Epilogue #2
Honey is already on the sofa with her legs tucked under her when I get to the living room. With a glass of wine in one hand, she ices the other while watching some reality TV show.
I flex my fingers, watching her. Funny, it's usually me trying to ice away the injuries after a tough game.
“How's the wrist?” I ask as I drop onto the sofa beside her. She shifts immediately, putting her wine next to my beer on the coffee table. Then she turns into me to find the spot on my collarbone that she's been using as a pillow for as long as I can remember.
“It's okay,” she says as I wrap my arm around her. “I just didn't expect there to be so many people there today.”
“Why not, Honeycomb?” I kiss her forehead. “You're hot shit.”
She snorts out a small laugh and whacks me lightly on the chest.
“Stop it.”
“I'm just speaking the truth. You're hot shit, so you might as well accept it now since I've been telling you for years.”
I swear I feel her roll her eyes. It doesn't stop her from scratching her fingers across my chest, though.
“Olivia said the signing was a sellout,” I say, scratching her back.
“Olivia also told me that her cat spoke to her while she was doing the dishes the other day, so I'd say she's prone to embellishments.”
“Not true. Three hundred people came to see my wife. I was there, and I was so fucking proud of you.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles under her breath, snuggling into my chest instead of looking at me. I know her well enough to know that she doesn't want me focusing on her achievements too long.
That's the thing about Honey. She's so damn humble. Always just happy to be here instead of shouting from the rooftops over her accomplishments, and that's okay—I'm happy to shout for her.
“Are you ready for next season?” she asks, unsubtly changing the subject.
“Yeah,” I draw out, “but it's only May, so I've got some time before I have to start worrying about that.”
Her fingers flex as she scratches my chest, and I let out a low growl. She knows exactly what she's doing right now. I shift a little in the seat, giving my cock a little more room to grow.
“So, I've been thinking,” I say.
“Mhm.”
“About next season.”
She lifts her head, the topic immediately piquing her interest.
I look at the window, not wanting to make eye contact when I say this.
“I'm thirty-three now. I've had a good run. More than a good run, and with Merrit getting older, and your book schedule picking up, I don’t want the travel to—” I shrug.
“I don't know. It might be time to start thinking about what comes next.”
Honey sits upright so fast that the blanket nearly falls off her lap.
“No.”
“Honey—”
“Absolutely not.”
“I'm just saying—”
“I’m just saying maybe after this season—”
“You have five Super Bowl rings, Zach.” She points at me accusingly. “Five. Do you know how many Drew McCallister has?”
I sigh because unfortunately, yes. “Six.”
“Six,” she repeats dramatically. “So what I’m hearing is you want to retire one ring short of beating the greatest quarterback record in NFL history.”
“I'm telling you I want to—”
“One,” she says. “You need one more.”
“It's not that simple. You can't just—”
“You've won five Super Bowls with a team that was 2-12 when I showed up at your stadium in your jersey.” She tilts her head.
“You built that from nothing. You, Owen, Dax, Reese...” she shakes her head in disbelief.
“You built an entire dynasty out of nothing, and now you want to quit one short of the record?”
“Drew's still playing.”
“Then beat him before he gets another one.”
I stare at her for a second.
She stares right back completely unapologetic.
And there it is.
That look.
The one that’s gotten me into trouble since we were eighteen years old because she somehow manages to believe in me more than I believe in myself.
“You’re seriously not gonna let me retire, are you?”
“I’m gonna support whatever you want,” she says softly. “But I know you, Zach Evans. And you do not sound like a man who wants to retire.”
I stay quiet.
Her eyes narrow immediately. “Oh my God. You’re testing me right now, aren’t you?”
I take a slow sip of my beer instead of answering.
Honey points at me. “That means yes.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” She lets out a laugh under her breath. “You’re literally fishing for permission to chase another ring.”
I try—and fail—not to smile.
“Unbelievable,” she mutters, stealing the beer from my hand and setting it on the coffee table before curling back against my chest like she belongs there. Which she does.
“One more,” she says quietly, the words muffled against my shirt.
“One more,” I agree.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and hold her a little tighter.
One more....
At least...
Honey goes quiet for a moment, her fingertips tracing lazy patterns over my chest.
Then she says carefully, “I’ve been thinking about something too.”
“Yeah?”
She shifts, and I feel her tilt her head up to look at me.
“Merritt's just turned five,” she says.
I wait.
“I’m aware. She reminds me every morning.”
A smile pulls at Honey’s mouth. “She also keeps trying to buckle her stuffed rabbit into the stroller.”
“She does that every day.”
“And yesterday she told me the rabbit was lonely, and she needed a friend.” Honey watches my face closely now. “She was very serious about it.”
“She's always serious. She's your daughter, Honeycomb.”
“Zach.”
I look at her. She looks at me.
“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” I ask.
“I'm saying Merritt has made a compelling case on behalf of the rabbit.”
My chest tightens with the same feeling I had the first time I held Merritt in the hospital and realized my entire life had just reorganized itself around this tiny person.
“You want another baby?” I ask quietly.
“If you want,” she says just as softly. “I’m happy like this too. I just...” She smiles a little. “I see how good Harris is with his little sister, and Ella is amazing with Knox, I think maybe I want one more piece of us running around here too.”
“If I want?” I pull back far enough to look at her properly. “Honey. You're asking me if I want another one of those.” I nod down the hall toward Merritt's door.
The corner of her mouth pulls. “Is that a yes?”
“That's an obviously.” I cup her face with my good hand the way I've been doing since a parking lot in Rome ten years ago. “And the easiest question you've ever asked me.”
She laughs quietly, and it's the real one, the one that goes all the way to her eyes.
“Okay,” she says.
“Okay,” I say.
“So.” She holds my gaze. “We have a presidential suite.” She glances down the hall at Merritt's door, pulled nearly closed. “And a sleeping toddler.”
I look at her.
She raises an eyebrow.
“One more Super Bowl,” I say slowly. “One more baby.”
“Ambitious,” she says.
“You married an ambitious man.”
“I did.” She reaches up and takes my hand where it's still cupping her face and presses her lips to my palm. Then she looks at me over the top of it.
“I guess we should probably get started,” I say, lifting her in my arms.
She squeals but doesn’t stop me, so I carry her all the way to our room.
“You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”
“Lucky?” I grin. “Honeycomb, I worked very hard for that.”
She laughs. “You did.”
THE END