Epilogue
brIGGS
A little over a year later…
It’s early as hell.
I’ve been up for almost a full twenty-four hours—celebrating, screaming, hugging, talking, and, most importantly, fucking Layla Jean Melrose.
After years of work, rebuilding, restructuring, and a lot of mental and physical strain, the Tennessee Tornadoes have finally won the World Series.
Last year was a taste; we suffered disappointment but came back determined as all hell to take it this year, and with Layla traveling and supporting me, it felt different.
It felt full.
And I definitely feel fuller with my cock so deep inside her perfect pussy that I’m about to combust in thirty seconds.
“Make sure the flower arrangement is perfectly centered, Ev,” I hear my sister, Adeline, say from the front space of the suite I booked out for them to be here for this.
“It has to be—” I turn on the bathroom fan because listening to my sister while I come isn’t something I’m capable of pulling off.
Plus, she’s been on that damn flower arrangement for the last ten minutes now.
My sisters are setting up a brunch celebration for me, and my father should be arriving any minute with Layla’s Uncle Ben.
The two of them have been following me from city to city every few weeks to watch me play.
I’ve had longer conversations with my dad, consisting of several full sentences instead of four to five words.
I was completely closed off to the idea of having a relationship with him, completely good with ignoring him for the rest of my life; however, it made Layla happy that he was around.
Which turned into her sitting with him, talking to him, he softened when she was around, and…
well, it happened. Some of the tension broke off a little between us, and now he randomly texts me and, sometimes, asks me what the hell I was on that night because I couldn’t see the ball for shit.
Regardless, it’s happened, whether I planned it or not, he’s around.
Meanwhile, Layla’s tongue is coaxing the living shit out of my orgasm while I knead her ass for the hundredth time with her in my arms.
For the record, I didn’t start this.
I’ve always wanted Layla to be obsessed with me, and I’ve created a monster because half the time she’s on me before I can take notice of the hotel room we’re staying in or get off the phone with my manager.
Her favorite thing to do is give me head while I’m trying to listen to Mercedes and whatever news or bullshit we need to go over.
And, honestly, I’ve hung up on her a handful of times because coming with her voice in my ear wasn’t something I have the required skillset for either.
Not that I want it.
Layla’s lips break from mine, trailing to my cheek, then down to my jaw before she goes in for the kill and starts mauling my neck.
“Layla Jean, if I didn’t know any better, you’re trying to get me pregnant.”
She bursts out in a sweet succession of giggles and licks around the column of my neck again. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“I’d say it’d be one of the best moments of my life.”
“Really?” She runs the tip of her nose along my skin and attacks my earlobe with her mouth. “I think you’d be too overprotective.”
“Of course I’d be overprotective. It’s my woman and my child.”
“I thought you were the one getting pregnant.”
I spread her ass, opening her wider so I can get deeper, and when I do, Layla’s head drops, and she bites down on my shoulder to keep herself from screaming.
“I’d love to never let you out of my sight, but we both know you’re never going to allow that to happen.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t say a word, probably because she can’t for fear she’ll be too loud.
Normally, I wouldn’t care, but I think I heard the door to the suite open, which means her Uncle Ben and my dad are here.
But the idea of getting her pregnant has made me hard for years.
I want as many as she’ll give me, and I don’t care if they’re all boys or girls.
I just want us to live within another extent of this world that we created.
“Layla Jean, what am I going to do with you?” I coax, having dozens upon dozens of ideas in my head. “I think you sittin’ with my cum inside you for breakfast is what I’ll start out with today.”
She moans as her fingers clench harder around my triceps. Her knees tighten around my waist as I thrust and bounce her up and down my cock.
“So, goddamn tight, Short Stop. You drive me crazy, woman.”
She pulls her face back within the crook of my shoulder and kisses me, deep, soft, and sexy as fuck.
We’re a perfect mess of sloppy hands everywhere, moans muffled and groans low and full of lust.
When she shatters against me, she sucks on my bottom lip to keep from screaming, and I come so hard inside her I think I’m going to drop us to the floor from my knees, growing weak and giving out.
Propping my ass along the countertop, Layla peppers kisses along my face as her heavy exhales brush along my jawline.
I need a minute.
My endurance for this girl I’ve been extending and mastering because I’m in her so much, but I’m exhausted and, honestly, I want to crash with her in my arms.
“Two hours max,” Layla mutters along my flesh. “The girls are so excited. I couldn’t tell them no, I’m sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter. Adeline would’ve thrown a guilt trip because she loves brunch. She thinks it’s the tragedy of meals because not many people have it.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Don’t tell her that. You’ll hear about it for those two hours.” Slowly, I place her down on her feet and hold her by her hips, making sure she has her balance. “I bet you head, your Uncle Ben talks about that strikeout in the third.”
Layla smirks and rolls her eyes. “I told you a million times to stop swingin’ at outside pitches.”
“World Series,” I remind her. “I don’t get to pick.”
“You wouldn’t have had a strikeout because it would’ve been a ball. You chased it.”
I scowl. “I didn’t chase it.”
I chased it.
I knew better, but I still did it.
Regardless, doesn’t matter; I made up for it the rest of the game. I scored in three runs, hit a home run, and I only struck out once.
“You chased it,” Layla replies matter-of-factly. “And eat. You haven’t eaten in hours.”
“I have. I just ate your pussy about an hour ago—” Her palm slaps my chest, trying to appear taken aback by the comment, but she knows better.
I’m infatuated with her in every way, shape, and form.
“Sit across the table,” she orders me then. “I don’t trust you with that look in your eyes.”
“Which one? The one where I want to bend you over it or the other one where I’ll be under it.
” Her head tilts back, posing exasperation when I take full advantage of the angle and press a long kiss to the column of her throat.
“You set yourself up, Layla Jean. You know how fast and deep my attention is captivated by you.”
She cups my face but doesn’t pull me away from her. “The sooner we have brunch, the sooner we can get to that.”
Bet.
Straightening my spine, I steal a kiss, then stretch my back, preparing myself for these family dinners, lunches, and brunches that have become a thing this year.
“Alright, Short Stop. I’m ready.”
I watch her straighten her dress and refluff her hair quickly before we exit the bathroom and out of our ensuite bedroom, to find a table perfectly put together with white floors and burgundy napkins. Adeline even has black silverware to match the team’s colors.
“There they are,” she greets us, closing the distance and hugging both of us at the same time. “I hope you’re hungry. The spread I have for us today is to die—”
“I’m gonna die in thirty seconds if you don’t serve it already, Adeline,” our father gruffs, already sitting at the table with both a fork and a knife in his hand.
“Dad,” Everly chides. “You already told me you and Ben hit up the buffet downstairs for breakfast. You’re not gonna die.”
“They didn’t have bacon,” Layla’s Uncle Ben fusses. “How in the world do you not have bacon at a time like this?”
“Like what?” Layla presses with her arm wrapped around my waist. “Uncle Ben, you’re becomin’ more dramatic. No more cookin’ shows for you.”
He shakes his head as if that’s never going to happen and looks at me. “And what was that in the third inning? You’ve got better eyes than that.”
Apparently not.
And I squeeze Layla Jean closer to me, silently telling her I told her so.
However, she doesn’t come to my rescue; she pulls herself from me and walks the rest of the way to the table.
“I told him,” she says. “He said he didn’t chase it.”
“You chased it,” my father confirms. “Stepped right onto the plate and everything.”
Oh, for the love of God.
I spin my finger around the table. “No more front row seats for y’all. Except Everly.”
“Yay,” she cheers, sitting next to Layla, and that’s always how it goes unless I walk my girl there.
Everly cock blocks me all the damn time because she’s obsessed with my wife, but in different ways. She’s inspired and motivated, they talk constantly, and I couldn’t pry them apart with a crowbar if I wanted.
“What about me?” Adeline retorts. “I didn’t say anythin’.”
“You did in Game Five when I flicked off the other team’s dugout.”
She hits me with an unimpressed stare, the same one she gave me that night I did it. “Because it’s unprofessional.”
“So is purposely tripping me.”
“Better than him fighting,” Everly defends. “And he deserved it.”
“Everly,” Adeline rebukes. “We need to refine him. He needs to be like Theo and be calm.”
I cock my head to the side because I saw her making googly eyes with him the other night at the bar. “Yeah, like Theo. And, speaking of Theo, sister…no.”
She feigns shock like she doesn’t know, but she knows.
I know my sister.
“What are you talkin’ about? We’re just friends.”
“No,” I deadpan.
“I was lookin’ at him,” Everly claims, which has Adeline and me glaring at her.
“Absolutely not,” our father cuts in. “He’s too old for you.”
“And just no,” I add on.
“You just said Davis Blaine was cute,” Adeline quips, and I can feel my blood start to boil because fuck no.
I open my mouth to cut into that fantasy when something draws me to Layla, and she’s shaking her head at me.
Then she blows a kiss.
Then I’m putty again.
“He’s an idiot,” Ben comments for me. “More rocks than brains.”
“And he needs to work on his batting average,” my father quips. “He’s like a deer lookin’ into headlights half the time.”
“Sit down, boy,” Ben complains, lightly smacking the spot next to him at the table. “If ya don’t, Adeline will never feed us.”
I do what he requests, sitting across from Layla as she continues to smile at me.
I could die a happy man if I could keep that smile on her face for the rest of her life. I could also be her personal foot cushion because she immediately props one foot in my lap to somehow touch or stay as close to me as humanly possible.
Mindlessly, I rub at her calves, sliding down to her ankles and the sexy as hell heels that she has on.
I’m fucking her later, naked, with these on.
It doesn’t matter what color they are or what stupid flower is on them, my cock is already responding to have her height a little higher for me to thrust into.
“When are y’all gettin’ married?” my dad asks, immediately taking a bowl of eggs that Adeline just handed him. “I need to see if my suit still fits.”
“We are married,” I say with furrowed brows. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Dad,” Everly grounds out. “When we tell you things, do you automatically forget the important parts?”
“It’s okay,” Layla concedes, keeping her gaze locked on me. “After the parade in Memphis, we’re headin’ back to Magnolia Ridge for a wedding. Our wedding.”
Words don’t exist at the moment because I’m too busy just digesting what she’s saying and what she’s done.
But my sister has no issue filling in the blanks.
“Y’all decided to get married in secret, get it, fine,” Adeline conveys. “But Everly and I didn’t get to wear a dress. And we didn’t get to see our only brother cry at the altar.”
My face skews. “I didn’t cry.”
“With the dress Layla picked out,” Everly mutters with raised brows, looking down at her plate as she meticulously picks out fruit from a platter, “you’re definitely gonna cry. She’s gorgeous.”
My focus slides back to Layla, who wiggles her foot a little because, apparently, I stopped rubbing at her skin.
“Surprise,” my girl singsongs. “Now, you’re really going to be locked down.”
A tightness in my chest forms, but not out of nervousness, but awe that this is something I never thought of doing, because our marriage was real to me, but that she’d make sure it was announced, celebrated, and shared.
“I already was,” I tell her wholeheartedly. “But I can’t wait to see you in the dress. And then later, be able to—” She stomps her heel into my thigh, warning me that her uncle is at my side and the shit about to spill from my mouth is…well, not something he’d care to know. “When is this wedding?”
“Next week,” she says. “You’ll have time to settle back in for a few days before the big day. And…I’m finally going to take your last name, Mr. Kerrigan.”
My cock stiffens and I immediately want to drag her back to the bathroom. “You are?”
“I am.”
“Then you’d know, based off that comment, Layla Jean, that we’re not sleepin’ separately thing the day before.”
“Yes, you are,” Adeline quips with a bit of annoyance. “We have a whole night of pamperin’ planned for her and you’re not gonna ruin it.”
“And strippers,” Everly adds in, which has me sending her an unamused stare because that’s going to be a fuck no for me in every universe we exist.
“Stop teasin’,” Adeline lightly chides with a sly smirk. “It’s only the one.”
Layla covers her mouth, trying to suppress a laugh, and this is what our life is now.
Baseball games.
Family banter.
Secret fucks when we have visitors.
Hot fucks when we don’t have visitors.
And us.
Married, happy, and absolutely each other’s.