Epilogue

Twenty-Two Weeks

July

Four months ago, I married my dream girl on a ballfield, and we’ve been balls out since.

I met Ronald Sr., Ronald Jr., Nadine, and Rachel, her half-sister, who was nothing like the other three. They were in the stands during our vows. Mama Deb had emailed an invite. The man had the balls to offer to contact Ray Davis, the owner of the Rangers, to get me out of Jersey and back to Texas, right in front of Amias and Max Steel. I told him that I’d die or retire from the only team I’ve played for that felt like a true family, and then I introduced him to Max.

The invite wasn’t extended to the barbeque. Mama Deb told Gwendolyn Locke that she had done it to save her the headache of dealing with their bullshit later.

She received a call from a lawyer, asking where she wanted the money deposited. I gave Gwen my finance guy’s number and let them sort everything out.

The Locke Marks Group is the company’s new name, and she and Marks are well underway in doing precisely what they set out to do—grow the business. They have the moms doing work in the background. Lawson runs things on the West Coast, Wren on the East Coast, and Alice, aka EchoFury, is doing the digital dirty.

For the past few months, Gwen and Marks have been trying to narrow the services they want to offer in the future. Much talk has been about growing a force of highly trained operatives to serve high-profile businesses and other wealthy clients, offering armed personal escorts, executive protection and support, and crowd control. Gwen wants to branch out into cyber security, and they will.

I love the idea of her being a badass boss, with a focus on that end of it for a while. A long while. She’ll handle that well until something of a personal matter comes up, and I’ll deal because that’s who she is.

Marks is slowly gaining the hours he needs to get his pilot’s license, and he and I have been looking at private planes. Gwen thinks buying one is ridiculous, but that’s bound to be like her dissing Brunello Cucinelli tees that she sleeps in every night. She’ll love being able to avoid airports someday soon.

We bought fifty acres of lake property in Walton, Texas. There’s a nice home on the property now, but we’ll be building a new one that my wife and I designed in the town where we met, fell in love, and got married.

Life is crazy, for sure, but even the ugly parts are more bearable when we experience them together.

The bad guys are behind bars, and a court date is set.

William Center, who shot my wife, will never see the world without his view obstructed by bars. His assets are frozen and will be until the civil suit brought against him by Gwendolyn and Rome takes every damn cent from him. The Shaw girls deserve that money and so much more.

We passed weeks fifteen and sixteen with zero issues, yet she’s determined we tell no one, and I’m determined to stand by her decision. No matter how insane it is, like right now.

“I gotta ask,” Rudy G whispers beside me as he stares at my wife sitting on the end of a chaise lounge by the pool, got a coverup with an extremely deep V over the bikini she’s wearing to hide her little bump but not her pregnancy tits. She’s a D right now, and I’m not complaining.

“I’d strongly suggest you don’t,” I warn.

“Locke, straight up, when I get hitched and my wife wants bigger tits, I need the name of Gwen’s surgeon. They’re amazing.”

I walk away before I start laughing or drowning him in CeCe’s pool.

“How you gonna talk about Gwen’s boobs right in front of her husband?” AJ whispers.

Walking past Bennett, he gives me a dirty look, and I give him a big-ass smile.

He’s pissed I turned down the All-Stars game. When I told him that I understood because it was an honor, but I’d been on seven times already, he was even more pissed.

I grab a couple of lemonades and head toward her. I move behind her, straddle the chaise, sit down, and rest my chin on her shoulder.

Reaching around her, I hand her a lemonade. “Mrs. Locke, your tits are going to get me in trouble.”

“Oh yeah?” She leans into me.

“Rudy G. wants your surgeon’s name for his future wife.”

Her body shakes in silent laughter. Yep, my little troublemaker.

Before I have a chance to say anything, Nour walks over, sits beside us, and he doesn’t say a word.

“What’s up, Nour?” Gwen asks.

He pulls his hat down and shakes his head. “Just fucked up, you know?”

“You had too much to drink?” I ask.

“I …” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I’m twenty-four.”

Gwen glances back at me, eyes widening.

So, I pull some shit out of my ass. “Not a bad place to be sitting at twenty-four, right?”

“What if I fuck it up?”

“I’m going to guess your first year in the majors, halfway through the season, leading the divisions, got you feeling some way. I get it. I’ve been there a few times. Made it to the division series year three, and we got outplayed. I blamed myself, but being in this game for so long, I know it isn’t me who loses a game; it’s the team. Me saying that to you isn’t gonna change how you’re feeling until you get that in here.” I tap the side of my head. “We rise together, we fall together. At the end of the day, we’re getting paid a ton of money to play baseball together. That’s pretty fucking epic.”

“Yeah, it is, but you don’t get that I have a way of fucking things up.” He shakes his head. “Too much sun and drink. I’m going to sleep it off. Thanks, man.”

“Hey, Nour,” Gwen says, and he looks back. “If you ever need a break, you know where we live. Come anytime.”

He looks at me for confirmation.

“Yeah, anytime.”

* * *

Twenty-Nine Weeks

August

Iwake from a dead sleep when I hear my wife yell, “Oh my God!”

Flying out of bed, stubbing my toe, I hop into the bathroom. “What is it? You okay?” Only to find her unable to pull her most stretchy yoga pants over the dugout.

She turns and looks at me. “Don’t say it.”

I hold my hands in the air. “Not saying anything but good morning.”

“You’re going to say Dr. Chang says everything is progressing nicely, and if the baby comes early by some chance, there’s still a good?—”

“Lil Lockett’s strong.”

She throws her hands in the air. “FaceTime them then.”

“You serious?” I ask, suddenly wide awake.

Throbbing toe? What throbbing toe?

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting in front of the laptop, waiting for my parents to figure out how to join the online meeting.

Gwen giggles when my phone rings, and it’s Dad.

“Hey, Dad, need some help getting set up?”

I hear a bit of shuffling, and then my mom’s voice, tinged with excitement and confusion, comes through.

“We’re here, sweetie! But your father can’t figure out the video. All we see is a black screen!”

I smile, picturing Dad squinting at the monitor, jabbing at the keyboard like it’s the enemy.

“My Mrs. Locke will have to take this one. It’s beyond me, too.”

“Did this crap during COVID, not sure why they changed it,.” he mumbles.

I’m pretty sure they didn’t change it, but I’m not saying anything.

“Okay, first things first, we need to check if the program has permission to be used.”

More shuffling. “The cameras are working, but there’s this little red light next to them, and I can’t get it to go green.”

“That means it’s on standby,” she explains. “Let’s get into the settings. Open the video conferencing app and find the little gear icon for settings.”

“Found it!” Mom voices triumphantly.

“Great! Now, go to ‘Video’ or ‘Camera.’ You should see an option to select your webcam. Make sure it’s chosen, not disabled.”

There’s a pause, and I hear Dad muttering something about technology being more trouble than it’s worth. Then Mom’s voice comes back, a bit hesitant.

“Okay, we see the option. It says ‘Integrated Webcam.’ Is that right?”

“Click on it and make sure it’s activated. You should see a preview pop up if it’s working.”

Silence falls, interrupted by the occasional click and murmur. Then Dad’s voice bursts back on the line, loud and clear.

“Hey, there we are! I see us!”

More clicking, a brief pause, and then Mom’s face is way too close to the camera when she exclaims, her voice now clear and bright, “We’re in! We see everyone! Oh, look, there’s Gwenie!”

Marks pops on. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Just in time,” I assure him then look at Gwen. “You wanna?—”

Her eyes immediately fill with tears, and she shakes her head.

“Oh no, is everything okay?” Mom asks, and everyone’s faces become etched with concern, even Mama Deb, who would make a hell of an actress.

“Everything’s great. Gwen and I have some news to share, but we will ask that you all fight back your instincts to go overboard due to the sensitive nature.”

“You’re retiring.” Dad nods.

I look at Gwen. “You wanna just show them?”

“You’re so extra,” she says as she stands and opens her cardigan, exposing her tank-top-covered twenty-nine-week baby bump.

There’s screaming and crying. All those sounds are happy. And when my wife looks down, she’s beaming.

I frame her belly with my hands, lean in, and kiss it. “These are your grandparents and Uncle Marks, little slugger.”

“Or little Lockett,” Gwen adds.

“Uncle Marks makes me sound like a predator,” comes from the computer, and Gwen and I laugh.

I have Gwen sit on my lap and adjust the camera so that I can see us sitting like this, little slugger’s dugout exposed and, I might add, sexy.

“The reason we’ve been quiet about this is that the pregnancy is high risk. My wife doesn’t want a house full of baby things or anyone treating her like she’s fragile, because she’s not. She’s still the beautiful, little trouble-making badass she’s always been.”

“What kind of risks?” Mom asks.

“Weak cervix,” I answer, which is the simplest explanation, and it’s not a lie.

“Do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?” Dad asks.

I look up at Gwen and shake my head.

“Healthy?” Annie asks.

“Perfectly healthy,” I answer.

“And Mom?” Mama Deb asks.

“Pissed my clothes don’t fit anymore.” She smiles.

“Baby number one’s always the easiest to hide. Baby two and three, not a chance,” Mom adds.

“We’re sticking with one,” I state firmly.

Gwen leans down and rests her head on mine. “Our little slugger is a miracle; we’re not about to ask for another.”

* * *

A week later

Gwen

I’m late, but I’m not going into OPUS 609 alone. Our girl, Fawna O’Donnell, is opening a new restaurant, and tonight is its soft opening. I’m waiting for my plus one.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Sophie calls as she hurries toward me.

My OBGYN, Sophie, is now one of my closest friends. Like all my single friends, she is married to her career. My career still tops my priorities, but Leland understands and supports that. Because of this, I’m becoming one of those annoying people who wants everyone to be in love.

“You look ridiculously hot.”

Sophie’s dark, silky hair is styled in loose waves that cascade down her back. Her flawless makeup emphasizes her natural beauty—winged eyeliner that accentuates her almond-shaped eyes, a hint of shimmer on her eyelids, and crimson red lipstick that pops against her smooth, porcelain skin. She’s wearing a stunning midnight blue silk dress that hugs her petite frame perfectly, with a delicate sweetheart neckline and thin straps that show off her graceful shoulders. The dress hits just above her knees and shows off her muscular calves. She’s wearing strappy black heels that add a few extra inches to her height.

“You said you girls dress up for these things.” She turns in a circle, showing off her hot-as-hell figure. Then she waves her hand up and down. “You look stunning.”

Dressing sexy for a dinner out with friends when you’re pregnant and ready to reveal it is much easier than I thought it would be. With Sophie’s suggestion, I went to a bougie maternity boutique with Leland and let him pick for me. See? Easy.

I’m wearing a form-fitting, stretchy, midi dress in deep burgundy. The fabric is soft and stretchy, kind of like yoga pants, but also nothing like them. It’s hugging my baby bump but still allows me to move comfortably. The dress has a deep V neckline, showing off my boobs because I refuse to hide them, knowing I will never have tits like these again. The hemline hits just below the knee. And on my feet are not Berks, but a pair of low-heeled, strappy sandals in a nude shade. They’re comfortable enough to walk in but also sexy. Over it, a wrap that I will remove after I’ve warned them of what they’re about to see. I would have done my hair, but I threw it in a sleek high ponytail because a nap was the priority.

“I feel good. Ready for this.” I smile as I open the sleek glass door. “After you.”

The interior is a perfect blend of modern elegance and cozy sophistication. High ceilings and intricate light fixtures cast a soft glow across the room. The walls are a mix of exposed brick and rich, dark wood panels, which is on brand for her growing collection of businesses in the area. Plush velvet booths in deep emerald-green line one side of the space, and sleek marble tables are perfectly placed throughout, each with impeccably polished silverware and crisp-white linen napkins.

The room’s centerpiece is a stunning bar crafted from reclaimed wood and topped with a gleaming quartz countertop. Behind it, shelves of premium liqueurs are backlit, elevating the feel of the place. Well, that and the lack of TVs on every wall. Plus, soft jazz music plays in the background, and the staff is dressed in tailored black uniforms.

“This is beautiful,” Sophie says while looking around.

“Mrs. Locke, if you and your guest would follow me? Ms. O’Donnell and the other guests are waiting.”

We follow the waiter to the back corner of the restaurant, where Whitley, Fawna, Chloe, CeCe, and Cora sit in the corner booth, and Francesca and Dromida sit in two of the four plush chairs across from them.

“Hey ladies, this is Sophie Chan.”

They all introduce themselves as the waiter pulls out our chairs and asks me, “May I take your wrap?”

I glance at Sophie with a smirk, and she winks at me.

“Might as well.”

They all gasp as soon as it’s off, and then Chloe and Whit start in.

I hold up my hand to stop them. “First, I’m sorry I waited to tell you all, and believe me, when I found out, it was a shock, but this pregnancy is high risk.” I stop talking when tears start falling as I rub my belly.

“May I?” Sophie asks, and I nod.

“Wait—your new friend knew, and we didn’t?” Chloe holds her hand to her chest.

“Her new friend is her OBGYN. It was my job to know.” Sophie sits. “As Gwen said, her pregnancy is high risk; she has a weakened cervix.” I sit, and Whit reaches across the table and holds out her hand, which I take. “At the very beginning, she was not going to tell anyone until she’d given birth to a healthy baby, but as the weeks progress and she’s closer to her due date, of course, she wanted you all to know.”

I clear my throat to regain my composure. “I’m still going to insist that no baby things are showing up until Little Slugger is born. If something were to happen …” I shake my head, not wanting to voice any negative when it comes to this pregnancy.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Sophie assures me then looks at them. “She has my number and weekly appointments until the baby is born. If she has any concerns, they’ll be addressed immediately.”

They all stare at me until Chloe asks, “When are you due?”

“Nine weeks.”

“Nine freaking weeks!” she exclaims.

Whit laughs. “We all thought she had a boob job, maybe gained a few pounds—which you needed—and didn’t tell us. We were willing to let it go because you’re Gwen.”

“I need to find a man, because I need a pair of boobs like that,” Cora states.

Chloe looks like she seems to have never considered the idea of her “baby doll” getting pregnant until now.

“Remember, you get the belly and ass, too,” I point out, and they all laugh. “I don’t want to talk about the scary stuff after this, but I was told I couldn’t have kids after …” I stop and clear my voice. “I had an appointment to terminate, but miscarried and?—”

“These are the women you call sisters; you don’t have to explain yourself to them,” Sophie says quietly.

“She’s right; you don’t. But I have one question, if you don’t mind?” Chloe holds up a finger.

I already know what that question is. “No, Locke never knew.”

“When did you find out you were pregnant?” Whit asks, pointing to my belly.

“The night we caught William.”

“What?” Chloe gasps.

“Before you get all in your head about this, he didn’t shoot me in the cervix. The damage was already done.” I square my shoulders, happy to move from feeling weak and vulnerable to strong and focused. “But when I head to court next month, I may use that in the civil suit for jury sympathy, as long as you know it has nothing at all to do with?—”

“Wait—now I have a question,” Whit cuts me off.

“I already know what you’re going to ask, too, and yes, it’s Locke’s.”

“You and he?—”

“Fucked in the alley behind Ollie’s after Grandpa Locke’s services, and no, it wasn’t the first time that’s happened over the past decade and a half,” I admit.

“When did he find out?” Fawna asks.

“The same time she did,” Dromida answers.

They all glare at her.

“Oh, please, I took an oath”—she looks down at me—“and you scare me.”

“Yeah, well, you and my man had a moment not too long ago.”

“I didn’t?—”

“He wasn’t technically mine then,” I cut her off with the truth. “You saved my life. Love you, mean it. Moving on.”

She pouts out her bottom lip and uses her hands to make a heart.

“Do the boys know?” CeCe asks.

“Pope’s waiting on me to give him the thumbs-up to tell them. And we can talk more about all that, but I am starving.” I look at Chloe, who is just two months behind me in her pregnancy. “We haven’t found out the sex yet, but our kids are either going to be best friends or banging.” The whole table breaks out in laughter, and I add, “But we can’t discuss that until little Slugger or little Lockett is in my arms, okay?”

She wipes a tear away and nods. “Okay.”

I look across the table at Fawna. “This place is stunning, and I’m starving.”

Smiling, she lifts her hand and nods to a waiter. “Good, because you all have to try everything and tell me the truth.”

I excuse myself to use the bathroom to send my husband a message.

Me

Tag, you’re it. Please let Danny and Pope know ASAP.

Locke

You okay?

Me

Of course, I am. They’re my girls. Call me after you win.

* * *

Thirty-Eight Weeks

Locke

“Night two of the World Series, and we’re ahead by three, in the bottom of the seventh. You should be on cloud nine like the rest of us; what the hell’s up with you?” Vander asks.

“Always said I would retire after I got the ring.”

“Let’s get the damn ring, then.”

I hold up my left hand. “Got the one that matters.”

“We couldn’t get much closer than home. You all lucked out.”

“Yeah, that’s what Gwendolyn said.”

Vandor stands. “Smart woman. Hit me home.”

Standing on deck, I look up at the stands and see my wife, who should be home resting instead of waving a foam finger in the air. She was pissed when I mentioned that, too. But she brought Sophie with her, so we have her if there’s an issue. Marks, Whit, CeCe, Chloe, Danny, Dad, and all three moms are here, too, so I know she’s good.

When they all point to the skyline, I follow that direction and see the camera has found them and is zoomed in on her. She looks stunning.

I hear the crack of the bat and watch as Vander drops the bat, runs to first, and doesn’t stop. Ballsey move.

“Just gotta make it to first, Locke. Steel’s up next, and Turner’s behind him,” Coach yells.

I point my bat in their direction, and they stand.

I swing once, twice, three times, and then four before walking to the plate. I tap the plate, point my bat at Walker on the mound, then up to the stars before bringing it down as I step into my stance.

The first pitch is good, but not for me.

“Strike one!”

I step back, look up at Gwen, who is looking down, and then reach across to get Sophie’s attention.

When I’m up, her eyes are on me.

Nervous dad, that’s what she’s been calling me, so I shake that shit off. Of course, I’m overthinking.

The second is mine, and I give it everything I have.

When the ball connects, just like every game since the first one, I hit the grand slam and can feel it.

Crossing home, I look up and see Gwendolyn Locke with two arms in the air, and I feel just like I did in high school. Except I’m not getting laid for that one. After week thirty, Sophie told us no more sex. Sperm can weaken the cervix, and our little one was starting to turn, which was expected. It’s a precaution. Gwen has more of an issue with it than I do. Not the intercourse part, but the part where I refused a blow job and told her that I wasn’t getting off until she could. We’ve done a lot of puzzles.

In the eighth inning, I look up from third, and she isn’t there; neither are the girls, nor Deb and Annie. Dad’s giving me a thumbs-up, and Mom has her nose buried in her phone.

As the batter steps out of the box, I run up to Bennett.

“Do me a favor, and end this. One, two, three, and they’re out.”

His eyes shift to the stands, and he nods.

Fucking kid’s amazing, because he does just that.

Running in, Zandor Steel meets me before I get to the dugout and hands me his phone.

“Gwendolyn, you okay?”

“I am. I love you, and you have to promise me that you’ll win this.”

“Gwen—”

“You’re up by two. Hold them at that. Marks and your parents will meet you right outside the locker room doors. Cyrus is going to make sure you get out with no delay. Sophie wants to be sure?—”

“Phili or Trenton?” I ask, heading toward the tunnel.

“Listen to me very carefully. I am in good hands and in good spirits. You leave that game, I’m going to be so pissed at you.” Her voice breaks. “Promise me?—”

“Okay,” I agree, but only because she’s going to be pissed when I refuse to play if she has our child. “I love you, Mrs. Locke. Where am I heading?”

“I know you do. I’ll keep my legs crossed, player. Love you.”

My eyes turn to fire, knowing she didn’t answer because she doesn’t fucking know.

I look around, seeing my team is not fucking around. Bennett’s already heading to bat.

Zandor comes and stands beside me, and Pope takes the other side.

“Your call, Locke.”

“She told me to stay and win. I don’t want to fucking be here.”

Zandor nods to Amias then heads to Coach, who receives whatever message he’s getting and is not too happy about it.

“Strike three. You’re out!”

“Fuck,” I grumble as Bennett walks away.

I see Sr. stop him and know he’s asking him what he’s doing, because I’ve never seen his go out like that. Hell, I didn’t even see the first two strikes.

Bennett Jr. shakes his head and walks away.

AJ is next, and he strikes out, too, and that’s when I realize what they’re doing.

“No, we win this or Mrs. Locke’s going to have my ass.”

Bennett walks over as Nour stands at the plate. “We’re winning by two. It’ll stay that way.”

“Lot of pressure to put on yourself. She’ll be pissed, Blaze.”

He says nothing as he walks away.

Nour doesn’t even swing, and he’s called out after three perfect pitches.

That’s three.

On the field, the Phillies take their sweet-ass time after Bennett strikes out the first batter.

When Bennett Senior calls a time-out and runs onto the field, Bennett Jr. yells, “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’ve got five more games in the series; do not fuck up your shot and a first-year series win for these?—”

“You wanna coach me now?” He laughs.

“Do not start this shit now, son.”

“Then get off my jock, old man. I never got your help when I needed it. I sure as hell don’t need it now.”

“You think these assholes care about you?”

Nour heads toward them.

Jr. answers, “I don’t have to think; they do. Now get off my pitch so I can play my game.”

“Who do you think you are?” Blaze Sr. yells at him, and I’ve had it.

“I got this. You hang back,” Amias says as he jogs from short toward the bullshit on the pitch.

“Step of the fuck off, man,” Nour sneers.

Bennett Senior glares at him. “You need to learn your fucking place, kid.”

“How about me?” Amias asks. “You wanna tell me where my place is?”

Bennett Senior shakes his head. “Fucking joke.” Then he walks off.

Longest inning of my fucking life, but Blaze Bennett Junior isn’t the cause. He ends the game, and we own the second game in the World Series by two.

* * *

Walking into Gwendolyn’s room at Mercy West, I see she’s hooked up to all kinds of monitors, and I can see she’s in pain.

When she sees me, she smiles. “No press?”

“Winning was the demand, Mrs. Locke. Bennett and the boys delivered you a win.”

“Two down, two to go.”

Sophie looks up from the tape coming out of a machine. “Your wife’s going to deliver you a baby. We’ll get you all scrubbed up and head to the OR.”

“Cesarean?” I ask, knowing she wasn’t sure how she wanted to go. A cesarean would give her a better chance at having another child if she chooses.

“Gotta keep those options open.”

I lean down and kiss her.

“Now get cleaned up; you smell like you just played nine innings.”

* * *

The room is filled with doctors and nurses, clad in blue scrubs and masks, moving with practiced precision. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air, a stark contrast to what I just left an hour and a half ago.

“It’s Halloween,” Gwen whispers.

“Imagine the birthday parties.” I tuck a strand of hair back under her little surgical hat as she lies on the operating table, a blue drape shielding the surgical field from our view.

Her eyes meet mine, a mix of equal parts worry and anticipation. I hold her hand, feeling her squeeze it when Sophie says, “Here we go.” Minutes later, Sophie announces, “You have a beautiful baby boy.”

“Is he okay?” Gwendolyn asks as tears trickle down her beautiful face.

Sophie smiles. “He’s absolutely perfect.”

And then, our child answers, too, with a newborn baby’s unmistakable, fragile cry. It’s like music, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

She lifts our baby boy, small and slippery, still covered in the vernix that protected him during his journey. He’s tiny, but he’s here, perfect in every way.

“Dad, the honors?” She hands me surgical scissors, and I cut the cord, my tears now falling.

A nurse then quickly takes him, wraps him in a warm blanket, and brings him to us. I see my wife fall in love with him, a sight I will never forget and will treasure forever.

His eyes are scrunched tight, his little fists balled up, as if ready to take on the world. A nurse puts a tiny cap on his head. Wisps of his dark hair peek out as my wife, his mother, holds him close and whispers, “I love you,” to him, and then she looks at me. “I love you both so much.”

I wipe away my tears. “I love you both so much, too.”

“Gunner,” she smiles down at him.

“Gunner.” I kiss his little cheek, and then hers.