Chapter 13
Thayne
Preseason suck?
Fuck early pracky.
Preseason gino?
Falling asleep and waking up next to the woman that should permanently be wearin’ my name.
We’re talkin’ on more than just her sweater.
We’re talkin’ on more than just her body.
We’re talkin’ on more than just her morning coffee order from LMC.
She’s wifey.
Albeit future wifey, since I ain’t technically asked yet.
But she fits that Next song.
Especially the line about having my kids.
I can’t fucking wait for that.
Or…you know what?
Maybe I can.
Co-parenting a teen has been facing seventy plus shots on goal fucking rough.
Gettin’ my truck dealership clean after muddin’ frustrating.
And I like mud!
I rarely mind a bit of it on my truck or my boots!
Look, I knew this shit wasn’t gonna be easy.
The best things in life never are, they’re just worth working for.
Gramps taught us that.
And I know that raising Bronny – er – helping raise him will be no exception.
This… “transitional period” – as Cap’s wife calls it – has been – to channel the future Mrs. Tendy – like pulling teeth.
I swear, he’s being a defiant, difficult, little shit, just to be one.
For realiskies.
I don’t remember being nearly that much of a pain in the hide at his age.
Grams would’ve never let me see seventeen if I had.
Exiting the closet into my ensuite bathroom immediately reveals the woman I thank the zeb in the sky for every morning and every night and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon for good measure.
Gilly lazily ruffles her dark curls with one hand while reaching the short distance across my marble counter for her toothbrush with the other.
Rather than continue to my mapped-out morning routine, I switch plays.
Relocate my earbud to my pocket.
Slowly stroll closer taking every step of the way to appreciate the vision that’s been keeping Teddy Pendergrass, Luther Vandross, and George Michaels on steady repeat in my truck as much as my pods.
Hand to The Great One.
Sexiest thing in this whole world is seeing my woman wearing my name and nothing else.
“Mornin’ Slayer,” I quietly greet during my creep closer.
Gilly retrieves the toothpaste tube at the same time she lovingly coos, “Good morning, Jukes.”
“It definitely is when I get to wake up next to you,” leaves me upon my arrival behind her.
“You always say that.”
“That’s ‘cause,” it’s impossible not let my lips lightly feather the side of her neck, “it’s always true.
” The happiness of her hum encourages me to plant another kiss on the opposite side.
“You’re up early for a Monday.” She resumes her morning tooth chore.
“You should still be stretched out in my sheets…” a third kiss is delivered near her collarbone, “face pressed to my pillow…” the next is dropped onto her shoulder, “legs open…” gently nudging them apart is met by no resistance, “waitin’ for me to come say goodbye… ”
Additional pleased whimpers precede her somewhat muffled retorting, “I’ve got CE today.”
I should know what those letters mean.
I know she’s told me.
She happily talks to me about work over dinner and in between TV episodes even when I have no idea what the hell any of the medical terms mean, so I know I’ve heard it.
I just can’t quite remember its definition.
Probably because she’s practically naked.
We’re talkin’ so close that slipping my fingers just underneath the backside of this sweatshirt grants me a warm, plump, delish handful of ass.
And there’s no stopping my fingers from flexing once both cheeks are against my palms.
And she’s moaning.
And her eyes are momentarily falling shut.
Fuckme.
I’m about to be late to the first pracky of the season.
With no regrets.
Which is pretty on note for me.
“Continuing,” Gilly informs post spitting out her mouth’s contents, “education.” She begins rinsing the brush to do her round of follow-up cleaning. “Keeping my license requires me to take courses every couple of years on relevant subjects such as pain management.”
My thumbs gently caress the curve of her ass. “Is that what you’re takin’ today?”
“Infection control.”
Despite the disgusting response, my dick doesn’t rush for the bench.
It can’t.
Won’t.
Not when her hips are thoughtlessly pushing back into my teasing touches.
Begging for my cock to skate across the increasingly slippery territory.
“I’ve also gotta pick up your new vitamin recommendations from The Concession Stand-”
“Will you do me a solid and grab Bronny a gen multi-v? I get the vibe his system’s probably a bit out of tune. Grams has never been big into makin’ us eat ‘rabbit feed’.”
“I’ll add it to the list.”
A kiss of gratitude is gifted to her cheek. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go there after my doctor’s appointment,” pausing in her speech is not met by pausing in my caresses, “for my birth control shot.”
Do I love that she’s taken precautions in the past?
Of course.
Do I want her to stop now?
For me?
Hell yeah.
But her body…her choice.
It’s just a choice I wouldn’t mind her changing for us to start a family.
Well.
Extend it.
Us raising my little brother together kinda already qualifies us in that department.
The building sex haze momentarily lifts long enough for me to curiously ask, “You want more kids someday?”
Post finishing her fresh brush, she temporarily refrains from returning the tool to the coffee themed holder she randomly grabbed us last week while we were out buying room stuff for the aforementioned teen. “Implying that Bronny’s ours now?”
“Accordin’ to the guardianship papers we signed he is.”
“Since we’re on that topic…” her stare meets mine in the mirror convincing my hands to slide around to rest on her hips, “did you see the email from Kea Academy?”
“No.”
“Have you checked the joint account we setup for all things Bronny?”
“Yes.”
“Post setup?”
Humor fuses with guilt in my gaze. “No.”
Gilly’s irritation causes her eyes to roll, prompting me to plant a kiss on her in an effort to banish it.
An effort that’s successful considering how quickly her shoulders fall.
Her spine softens.
“They need a copy of his guardianship paperwork faxed over again – they claim they haven’t received it – along with his transfer papers from his other school before they will continue his enrollment process.”
“I’ll put a call into our attorney after pracky.”
“And?”
“And…” my lips land on the top of her shoulder again, “call Grams to make sure she properly unenrolled him so that we can finish enrolling him.”
This whole thing was as smooth as a fresh cup of Kona coffee.
After having dinner with Gilly’s parents – who I’m pretty sure we won over given they volunteered to help with any part of this parenting thing we may need – we sat down in the living room.
Went over what Bronny wanted.
What I wanted.
What she was concerned about.
What expectations we were setting.
It was a late night, but by the next morning, we were all on the same page when we video chatted with Grams who had been anticipating the change given all the information she just “happened” to have on hand.
Getting legal representation – made easier thanks to Cap’s wife – setting up financial arrangements – I don’t want Gilly having to pay for his shit in spite of her insisting she can – educational plans – his c plus grade average isn’t exactly skating in our favor – and house adjusting from free agent to family of three has made for a hectic but oddly heavenly few weeks.
We’re talkin’ Bryan Adams level.
Only two things could make all this even better.
Gillybean completely moving in – versus this split house shit – and Coach finally knowing she’s my everything.
Him still not knowing is what has me no one scoring in OT thankful that I won’t run into him this morning.
I wanna tell him.
I want the person she calls her best friend to know.
To meet me.
To get to know me in a way that the boys don’t.
Like how I used to throw bales of hay over the summer to stay in shape ‘cause gym memberships were too expensive.
And how I can now make a mean cortado and a phenomenal flat white.
And how I yelled at the screen earlier this week when watching Leverage – a show his sister loves – when they messed up a hockey episode.
But telling him ain’t up to me.
It ain’t my call.
Or…at least it’s not supposed to be.
Starting to wish it was.
“And…” she sweetly repeats, although this time, I’m not entirely sure why.
“And…” cluelessness crawls across my expression, “there’s…more?”
Snickers are soft and almost silent. “You have to take him to pracky with you.”
My head slightly tilts in objection.
“That is unless you’re ready to leave him home by himself again.”
Hasn’t happened since the kitchen incident.
Which really wasn’t that long ago.
Paint has barely finished drying on our cabinets.
“You do know that once you’re on the road that there will be times when he’s left alone in this house, right?” Her face shifts to a serious fashion. “Days where I work late or have other non-Bronny related engagements to attend?”
Hesitation to retort can’t be helped. “I do…”
“So, perhaps this week might be good prep for those moments?”
“He’s gotta miss the whole fuckin’ week?!”
She slowly nods prior to explaining, “They only allow students to start on Mondays; therefore, if you or Grams or your attorney or anyone else loses possession of the puck in the enrollment process, he will miss another week.”
“One is gonna be bad enough.”
“I know.” Her frame suddenly leans back against mine, effortlessly mellowing me back out.
“And I am currently doing everything possible to keep him from falling behind. I arranged to have his mock schedule sent to us as well as contacted his teachers to have them email over his assignments for us to begin despite not actually being in class yet.”
“Meanin’ Alice Cooper had it all wrong?”
Giggling can’t be helped.
“That Chuck Berry had it right.”
“Ohmygod, that song is wayyyyyy before your time.”