Epilogue

I push into the mudroom, hearing the sound of Christmas music drifting down the hall.

Grinning, loving that I get to come home to this, loving that Jean-Michel pulled me into his office today to tell me that Phillip's lawyer quit and because he's out of options, he's taking a deal that will put him behind bars for a long time.

Loving that Jean-Michel's news didn't end there.

He's hired a private investigator.

And they uncovered evidence of Rory's stepmother doctoring her father's will and hiding funds from the estate.

Funds that should have gone to Rory.

So, all in all, I have some great fucking news to deliver.

And, all in all, I can't wait to celebrate.

It's almost Christmas. My mom's in town for a couple of days before she goes up to hang with Jakob and the twins. The team has, dare I say, been getting along (with the exception of Pat, as always). We have a winning record. The locker room is sorted. The guys are focused.

And…I'm happy.

In love.

Not my father. Not my brothers. Not my friend.

Just…me.

And that doesn't sit like a blanket made out of barbed wire on my skin any longer.

It's right.

It's fucking perfect.

Just like Rory is—my beautiful princess, who's singing softly in the kitchen, hips swaying to the music, the pup we're fostering sprawled out near her feet.

I lean back against the opening, cross my ankles, and watch her move.

My dick twitches—like it always does when I see her.

Fucking gorgeous, especially as she slowly spins in my direction, lips parting on a gasp when she spots me.

A gasp that becomes a sweet smile the moment she realizes it's me.

A smile that melts when I take her in my arms, when I hold her close as we slowly rock to the music.

"How was practice?" she asks as the song winds down.

I press a kiss to her forehead. "Not terrible."

She grins, touches my cheek. "Considering Pat, I think not terrible is a victory."

I snort. "Exactly."

"Your mom is walking Zeus," she says. "And, as usual, he's abandoned me for the allure of Mama Bang. Though"—a nod to our foster, Gunner, who's barely bothered to open his eyes, the pup beyond lazy—"our guy there couldn't be tempted from his nap to join them."

"I'd prefer you didn't pair the words tempted and allure with my mom's moniker, princess."

"Why?" she asks, feigning innocence as she scratches Gunner between his ears. "Your mom is a full-blooded woman with needs and?—"

I shudder. "Princess."

"Don't you mean Cactus Queen?"

God, she's fucking adorable.

And proud of herself for her sass.

And—

I draw her up against me, kiss her until we're both breathing heavy. "I fucking love you."

Soft eyes.

Her body melting against mine.

I take her hand, lift her arm so that I can clip on the newest charm I bought her—or rather two charms that form the number I wear for the Eagles.

One. Nine. Nineteen.

"King," she whispers, touching a finger to the crystal-studded numbers. "I'm going to run out of room."

"Then you'll need another bracelet for all the happy we make. And when that's full…" I brush my lips over hers. "I'll get you another." Another brush, this time over the diamond ring that's still sitting on her finger. "And another." Her forehead. Each cheek. The tip of her nose. "And another."

She sighs, melting against me. "God, I love you."

I waggle my brows. "Interested in showing me exactly how much?"

She giggles then gasps when I shift my hips and she realizes that I'm serious.

And hard.

"You're mom's just walking Zeus," she says. "She'll be back soon and we don't have time to?—"

"We have time," I tell her, scooping her up, setting her on the counter. "We'll be quick?—"

The front door slams open.

"Yoohoo!" my mom calls. "We're back!"

I sigh, drop my forehead against hers. "Christ."

Rory grins. "Told you."

Stealing one more kiss, I wrap my arms more tightly around her, bringing her down from the counter and setting her on her feet.

Then I dig my cell out of my pocket, start tapping at the screen, making quick work of my newly forming plan, greeting Zeus when he deigns to acknowledge my presence.

(This after my mom has rewarded him and Gunner—who's decided that treats are a worthwhile disruption to his nap—with a cookie each and he's gotten his fill of cuddles from Rory).

"Hey, bud," I mutter, getting down on my haunches and scratching him behind his floofy ears.

Then doing the same for Gunner when he joins in, resting his head on my knee.

My mom is chatting with Rory, both of them bent over my binder, discussing dinner ideas and grocery shopping for the next few days, and as much as I love making lists and planning ahead and putting together spreadsheets, I want my house back.

I want it to be just Rory and I.

I want to spend Christmas with my woman. Alone.

I want to fuck her on the kitchen counter without risking my mom walking in.

Which brings me back to my hastily put together plan.

"Mom," I say, tapping on my cell's screen again, sending the plane ticket I just bought to her via text.

"I think it's time for you to go visit Jakob."

Dear Diane,

Maybe I should be upset for being so unceremoniously kicked out of King's place.

But I'm not.

Young love is blooming in my eldest's house.

He and Rory need the space, and my matchmaking efforts—such as they were—are better suited elsewhere.

Jakob is so hurt, so angry.

And I get it.

I know Theresa's actions wounded him deeply.

But his boys, his beautiful, rambunctious boys need more.

And my Jakob…he deserves the world.

So, I didn't argue with King when he sent me the ticket, when he packed me off to the airport and hugged me goodbye just outside of security. I didn't argue that my trip with him and Rory was cut short.

They're happy and in love.

And I need more grandbabies.

So, old friend…

One of my kids is settled.

Now I need to make sure that the rest are as well.

Next up is Jakob.

Wish me luck—I have the feeling he's going to be a tough nut to crack.

Good thing it's Christmas time and there's no shortage of nutcrackers all around. ??

Love, Stella

"What?" Rory asks as we wave at my mom and she disappears in the direction of her gate, trusty rolling bag behind her.

"What, what?" I say, slinging my arm around her shoulders and tucking her close.

"Why are you smirking?" she asks.

I tug a strand of her hair then hold up my phone, showing her the texts I just sent to my brother.

And his unhappy response about Mama Bang coming early…

On a matchmaking mission.

"Your brother just might kill you," she says.

I shrug. "I can take him. Plus…"

Her hand slips into the waistband of my jeans, holding me as close as I'm holding her. "Plus, what?"

"Plus"—I drag her to a stop, kiss the top of her head—"a little merry matchmaking might do him some good."