Epilogue
Donovan
Hamish’s hand at my back steadied me.
And Tyson stood just behind the other side.
You can do this.
I could. I was a grown man. A man in a relationship with two amazing other men.
A relationship we’d quietly announced to the world almost a year ago.
To little fanfare because, out of a sense of self-preservation—and a deep, abiding love for my best friend—we let Cole, Caressa, and Michael come out first.
Okay, I’d been a chickenshit. I could’ve gone first and eased the way for them.
But no, I’d waited for them to come out on Hollywood’s biggest night, and then a month later, Geneva Alvarez had interviewed Hamish, Tyson, and me.
In the context of Meggibeth Smythe’s guilty plea.
But also, a way to quietly come out. Naturally, the entertainment correspondent for the national Canadian broadcaster was only too happy for the scoop.
Hamish pushed me toward the door. “They won’t bite.”
“They might,” I protested.
“They don’t have teeth.” Tyson, with his dry wit.
Before I could knock, ring the bell, or use my key, Cole’s front door flung open. I barely caught Caressa as she launched herself into my arms. I held her close as she kissed my cheek. “You came.” She kissed me again. “I told Cole you’d come—if only for him.”
When she pulled back, Hamish pulled her into his arms. “How’s the new mom doing?”
“Overwrought, exhausted, and wondering how single parents manage this. We have a three-to-two situation, and we’re completely run off our feet.”
Hamish smiled as he passed her to Tyson. “Yes, a triad who had twins. Impressive.”
She glared as she clung to our third.
Michael appeared at the door with a squalling infant in his arms. He spotted me, grinned, and thrust the screaming infant into my arms. He? She? It glanced up at me and stopped immediately.
“See, I knew you’d be a perfect uncle.” Caressa ushered us in. “Cole’s changing Beau.”
Ah. I gazed down at Becca with her bright-blue eyes and shock of black hair. Does she take after Cole or Caressa? And Michael, although blond, had some Indigenous heritage from several generations back.
Cole had informed me, after I got over the shock of hearing Caressa was pregnant with twins, that they didn’t know the parentage of either child—and they didn’t care.
The timing meant either man could be the father, although, Cole had hinted, more likely Michael as Cole had still been recovering from his injury.
Right, like his swimmers might not be up to the job? I had my doubts.
Still, unless the need arose, they’d decided they didn’t want to know.
I’d asked about when the kids turned eighteen and wanted to sign up for the ancestry websites.
Cole’d paled a little. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Well, he had eighteen years.
We entered the house.
I toed off my shoes, as did Tyson and Hamish.
Hamish held the nonalcoholic champagne while I carried a gift bag with assorted little things I was certain the family didn’t need.
But Hamish had insisted on picking up little cute outfits he found.
Why he was shopping in baby stores, I wasn’t certain.
When we found out about Caressa’s pregnancy, we three had sat down and reaffirmed that we didn’t want kids.
Honorary uncle was a moniker each was happy to wear, but that was as far as any of us was willing to go.
Cole greeted us in the living room.
As Michael grabbed the bottle of champagne, Cole dropped Beau into Hamish’s arms.
That made more sense. Hamish was an uncle many, many, many times over. Neither Tyson nor I had siblings, living, anyway, and neither did we have other close friends who’d reproduced.
Now that Vigilante Justice was in the middle of filming the final season, I wondered about Julie.
She was seeing someone. Well, I was ninety-nine percent certain she was, but she wasn’t sharing.
Would she reveal the relationship when the show ended?
Did she see herself having kids? She was only in her late twenties, so she had time to make such monumental decisions.
Elouise’s pregnancy had been written into the script, and fans would be buzzing about whether Justice, Cole’s character, was the father. Others would argue obviously not because Lyric and Justice were going to wind up together.
We knew the ending but were all sworn to secrecy.
“Sit.” Cole pointed to the couch only to grab several items off of it before we could follow his instructions.
As we sat, he took a long breath.
I sighed. “This is nuts.”
Hamish chuckled. “Well, parenting is the normal biological reaction and ensures the continuation of the species—”
“Fuck that.” Tyson glanced at the two of us holding infants. “I have all the admiration in the world for you.” He winked. “Just glad it’s not me.”
Since I echoed his sentiment whole-heartedly, I merely nodded.
Caressa reappeared looking slightly less disheveled. She wore a long skirt and a flowery button-down blouse.
Beau squawked.
Hamish hushed him.
“Oh, it’s feeding time.” Caressa took the baby.
And while I expected Michael or Cole to head to the kitchen, Caressa merely plopped down on the comfortable chair, opened her blouse, bared her breast, and encouraged the baby to suckle.
Tyson made a strangled sound.
Hamish chuckled. Yeah, he’d seen this all before.
Cole plopped down on the sectional, facing the three of us who’d naturally crowded together. Safety in numbers.
Even as I pivoted my attention to Cole, Beau’s fine blond hair struck me. Ah, so as much as they claimed they didn’t want to know, odds were Beau was Michael’s progeny.
“So you closed on the property?” Cole’s question caught me off guard.
“Yes.” Hamish nearly bounced in his seat. “And to find something in the hills north of Mission City, that we could afford, was so lucky. We’re not even an hour from Vancouver.”
Our escape from the city. A place all our own.
Well, we also had a place in the city. After extensive—and exhaustive—deliberations, we’d all decided to sell our places and to buy a four-bedroom house in Kerrisdale. The house was older and needed extensive renovations, but it had a huge basement.
And no neighbors to hear when we, uh, made use of the dungeon.
As we’d discovered that long-ago night here in Cole’s dungeon, Hamish was the perfect bottom I’d known he would be, and Tyson’s innate curiosity made him an excellent switch. He enjoyed taking as much as he enjoyed giving.
“Will this property need as much work as your home?” Michael plopped down at Caressa’s feet and let out a weary sigh. “You know I’ll help with whatever you need.”
He’d done the structural assessment of the Kerrisdale property and had recommended a contractor to do the inside work. Oh, and ensured the project had come in early and under budget.
“This one is not a fixer-upper.” Hamish’s voice betrayed his relief.
We’d all hunkered down in his condo for the duration of the renovations—which hadn’t been a hardship for me.
Or for Tyson. But Hamish’s introvert nature meant he needed time to disconnect.
One of the bedrooms in the new house was set up as his office—along with a daybed.
The space was entirely his, and he could cocoon there whenever he needed to.
The cabin in Mission City had two bedrooms, and we’d dedicated one to Hamish as well.
Of the three of us, he was the only one who really brought work home anyway.
Well, I might plan choreography, and Tyson might do research into cases, but we didn’t need a dedicated space to do either of those things.
Caressa handed Beau over to Cole, who placed the infant to his shoulder and gently patted his back.
“Harder or he’s not going to burp.” Caressa tsked. “Honestly.”
Cole shrugged sheepishly.
Caressa indicated she was ready for Becca, and as Hamish rose to bring the baby over, she bared her other breast.
This time Tyson clearly tried to hold in the noise.
Barely.
“How long is your maternity leave?”
“I’m taking the full year.” Caressa eyed the baby in her arm as she latched on. “But I’m not going back.”
I cocked my head.
“Emergency medicine isn’t where my heart is anymore. I want regular hours and a predictable schedule. No more insane overtime. No more swapping shifts. No more chaos.”
“She’s thinking about taking a wellness-check nursing job.” Michael leaned against her leg. “Working with recovering addicts.”
That surprised me. Caressa’d grown up with an abusive addicted mother. Michael’s parents had enjoyed imbibing, and Cole’s father’d been a nasty drunk.
“I think it’s time for me to put the past behind me once and for all.” Caressa toyed with Becca’s dark hair. “And I still have lots to give. I just want things to be different.”
Cole sighed. “I hate that I have to go back to work in a couple of weeks.” The studio had arranged for him to have a couple of months off. Caressa had qualified for the government maternity leave. Not that they needed the money. But she’d worked hard and earned her rest.
“I have to go back this week.” Michael sighed. “We’re at a critical stage of the construction of this building, and I’m not fucking leaving it up to—”
“Hey. Shush.” Cole hissed as he pretended to cover Beau’s ears.
The baby belched.
We all laughed.
Cole turned his attention to me. “Did you sign on to the project?”
I grinned. “An action film starring the Cole Hamilton and the Peter Erickson? Nothing would stop me.” My grin didn’t falter, but I added the amendment that if either Hamish or Tyson needed me, I’d drop the project in a heartbeat.
Cole winked.
Ah. He knew. Of course he knew. Because he felt the exact same way.
Hamish leaned against me. “We said we’d buy dinner for them, right?”
Caressa squealed.
Michael groaned.
Cole grunted.
I held up my phone. “Any preferences?”
Five people all named five different restaurants.
In the end, we chose a local burger joint, acquiescing to the new mother’s craving for onion rings, and we hunkered down for an enormous meal while juggling two infants and six of the happiest people in Vancouver.
That night, as I settled in our huge bed with my men, and as Tyson fucked Hamish while I tugged one out, I acknowledged what a lucky bastard I was.
Even later, as we lay replete in each other’s arms, I gave a little thanks to my sister for having instilled the ability to love in me. I would never run out of love—and my men would never tire of it.
Lucky bastard indeed.