Epilogue
Bash
Two Years Later
No matter how many times I watched her, I’d never not be starstruck watching my wife on stage.
She was amazing.
My son shifted in my arms, pulling me from my obsession.
“Look, buddy. Momma’s doin’ her thing.”
He curled his tiny fist against my chest, dead to the world thanks to his little noise-canceling headphones, despite the roar of the crowd just beyond the curtain.
At eighteen months old, Weston James Jr., or Westy as his momma called him, had fallen asleep the second she started her set and hadn’t budged since.
The arena was packed. Twenty thousand people on their feet, singing along to every word as my woman owned the stage like she was born for it.
Which she was.
She’d given up concert life, but this one was different.
It was a benefit for childhood cancer research—something Hattie had become passionate about after a fan she’d met in Chicago a couple years ago had lost her battle.
The news had gutted my wife, and she’d thrown herself into fundraising like her life depended on it.
Shifting Westy to my other arm, careful not to wake him, I watched his mama command the stage in a sequined silver dress that caught every light in the arena. Her long blonde hair flowed like silk as she moved, and even after all this time, she still took my breath away.
“This next song,” Hattie said into the microphone, her voice carrying to every corner of the arena, “is for a little warrior named Lucy, who taught me that sometimes it’s the smallest fighters that make the biggest impact.”
The opening notes of “Stronger Than Yesterday” filled the air, and I felt my chest get tight. This song—the one she wrote about Lucy—always got to me. Especially after we had Westy. I couldn’t imagine losing him.
As she sang about hope and courage and never giving up, I thought about how much had changed in the last two years.
How I almost lost my wife twice—once to my own stupidity, and once to a madman with a gun.
How we built something beautiful from the ashes of what we thought was dead and buried.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I carefully pulled it out, making sure not to wake my boy.
Gator: Place is packed. You see the donation total yet?
I glanced up at the digital display. The numbers were climbing fast—1.8 million and counting.
Me: Almost at 2 mil
Gator: Your woman’s gonna cure cancer.
My lips turned up. If anyone could, it’d be my baby.
She finished the last note of her song, and the crowd erupted like a damn volcano. I watched in awe as she took a bow, her hand over her heart, and I could see the tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Thank you, Miami!” she called into the mic. “You’ve helped us raise over two million dollars tonight for childhood cancer research!”
The roar was deafening. People were on their feet, crying, cheering, throwing flowers onto the stage.
Hattie glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine as she threw a wave to the crowd before jogging off the stage right into my arms.
“How’d I do?” she asked breathlessly, though she already knew from the look on my face and the sound of the crowd still going wild behind the curtain.
“Perfect,” I murmured against her hair. “Just like always, Songbird.”
She pulled back to look at our son, her fingers gentle as she brushed a dark curl away from his forehead. “He slept through the whole thing?”
“Like a rock.”
She laughed. “I swear. The boy could sleep through a tornado.”
I grinned. She wasn’t wrong.
“Come on, superstar. Let’s get our boy home.”
Three hours later we were back home in Odin, getting Westy settled into his crib in the nursery.
My wife smoothed the blanket over our sleeping son, her face soft with exhaustion and so much love. She was still in her stage makeup, but she’d traded the sequined dress for one of my t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts.
God, I loved her.
“Sleep tight, baby boy,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to her fingertip and then to his forehead. “Mama and Daddy love you so much.”
Westy made a little sighing sound in his sleep.
Our kid was everything I never knew I wanted. Dark hair like mine, blue eyes like his mama’s, and a stubborn streak a mile wide that he definitely got from the both of us.
“C’mon, baby.”
I took her hand and led her out the door, quietly closing it behind us as I led her down the hall to our bedroom.
The second our door closed, I crowded her against the door, my mouth finding hers.
“Mmm,” she hummed, her fingers finding the hem of my shirt. “Someone’s feeling frisky.”
“Always,” I rumbled against her neck, my hands already sliding under the hem of my shirt she was wearing. Her skin was warm and soft, and I couldn’t get enough.
“Good thing,” she giggled, the sound going straight to my cock. “Because I have a confession.”
I pulled back to look at her, taking in the flush on her cheeks and the way she was biting her bottom lip. “What kind of confession?”
Her hand came up to rest on her belly, and the smile that spread across her face was pure sunshine. “I think we need to make room in the nursery.”
“Are you—” My eyes dropped to her still flat belly.
“Ten weeks,” she whispered, her eyes bright. “I found out last week, but wanted to wait until after the concert to tell you. Surprise!”
I was so fucking happy.
Without a word, I scooped her up bridal style, and she squeaked, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Weston!”
“I got ya’, baby,” I said, carrying her to our bed.
I laid her down gently, mindful of the baby she was carrying, and followed her down, caging her beneath me with my forearms braced on either side of her head.
“Another baby,” I murmured, still trying to wrap my head around it.
“Another baby,” she confirmed, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw with her fingertip. “Are you happy?”
“Happy?” I leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, pouring everything I felt into it. “Baby, I’m fucking ecstatic.”
She laughed. “Language, Daddy! Little ears might be listening.”
“Westy’s asleep, and the new one can’t hear anything yet,” I pointed out, my hands already working on the hem of my shirt she was wearing.
“Actually, babies start hearing around eighteen weeks—”
I cut off her yammering by pulling my shirt over her head, leaving her in nothing but a lacy pink bra and her cotton shorts. My mouth went dry at the sight of her.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” I breathed.
Even after carrying our son, even with the tiny changes that pregnancy and motherhood brought, she was still the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. Hell, she was more beautiful now than she was at seventeen. There was a confidence in her now, this happiness that made her glow from the inside out.
“So are you,” she said softly, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my chest.
I reached behind her and unhooked her bra, sliding the straps down her arms and tossing it aside. “These are gonna get bigger,” I said, cupping her breasts.
Her eyes twinkled. “Is that all you think about?”
“When it comes to you? Yeah, pretty much.” I leaned down and took one hard peak into my mouth, and she arched beneath me with a soft moan.
I lavished attention on both breasts, kissing and sucking and using my tongue until she was writhing beneath me, her fingers fisted in my hair.
“Weston,” she breathed. “Please.”
I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her shorts and panties and slid them down her legs, taking my time, kissing every inch of skin I revealed. By the time I tossed them aside, she was panting, her thighs falling open in invitation.
“So perfect,” I murmured, settling between her legs. “So fucking perfect.”
I started with gentle kisses on the insides of her thighs, working my way up slowly, deliberately, until she was practically vibrating with need.
“Stop teasing,” she whimpered.
“Not teasing,” I said against her skin. “Worshipping.”
When I finally put my mouth on her she cried out, her back arching off the bed. I took my time, using my tongue and lips to drive her higher and higher until she was trembling, right on the edge.
“Come for me, baby,” I murmured against her clit, and she shattered, her whole body tensing as she rode out her release.
I worked her through it, gentling my touch as she came down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs.
“Get up here,” she said breathlessly, reaching for me.
I kissed my way back up her body, pausing to pay special attention to her breasts again before capturing her mouth. She moaned, tasting herself on my lips.
“I need you inside me,” she whispered against my mouth.
I didn’t need to be told twice.
I shed my jeans and boxers in record time, then settled back between her thighs. She was so wet, so ready.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers. “You feel so good.”
“You too,” she breathed, her legs wrapping around my waist. “So good.”
I started to move, slow and deep, savoring every stroke. This wasn’t about getting off quick and dirty—this was about worshipping the woman who gave me everything I ever wanted.
“I love you,” I murmured against her ear, my hips rolling in a steady rhythm that had her gasping beneath me.
“I love you too,” she whispered back. “So much.”
I shifted the angle slightly, hitting the spot inside her that made her see stars.
“Right there,” she panted. “Don’t stop.”
I wouldn’t dream of it.
I kept the pace steady, my cock sliding in and out of her heat while I used my thumb to circle her clit.
She was so close. I could tell by the way her muscles were starting to flutter around me, the way her breathing was coming faster.
“Come with me, baby,” I said, my own release building at the base of my spine. “Come with me.”
She nodded, biting her lip, and I could see her letting go, giving herself over to the pleasure.
When she came apart beneath me, crying out my name, I followed her over the edge, spilling deep inside her with a groan that came from my soul.
We stayed joined together, both of us breathing hard.
“Damn,” she panted.
“Yeah.”
She laughed, the sound vibrating through her chest into mine. “Very articulate, Mr. Basham.”
“Give me a minute,” I huffed. “You fucked my brains out.”
“I’m pretty sure you were the one doing the fucking.”
I lifted my head to look at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and satisfied smile. “Damn straight I did. Give me a few minutes, and we’ll do it again.”
Lifting a hand, she smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “Are we ready for this?”
My brows pulled together. “For two kids?”
“Yeah?” She bit her lip.
I thought about Westy sleeping peacefully down the hall. About our house, our life, the woman who chose me despite everything.
“Baby, we can handle anything.”
She smiled softly. “I hope it’s a girl.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. I want her to look just like her daddy.”
I arched my brow. I wasn’t too sure about having a girl. That meant one day there’d be boys sniffin’ around. “And if it’s another boy?”
“Well, I do want six, so…”
Laughing, I rolled us over so she was sprawled on top of me, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. “I like the way you think, Mrs. Basham.”
The End.