Epilogue
CRUE
Five Years Later
"Daddy!" Olivia tugs on my collar, her little eyes wide as I carry her in the front door. "You're on the wadio again!"
"I hear that," I murmur, fighting a grin as I hear one of Soul Obsession's old songs spilling through the house.
I'm not surprised. Ireland's still a diehard fangirl.
I think she will be until the day she dies.
It doesn't bother me in the least. I think it's cute as hell that she finds so much joy in the music that was such a huge part of my life for so long.
It's been a long time since that was true, but it'll always be part of my story.
It's the part that led me to her. And, despite everything, it's the part I find myself intensely grateful for often.
I live a privileged life because of the band.
My family wants for nothing. I choreograph when I want, write music when I want, and spend the rest of my time chasing my gorgeous little wife around it.
Not everyone is as fortunate. I know how lucky I am.
I don't take it for granted. Not a day goes by that I don't say a prayer of gratitude for the band, my wife, and the incredible life we have.
Things were wild while we were on tour, especially after the news broke about me and Ireland.
Our faces were all over the internet and the news for a while. But eventually, it died down.
Oddly, it didn't feel nearly as invasive or infuriating the second time around. Perhaps because there weren't any stories to tell or lies to spread. There was no coming between Ireland and me. Nothing ever will.
I know the rest of the guys feel the same way about their wives. Their lives are just as full as mine. We may not be hitting the road together anymore, but we're still family. We keep in touch. Sometimes, we even get back together for old times' sake. I wouldn't change a goddamn thing.
"Put me down, Daddy," Olivia demands, wriggling in my arms. "I wanna dance with Mama."
I crouch, placing our four-year-old on her feet. She immediately takes off toward the kitchen, following Ireland's off-key voice. I follow behind her, already grinning at the thought of watching the two of them dance together. It's a weekly occurrence, but it never grows old.
"Hi, sweet baby!" Ireland cries, scooping Olivia up for kisses as soon as she spots our daughter.
"I wanna dance, mama!"
"Oh, you wanna dance, do you?" An impish grin overtakes my wife's face as she dips our daughter backward, spinning her around the kitchen.
Olivia squeals with happiness, her red hair flying out behind her. Ireland picks up the words of the song, crooning to our daughter as they spin and dip and twirl around the kitchen as if they don't have a care in the world.
I scoop our eleven-month-old, Miles, out of his high chair to kiss him. He places one grubby hand against my cheek, grinning. I'm guessing his two-year-old brother, Otis, is napping.
"Hi, buddy," I murmur. "Are you watching your mama dance?"
"Momomomomom," he jabbers at me, and then spies the snacks on his tray and reaches for them, hungry like always.
I chuckle, buckling him back into his seat, and then turn to watch Ireland and Olivia, a big grin stretched across my face.
They're the worst dancers I've ever seen in my life.
Neither of them could dance on the beat if their lives depended on it.
But they're some of the best, too. If dance is about freedom and beauty, they've nailed that part.
"Come dance, daddy!" Olivia demands, holding out one little hand.
"Yeah," Ireland says, those green eyes shining as she spins around to face me. "Come dance with us, Crue."
I don't tell them no. Of course, I don't. I'm wrapped around their little fingers. Happily.
I spin them around the kitchen, keeping a close eye on Ireland, who I suspect is pregnant again. She hasn't figured it out yet. But I know her body better than I know myself. I spend every night worshipping at her feet. She's a week late…and she's never late unless she's carrying one of my babies.
I won't ruin the surprise for her, though.
I'll keep it to myself and let her figure it out so she can tell me.
She loves finding ways to spring the news on me.
Almost as much as she loves begging me to give her a baby when she's ready for another one.
I'm not sure which of us burns hotter when she's pleading with me to breed her. Her? Me? We both live for that shit.
The song ends, and I pull Ireland into my arms to kiss her.
"No!" Olivia squeals, squirming until Ireland puts her down.
As soon as her feet touch the floor, she's off again, running to find her next big adventure. She's just like her mom, full of life and always on the move.
"Hi, rockstar," Ireland whispers, grinning at me as I seam her body to mine.
"Hi," I whisper back and then devour her lips.
"Maybe I should send you to school pickup more often if I get kisses like that when you get home," she says when I let her up for air.
"Fuck school pickup, éire." I narrow my eyes on her. "You didn't tell me the line was eighteen years long."
"Oops." She smirks at me.
"You also didn't tell me that there are two lines."
"There are two lines?"
"Yeah. Apparently, parents with special needs kids get the shorter line.
I saw it and thought I hit the jackpot. And then some cranky lady with a whistle tried to blow my eardrums to inform me that I was in the wrong line.
I had to drive all the way back around the school to get in the right line," I grumble.
"Fuck school pickup. It's way too fucking complicated. "
"It's not complicated, Crue," she says, laughing. "You pull up, wait in line, and they bring her out to you."
"Yeah, unless you get in the wrong damn line. And then you get yelled at by a cranky lady in a reflective vest."
"She yelled at you?"
"Yes, she yelled at me. She said maybe I need to go back to school and learn how to read since I can't read the damn letters on her vest that said special needs line. So I told her maybe she needed a brighter fucking vest so we could actually see the damn letters. The whole line heard us."
Ireland presses her lips together, trying hard not to laugh.
"You might as well go ahead and laugh. Half the damn parents in line were laughing."
"I'm not laughing," she says, choking on laughter.
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
"Is that why your face is so red?"
"It's hot in here."
"You're such a liar."
She gives up trying to contain it and doubles over, wheezing with laughter. "Oh, my god, Crue. You got into an argument with the special needs traffic line lady. You can't ever go back there again."
"Yeah? Well, I told her that you're the one who sent me to that line," I lie.
"You didn't," she gasps, her laughter drying up as her eyes practically bug out of her head.
"Oh, I did."
"Crue!" She launches herself at me like a little demon, practically climbing my body. "Oh, my god. I'm going to strangle you! Now, neither of us can go back there. We're going to have to move schools!"
I catch her to me, swinging her around until she's in my arms bridal style, unable to follow through on her threats to murder me. And then I grin down at her. "I love how easily you fall for my bullshit."
"Oh, thank God." She relaxes in my arms. "I thought you were serious. Olivia loves her school. I love her school. Stop giving me angina, Crue."
"I've got something to give you, sweet girl. And it's not angina."
"Crue," she groans, rolling her eyes toward the baby. "Not in front of the baby."
"Oh, I'm not going to give it to you in front of the baby, éire. We're going to wait until the kids are asleep." I dip my head, brushing my lips across hers. "And then I'm going to give it to you all night."
She moans, biting my bottom lip. "Fine. But you get to do drop-off in the morning, then. I have an interview for the blog."
"Yeah? With who?"
"A drummer named Memphis Hughes."
Oh, fuck my life. It's been five years, and there are still far too damn many men around my wife.
"Yeah, absolutely not," I say. "I'll be going to that bullshit with you."
She sighs, rolling her eyes. "I know. I told him we'd be there at ten."
"Good girl." I grin at her.
"You're lucky I love you."
"I know." I brush my lips across her forehead. "Real damn lucky, éire."
"Yeah," she whispers. And then she touches my cheek, smiling. "I'm pretty lucky, too, you know."
"Nah, baby. I'm married to the prettiest little goddess this side of forever. You're stuck with my ass. I'm the lucky one here."
"Crue." Her expression goes soft. "I love you."
My eyes drift closed, those three little words hitting me right in the heart just like they always do. Even after five years, they still haven't lost their power over me. I don't think they ever will. Somehow, some way, I convinced her to stay.
I'm not lucky. I'm fucking blessed.