35. Epilogue
Epilogue
Emily
Five Years Later
“Mrs. Bardot, are you there?”
My fingers flexed around my phone. “Yes, sorry. I’m here.”
“We can’t do the surgery because the results of your pregnancy test were positive.”
“What?” I gripped the table and steadied my breathing. It didn’t matter if she said it seven more times. It would still take a while to sink in.
I was pregnant?
“You can reschedule the septoplasty after the baby is here.”
Baby .
My mouth went dry.
I thanked the nurse before she hurried to end our conversation, no doubt eager to finish her call list, instead of waiting for me to come to terms with the news. Slowly lowering myself into the chair, my hand hovered over my belly.
I was pregnant.
We had officially started our quest for a baby on our second wedding anniversary. After a year of monthly disappointment, we went to specialists. I knew in my heart it was something wrong with me. What were the odds of both Mac and Bash being infertile?
But all our tests came back great. On paper, we were healthy. Prime candidates to make a baby. Too bad our bodies didn’t know that. Another year of heartbreak passed in monthly increments before we stopped trying.
For the past twelve months, we’d agreed to let it go. Still, imagined scenarios of our future family would slip into conversation. Our parents eventually stopped asking, and we were semi-content to be auntie and uncles to Roxie’s children.
Even with a full life, I selfishly wanted more. Mac had no one blood related to him in his corner. Would a little girl spinning in front of him on the ice be what he needed to heal his heart? Or would a little boy that looked so much like him be a joy to raise and shower with the love he didn’t get?
My eyes filled as I thought of a little girl with Bash’s hair and intense eyes. She would bring so much joy to our lives. Or a little boy that looked identical to him, but laughed all the time and never questioned his place in my heart.
I blinked, tears spilling down my cheeks. That was the future I dreamed of. I had come to terms with being a family of three, but I ached for more. And now it was here.
The front door opened, and I brushed my face clear.
“I have incredible news,” Mac called through the house. “Is Bash home yet?” He dropped his duffle bag by the door and threw his arms out.
I tucked myself against him, but it was too late. He saw my face.
Cupping my chin, he lifted me to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head, but he frowned.
“Let’s go sit down.”
I followed him to the family room and tucked my leg under me, curling against him. If I said anything, he would figure it out. He would know exactly what was up if I told him we needed to wait for Bash. And as soon as he figured it out, he’d have Bash on the phone.
No. I wanted them both in front of me when I told them.
From the start, we had waited for every test result together. We wanted to find out as a trio, not like this. I couldn’t help how I found out—and I knew neither of them would be the slightest bit disappointed—but I could wait until they were both home.
“What’s going on, Pink?”
“Bash is pulling up,” I said, sitting up straight and watching him get out of his car.
Anything to avoid direct eye contact with Mac.
As soon as Bash was through the door, Mac got to his feet and paced the room.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“He has news,” I offered, shrugging.
“Out with it.” Bash set his bag under the table by the door and dropped his keys into the bowl.
“I know I was worried whether or not it would happen,” Mac said, wringing his hands. “But the Evergreens signed me on for another three years—”
We whooped and hollered, cutting him off.
“Way to go, sweetie,” I said, beaming.
Bash pulled him against him and bit his lower lip. “Stop doubting yourself. Everyone wants you.”
“Everyone wants you ,” Mac murmured, melting into Bash’s congratulatory hug.
My core tightened, loving my two men supporting each other. This was exactly the family I wanted to bring a baby into. My heart swelled, impatiently excited to tell them the news.
“And that’s not all,” Mac said, his face tightening into a forced smile.
My stomach churned, and I sat on the edge of the couch, scared by his reaction.
“And?” Bash asked, as impatient as me.
“Once that contract is up, I’m retiring.”
Air whooshed out of me in relief. “That’s it?”
“That’s it? That’s it ?” Mac’s eyes widened. “It’s a huge decision and if you guys don’t agree—”
“Of course we agree,” I rushed to say. “We’re always behind you, Mac.”
“We support you, Michael,” Bash said, echoing my sentiment.
Mac sighed, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Pink has news, too. Or at least something she wouldn’t tell me about. I don’t know what—” The nerves that must have been building in him all day bubbled out before Bash stopped him.
“What is it, Em?”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “I wanted both of you here—”
“We’re here,” Mac said, pulling me from the edge of the couch and snuggling against me.
“I wish I had a little more time to prepare what I was going to say—” My hand dropped to my belly.
“Em—” Mac’s head tilted, and I broke down.
Tears poured out of me. For the bulk packs of test strips that all came back negative. The months where it seemed hopeful for a few days until my period would come. The nights I lay awake, unable to sleep because I knew I had disappointed my husbands, even if they insisted I had done nothing wrong. Tears fell for the last year, where it had become a taboo topic, for fear of rehashing hurtful memories and hopes. And then the days where the hope started dwindling away.
And now, the sheer relief. We had done it. Somehow, I was pregnant.
Mac was buzzing, stroking the back of my hand as he waited. Bash was silent, frozen as he stared at me.
“Bash?”
He cleared his throat. “Is—Are you?”
I nodded, and his eyes filled with tears.
“Just for the sake of clarity—” Mac’s nostrils flared as he fought tears. “We’re having a baby?”
I nodded, laughing through my tears, and the two of them smothered me with hugs.
“The nurse called and I can’t have the surgery for my deviated septum until after the baby’s here.”
Bash sighed. “At least you can get sleep, I suppose.”
I broke into uncontrollable laughter from Bash’s deadpan delivery. After getting progressively grumpier over the course of a few months, he finally admitted he had been losing sleep from the sheer volume of my snoring. We went to a sleep clinic to figure out what was wrong, and apparently, all that stood between Bash and a good night’s rest was a straightforward procedure—if I wasn’t pregnant.
“I can handle all the snoring in the world. A baby, really, Pink?” Mac’s eyes rounded, filled with hope I thought had extinguished.
I nodded, unable to talk.
Bash slipped onto the couch on my other side, his hand protectively covering my belly as his voice broke. “Our baby.”
“Ours,” Mac and I echoed.
Thank you for reading Two Pucking Grooms ! Em and her men have such a special place in my heart and I loved sharing them with you! They will definitely make appearances in future Instigator and Evergreens books, including Roxie’s book ?? I hope you stick around for all of them!
Pucking Hard is up next—get a peek at Emmett and Preston (yes, the two Instigators Em and Mac thought were more than a little cute!)
Keep reading for an excerpt!
“Why’d you lie to Lucas?” Juliet asked.
“I couldn’t tell him they outright rejected my synopsis.”
Juliet’s face fell. “What did Lynn say?”
Lynn, the middle ground between me and the author I ghostwrote for, had always been kind. Tough, but caring.
And then the author decided this was the year of romance for her. After three years of writing thrillers that sold really well, she wanted something new.
When the meeting went downhill, I texted Juliet, but I hadn’t filled her in on the details. I didn’t want to face her or admit the rejection, but she was harder to hide things from than Lucas.
“She laughed at me.”
Juliet frowned. “That doesn’t sound like her.”
“I apparently wrote the most ridiculous synopsis of a story she’d ever heard.”
I loved my job, but I wasn’t prepared for the jarring left turn and scrambled to keep up. I didn’t get paid per hour, I got paid per project and at first, I thought writing a synopsis for a romance novel would be easy. Something I could do over a weekend, like most of my thriller synopses took.
I planned on walking into Lynn’s office this morning to find her gushing about the twists and turns in the story. I had brought a fresh spin to the genre and knew she would be impressed.
Instead of accolades, she had questions. She asked me how long my longest relationship had been and I fumbled.
It turned out, I was only good at thrillers because of how many I’d done. Romance was a new muscle I would have to develop, and it didn’t look like I even had the base to grow from.
“How ridiculous?”
“I don’t know. It was about a woman who is pining over this guy and realizes she is better off without him after she spends a weekend stuck at his house.”
“So, how do they end up together?”
“They don’t…”
Juliet tilted her head, her fork suspended midair as she watched me. “That’s not a romance.”
“There was romance. They had sex. ” I hated myself when the word sex dropped to a whisper as it came out of my mouth. “And then she realized there was something better out there.”
“But that’s not a romance. Where’s the happily ever after? The heart of the story? The vulnerability?”
I laughed, realizing I wasn’t the one in the wrong. “That’s so cliché—”
“You’ve never been kissed. It’s not a big surprise you had a hard time writing a romance.”
She said this with such nonchalance. As if she wasn’t the one to get boobs first in middle school and gain so much kissing experience, I temporarily put aside my feelings about love and tried to kiss a boy to see what the hype was about. It led to the worst experience of my life and I was happy to stay kiss-free for the rest of my days on this planet.
Anger twisted my stomach as I stabbed my fork into a sugar snap pea. “I’ve watched plenty of romances. And I can write thrillers without having murdered anyone—”
“You say that, but whatever happened to Marcus Kent?”
Like she was a mind reader, she brought up the only boy I had ever attempted to kiss. Also, the only boy I had ever sneezed in the face of.
And yes, the two events occurred one hundred percent at the same moment in time.
“I didn’t murder Marcus Kent.”
“You need to be kissed. And I know exactly who to ask.”
“Who?” I grumbled.
“Preston.”
My stomach whooshed, and my cheeks burned. Preston Ledger. My brother’s best friend. The boy next door. Literally my entire childhood.
The boy—no, man—who had a reputation for burning through more puck bunnies than any player in the history of hockey.
Okay, that last part might have been something I made up, but he was never alone. He always had someone on his arm, laughing at his every joke as he dazzled her.
Still, I trusted him. And Juliet was right. He was the best person to ask. I could ask him to keep it between him and me, and he would.
Lucas didn’t need to know about it. It would be short and insignificant.
One quick kiss. Over in seconds. And then I could get to work on that damn synopsis.
With way more courage than I felt, I slammed down my fork and jutted my chin.
“Fine. I’ll ask him after the game.”