Extended Epilogue - Jagger

" H oly shit," I mutter as we follow the attendant through a maze of tables draped in pristine white linens, each one holding a placard boasting the name of the athlete it's reserved for.

Cam squeezes my hand twice, the version of love you we exchange when it's not the right time for words. But since it can also mean I'm proud of you, we're in this together, or holy shit , I'm guessing he's just as awed as I am.

I'm actually surprised he hears me at all over the persistent hum of the several hundred conversations taking place in this backstage green room. Yet, he's so in tune with me, it's possible he felt me think that. Either way, I'm grateful for his reassurance.

We follow the attendant, leading us past a "press" area where the commentators from various stations will fill the air time between the announcement of each team's pick, and I recognize a few retired players who are now going to be talking about me and my skills after my name gets called. It makes my stomach somersault so fast I nearly stumble.

"Breathe, Kitcat," Cam's soothing voice rumbles behind me, and I pump his hand twice to let him know I've got this. Mostly .

"Here we are," the attendant stops at a table with five plush chairs arranged in a half-circle around the centerpiece with my name, Jagger Robinson.

It's surreal to see my name in the fancy gold lettering, like I'm some sort of VIP. Fuck, it's surreal to think anyone knows my name at all. Yeah, I'm good at catching a ball, but the idea I'm good enough to be sought out by a pro team… That I could be paid to do it for a living… Mind-boggling.

Cam's parents give me a hug before they take their seats, which chokes me up a bit. In a lot of ways they raised me as much as my own mom, and now that I'm dating their son… I couldn't imagine being here without them. And my mom—who busted her ass to give me the world after my dad left—I just hope I can do the same for her one day. Soon.

She pulls me in tight, crushing me against her petite frame, and whispers how proud she is. When she breaks away to take her seat, I catch her wiping tears from her eyes, and the sight brings wavering unshed tears to my own.

"You can't do that already," I tell her. "I haven't even been drafted yet."

"But you're here ," she squeaks. "That alone is worth some happy tears." She kisses my cheek and sits next to Cam's mom, leaving the last two seats for me and him.

Cam pulls out the chair next to her and gestures for me to sit. It makes him seem like he's playing the role of the perfect gentleman, but really he's just doing what he's always done, taking care of me. I have to admit, I like the gesture, especially since he looks so gorgeous doing it in the custom suit that matches mine.

After I'm seated, he folds his big body into the chair next to me, and immediately clasps my hand in his, tucking them away into his lap. It's sort of clammy, the only sign that he's freaking out just as much as I am, so I give him a tight smile when he catches my eye.

Tonight is just the beginning. We've promised each other that, but it's still daunting since I have no idea what that beginning will entail. What state will we be in? How long will I be there before Cam can follow? Where will we live? How much will I see of him if he isn't working for the team, an idea he continues to think is unlikely but I refuse to let go of.

Yeah, we've got every intention of staying together, but what will that look like after tonight? I wish I knew.

"Were the matching suits too much?" Cam looks around the room, taking in some of the flashy outfits the other guys are wearing, like crushed velvet or necklaces full of so much bling you need sunglasses to look at them.

I glance at our heathered blue three-piece suits, which can skew sort of gray depending on the light, noting how the slim fit accentuates both of our physiques. Between the color and the style, we look sophisticated, and even though we're not, it's cool to pretend we are for a night.

Shaking my head, I bring his hand to my face and kiss his knuckles. "Nah, these are classic. We look good."

"But matching? Maybe I should've gone with a different color so you stand out more."

"Camelot, the world may see us as two different people, but I see us as one. Matching suits were the only acceptable choice."

The crease between my boyfriend's brows melts away as his soft brown eyes find mine, and the adoration I see there nearly undoes me. "If you get all romantic on me now, I'm gonna cry harder than your mom."

"Don't you dare. If you start shedding tears, I will, and I have no intention of blubbering on TV. Besides, that wasn't romantic, it was math." Keep it together, Jagger .

"My bad." Cam gives me a bashful smile, the one only I ever get to see since it's his romantic face. "Obviously, one plus one equals one."

"Exactly," I agree, since I'm not at all confident I can keep my tears at bay. Not if I let myself think about how much I love the man sitting next to me. And since he loves me back, he won't make me say things that could get my eyes leaking. He just gives my hand another squeeze as we watch the room fill.

Once the draft starts, the tension in the room gets heavier, though we do our best to ignore it by chatting about mindless stuff like what's happening back home. We talk about which of our high school friends have moved away, moved home, gotten married. Shit like that. It doesn't completely erase the fact that there are cameras hovering around the room, pointed in our direction every few minutes, but it helps, and I'm grateful to have our parents here to keep the conversation going.

Still, each time a pick is about to be announced, my limbs seize, my breathing gets choppy, and only Cam's hand in mine keeps me from totally deflating when someone else's table erupts in cheers. It's a frustrating roller coaster of highs and lows that repeats over and over again, leaving me anxious and exhausted.

Why did I choose to be here in person instead of on my comfy couch at home?

Nearly an hour and a half later, as I'm starting to panic that I'm not as desirable as I thought I was, I hear my name. But I hear it like an echo, so faint, I'm not sure it's real. It's not until I feel Cam's arms around my neck, and my face is pressed against his chest.

"You did it, Kitcat! You made it! You're in the NFL!"

"I…wha?" I pull back to look at him, blinking back tears of my own when I see his streaming down his face. "Who?" I gasp.

"San Diego. You're going to California!"

Before I can process those words, his full lips are on mine, stealing what little breath I have left. "I love you, Kitcat," he whispers into my mouth. "You did it."

It's Cam's dad who finally helps me to my feet so he and our moms can embrace us, but after the hugs, I'm still too stunned to get my feet to move. Until I feel Cam's hands cradling my face, and his soulful eyes find mine.

"They're waiting, Kitcat."

"I know. I… You're coming with me, right?" I grip his wrists in both my hands, hanging on for dear life.

"I can't go on stage with you, but I'll be right here." His thumb brushes over my jaw.

"No. I mean, you're with me forever, right?" Deep down, I know he is, but this is a big change–I'll probably be on a plane in the next day or so–and I need to hear it again. Before I take this step toward my future. Our future.

"I'm always with you, Kitcat. Always."

"Marry me, then? Tonight."

"What?" He blinks so fast I almost can't tell that his pupils are blown wide.

"We're in Vegas," I lift my shoulder in explanation. "Marry me."

"Get your jersey first." He kisses me then tips his head toward the waiting attendant. "Then, hell yeah, I'll marry you."

I give him a hard, fast kiss and spin around, weaving through the tables to get to the stage and wondering why it feels like someone else is moving my body. Maybe that's because my image fills the Sphere as I walk on stage, so it's like I'm watching myself as I move.

I'm a proud guy, but damn. That's a lot of me plastered all over.

At the podium, the Commissioner shakes my hand, sticks a hat on my head and gives me a jersey to hold up. Then we pose for pictures that I can only hope I'm smiling for since the flashes and reels from my games on the ceiling bombard my vision.

I barely have time to register the size of the crowd before I'm whisked to the wings and handed a phone so I can say hi to my new coach. He welcomes me to the team, that much I'm sure of, but beyond that, I don't know what's said before the phone is snatched away.

A part of me resents how fast this is all happening—I want to savor this moment—but a bigger part of me wants to get the fuck back to my boyfriend so I can marry him.

Holy fuck, I'm getting married!

My feet retrace my earlier steps, taking me back to our table, but before I can get there I'm intercepted by a reporter whose dead set on getting me to put feelings I can't even begin to process into words. I do my best to answer a few questions about how excited I am to meet my new team, how I hope to be a valuable contribution, the same stuff pretty much everyone says. But when she asks what it means to be drafted, my mind goes blank. Totally short circuits. Because while getting drafted has been my dream for years, it's not my ultimate dream. Cam is.

This should be the happiest day of my life…and it will be. After I lock Cam down for good.

"Can I go?" I blurt.

She blinks at me, blue eyes wide and mouth agape as she tries to recover from the curve ball I just threw her. "You have somewhere else to be?"

"Yeah, actually." A dopey smile overtakes my face as my eyes find Cam's across the room. "I've gotta get married."

***

Thank you for reading Beautifully Devoted. If you enjoyed it I'd really appreciate a review.

You can find the next book in the series, Beautifully Conflicted, here . If you haven't checked out my MM hockey series you're definitely gonna want to read about the sweet and sexy members of the Colorado Bulldogs .

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