incredibly ornate quilt, unquestionably one of Joss’s.
The moment Blaise drops me on the bed, I’m running my hands over it, noting that she didn’t use a machine-programmed pattern to quilt it. I can’t even imagine how much time she spent on this.
I need to thank her. God, this was all too much.
“Nope, I know you want to call Joss, and it’s not happening.”
I pout. “Why not?”
Blaise leans over me, shifting the mood with a single dark chuckle. “Because I bought you for the night, Trixie.”
I rest my weight back on my elbows and raise my foot back up to him, this time carefully rubbing the sole of my shoe over the visible tent in his pants. Some poor dry cleaner is going to be questioning that, but Blaise just rumbles as I say, “Oh yeah? I don’t think you’ve paid me yet, John.”
“No?” He nips at my earlobe, my jaw, my bottom lip. “I think I’ve paid enough for you already, Trixie.”
I push a little harder with my foot, enough that he buckles before leaning into it. His eyelids flutter. He likes it. “You know what my rates are,” I remind him.
“Fine,” he sighs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded wad of cash and letting it unfurl next to me on the bed so I can count it.
It’s $87.