Epilogue

EPILOGUE

GABE

Five years later.

"Ready for this?"

"Born ready, brother."

"Let's do it then."

I grin as Elliot holds his fist out to me. I bring my fist down on his, then bump it from the bottom before our knuckles meet. Our hands fly back, fingers splayed, both of us making the little sounds of an explosion. Our fingers merge again and wiggle together before knotting our hands together and coming together in a bro hug. Our foreheads press together, and my free hand slaps against Elliot's back. We stay there for an extra moment.

"This is it," he whispers. "I've got a good feeling."

"We've got this. Bring the heat, show them what you're made of. "

He smacks against my helmet before shooing me off to home plate, pantomiming kicking me as I walk away from the pitcher's mound. The crowd loves it. It's been fun playing for the Durham Bulls with my best friend, and I'm lucky to have had this extra time with him before he makes it big. It took two years of playing in the minors for me to talk him out of his insistence that we're a package deal. He's holding himself back by clinging to me, because it's not likely that a major league team is going to need both a pitcher and a catcher. It just doesn't work that way.

Tonight, the VIP booth is full of reps from the Tampa Bay Rays. They're in the market for a pitcher, and I'm determined that Elliot Hope is going to be on their roster. I've already got a six-pack of his favorite local craft brew chilling, and a box full of Tampa Bay merch to celebrate when he gets the call.

The truth is, I'm perfectly happy setting down roots and staying in the minors. I've even started daydreaming about what I might do if I wasn't playing baseball. I think it's important to have a backup plan, because things don't always go the way you want them to. The therapist I've been seeing since my mother passed away last year suggested that I think about the future in terms of the multiple opportunities that have potential, instead of focusing on just one outcome. I'm more than just this game. I have talents and abilities beyond squatting behind home plate and hitting a ball. It's still something I love, but it doesn't have to be everything. If the MLB isn't in my stars, it doesn't make me a failure. I might do more with my kinesiology degree and go into sports medicine, or I might go into coaching like Ellis' friend Sean. Or maybe I can take some time to follow Ellis around and make his dreams come true the way he has for us.

The one constant in every version of my future is him.

Ellis has been my biggest fan, most steadfast supporter, and shoulder to cry on. Because we've known each other for so long, he doesn't shy away from my lows or my highs. He accepts and loves every part of me, even the stubborn, difficult parts. Over the years, he and Elliot have helped me take care of my mother and come to terms with the fact that I might have more in common with her than just the shape of our smiles. Thankfully, I've not experienced lows as deep as hers, but I can recognize now that the potential is there. After we lost her to the worst of her lows, I've started taking my mental health a lot more seriously. I'm especially grateful for the support of Ellis and Elliot's parents, who still treat me like one of their own.

They're all sitting in the stands now, cheering us on for the last game of the season. A lot has changed over the past six years, and a lot more is about to change. Next season, Elliot will be playing in the big leagues. Ellis is thinking about starting his own gallery and graphic design company. He's been saving every penny of the commissions he's made selling his art, which has amassed quite an online following, especially after a portrait of a certain high-fashion model went viral. Antoni's famous fashion designer boyfriend even designed an entire line off the portrait and hired Ellis to paint directly on his models' skin for a major runway show during fashion week. Since then, he's been overwhelmed with requests for gallery showings, prints, and commissions. His moment in the art world has arrived, and I'm so excited to watch him flourish.

As I reach home plate and put on my catcher's mitt, I catch his eye in the stands behind me. Those electric blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment nothing else exists but him.

"I love you," I mouth, before pulling my mask down and getting ready for the game of our lives.

E LLIS

Twelve years later.

"You know, when you brought out that blindfold, I really thought something kinky was about to happen."

The disappointment in his voice is obvious, and I can't help but laugh. After almost twenty years together, he's still just as horny for me as he was when we were eighteen. It's mutual. I've never tired of being looked at like something he wants to devour, and it never fails to surprise me how much I do it for him. It still doesn't feel real, even after everything we've been through. My husband can get my blood boiling with just one look. Or touch, as he proves now.

Both of his big hands cup my ass and pull me into his body. His mouth meets mine in a possessive kiss that steals my breath with every swipe of his tongue against mine. A groan escapes me as his kiss travels over my jaw and down my neck. I shiver, trying to get my thoughts back in order and remember what we were doing.

"Behave yourself, there are children present," I hiss in his ear, swatting at him to put me down.

He drops me and swings his head around, blindly angling his head to hear any telltale noises. "Children? Oh! Does that mean Sean's here? Because we need to talk about our fantasy football teams. I think the Panthers are going to go all the way this year."

"Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying. I think you're just hoping to see more of their wide receiver's ass."

"You have your hall pass. I have mine. Plus, I heard he likes older men."

"You're thirty-seven. That's hardly old," I scoff .

"And yet, here you are leading me into my surprise retirement party."

"I told you he'd figure it out." Gabe startles at the deep, unexpected voice behind him. Elliot chuckles and pats his shoulder.

I shoo my brother away. "Go back inside and get everyone ready. And you," I say, poking Gabe in his impossibly hard stomach. "You better act surprised."

Gabe reaches for his blindfold, pushing it up on his forehead so he can look down at me. His blue-green eyes are soft and relaxed. We've had a happy life together in the fast lane, ever since the Tampa Bay Rays called up both my boys. Twelve years and five World Series rings later, and he's finally ready to lay it all down. He lasted longer than my brother did. Elliot retired four years ago, after a rotator cuff injury just wouldn't heal right. He stayed in the area and joined the coaching staff, and he and Gabe have been toying with the idea of opening a training camp.

He tilts my chin up to meet his gaze and looks down at me. "I'm surprised by you every day, Ellis. Surprised by the little things you do to build me up and show me you care, by the way you take everything in stride, by everything that you've accomplished. The past twenty years haven't always been easy, but you've stuck by my side."

It's true, we've had our ups and downs. The media frenzy involved in being an out player in America's favorite pastime was something to get used to. The team's PR department wavered between putting our relationship front and center and trying to cover it up. But all of that was too stressful for Gabe. He nearly had a heart attack when his old girlfriends and hookups came out to the press, saying that our relationship was a publicity stunt. Photographers tailed us everywhere, and we nearly got into a car accident because of some overzealous paparazzo. We opted not to put a spotlight on us as a couple, and try to live our lives as normally as possible. We told the team to treat us the same as any other relationship, and eventually the hype wore down.

It was the relationship between Gabe and Elliot that captured the hearts of baseball fans everywhere. Their bromance was a fan favorite, gaining them celebrity status as they worked together to bring home victories for Tampa Bay.

"I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else," I tell him, pushing to my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. "And I promise there will be kinky surprises later, after your not-a-surprise-surprise party."

"Well, in that case," Gabe says, straightening his blindfold and busting through the double doors, pulling me behind him. "Surprise!" he bellows, louder than the fifty or so people gathered here to surprise him.

He throws off the blindfold, makes an exaggerated surprised face, and then pulls me to him again.

"I love you," he says. "Thank y—" Gabe's words are cut short as he processes his surroundings. "Where are we?" He turns around in a circle, taking in the wide-open space of the building we're standing in. Everything is brand new, from the carpet to the wide, arching glass panes that take up the front of the building. "I smelled food. I thought we were at a restaurant, but I wasn't paying attention to where."

"Carl is catering," I say, explaining only the smallest detail. "Look around."

Sometimes it takes Gabe a couple of tries to see what's right in front of him. Like me, for example. Or how he thought my brother wouldn't love him if he was honest.

But when his eyes are finally opened to something wonderful that he wasn't expecting, you get to watch that spark of realization. We're almost forty and I still fall a little bit more in love with him every time I get to see that childlike wonder in his eyes. Like now, when he sees the engraved EGE Sports Complex sign above the arena doors. He turns those sparkling lake water eyes on me, shining with astonishment and disbelief.

"It wasn't just me," I say, before he can ask how I accomplished this. "It was a group effort."

I was able to secure the real estate through one of the WAGS, and Sean had a contact with a builder that ended up being perfect. Elliot is responsible for landing most of our investors and sponsorships, with some help from a few of my friends. Jaime was looking into opening their own offices for exercise physiology, so they were ecstatic to add their professional services to our roster as one of our department heads. Tyrell, who couldn't be here tonight since he's halfway across the world right now, was happy to lend his Olympic medalist fame to our first advertising campaign, which Antoni very kindly set up through one of the top marketing firms in the country. Apparently, the CEO is a friend of his hot-shot fashion designer husband. And no one could have pulled it all together without the management skills of the infallible Ms. Ivy Quinn, who agreed to move all the way from Vale, Colorado to stay on as our Chief Operations Officer.

"This is insane," Gabe says, holding a hand over his mouth while he looks around. I helped draw the designs for the building, based on the many conversations we'd had where Gabe would daydream about all the little details. I remembered everything and locked it all away for the day when I could help make it happen.

Right around the same time that Gabe got called up to the big leagues, I got the chance of a lifetime to show at an art exhibition in Europe. He not only encouraged me and supported me through my nerves as I prepared for it, but ended up posing for the painting that would become my claim to fame. I've been commissioned by world famous magazines and celebrity athletes to depict them in the same style and have become known for my subtly erotic full-body nude portraits. The focus of the portraits is the wonder of the human body, wha t it can accomplish. Gabe's painting highlighted his strength, muscles bulging in the position he held for way longer than I thought he'd be able. Next month, I have a commission for a national sports magazine that is doing a story on a retired boxer who has been taking ballet classes as part of his training for a highly publicized comeback championship match.

"Life is insane," I say, agreeing with Gabe's assessment. "Beautifully insane."

Hours later, we're settling back in our seats while our friends get up and dance. Gabe pulls my legs into his lap and rubs my calves, watching the party around us with a sense of peace and happiness. I smile at my brother, swaying back and forth with his pregnant wife, holding her belly to take some of the pressure off. He looks as blissed out and happy as she does.

One of Sean's brood races by us, his husband Carl, frantically chasing the identical twin in the opposite direction. Gabe leans to the side and scoops the little guy up, hanging him upside down.

"Are you running away from your daddy?" he says to the three-year-old, with a mock stern voice.

The little shit, even upside down, crosses his pudgy little arms and says, "No."

"Who taught you to have such an attitude?"

"M'uncle Gabe!" the boy spits out through a sly grin, before dissolving into a fit of giggles when Gabe turns him toward me and suggests I "unleash the tickle monster."

We're able to distract little Cade until Sean finds us, hands on his hips and out of breath. "Whose idea was it to set up an ice cream sundae bar and let the kids go wild with it? "

Gabe and I point at each other wordlessly. The sundae bar was my idea. But Gabe was the one that told the kids they could have as much ice cream as they want.

Sean rolls his eyes, but he's grinning as he plucks the giggly, over-sugared toddler from Gabe's arms. "Still a decent catcher," Sean says. "Enjoy retirement."

Gabe watches Sean blow raspberries on his son's belly, laughing as their seven-year-old comes over and does the same to him. It's especially funny since Sean has gotten a little soft in the middle, and the kids love to poke at him for it.

"I want that," Gabe says wistfully.

"A pot belly?"

"Yeah, and, you know, babies."

"You can have a pot belly without babies," I point out.

"I mean, come on. You can't tell me we wouldn't make some damn cute babies. Think about it. Your hair, your eyes, my big mouth. They'd be pretty like you, and sassy like me."

"I'm not sure that's how it works," I say, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Says who?"

"I mean, it's not like you haven't been trying to knock me up for almost twenty years."

"True. But I'm going to have so much more time on my hands now." He pulls my chair against his and leans in close to my ear. "Now that I'm retired, I'll have time to tie you down and fill you with load after load of my cum. I'll alternate taking your ass and your mouth until you're so full of my cum that your stomach is swollen. I'm going to fuck you on the hour, every hour, until you breed for me, baby. "

Oof. Is it hot in here all of a sudden?

I lick my dry lips and lean into him. "For science?"

"For science," he says against my lips before pulling me onto his lap.

The End