Epilogue

GRIFF

M y boots make almost no noise on the newly tiled floor. I helped lay it two weeks ago, and it's holding up well. The hum of a blow dryer drowns out the background music. Someone's singing about bringing someone else home. Two girls who just got their hair done pose in front of a mirror with lipstick marks. When Lauren installed that at the new shop, I nearly choked at the price, but she was right to put it in. Everyone takes a post-cut selfie there.

From the front desk, I see Lauren saying something to Weston, who just took a seat. He started coming here shortly after Lauren moved in with me, but she doesn't cut his hair. I made—well, maybe demanded is a better word for it—a request that Lauren not cut any other man's hair. The thought of her digging her nails against someone else's scalp made me see red.

The day is almost over. Sun's setting, and Lauren should be closing up shop soon. She spots me, and a smile breaks across her face.

"How's the gym?" she asks, lifting her face for a kiss. I give her a thorough one that puts color on her cheeks.

"Busy. Mick's getting real good. I'm bringing in a coach for him."

"He's taking the boxing thing seriously, then?"

"Yeah. He's a natural."

She sighs. "I just don't want him to get injured."

"I know, baby." I rub her back. She'll come around, but I'm not going to tell her that her concerns are crazy because they're not.

"Your hair looks long." She runs her fingers across the back of my head.

I lean into her touch. "Good thing my wife owns her own salon and can fit me in after hours."

"Is that why you're here?" With a smirk, she leads me to the back. She flips a switch, which turns the lights off and some jazz music on.

I settle into a chair and lean my head into the sink.

"Did you have a good day?" she asks.

"It's good now." Nails scrape across my scalp. It's always so intensely erotic that I can't have it done during regular hours. My hard-on grows. My jeans become tighter. I curl my hands around the arms of the chair so I don't attack her.

She finishes and dries me off but not from behind the sink. No, she comes around to the front and begins toweling me dry. Her boobs brush my face.

"Your shirt is wet," I note.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," she lies.

I vault out of the chair and pull her pants down. She's soaked when I reach between her legs.

"You get this horny for all the men you wash?"

"You're the only one I'm allowed to wash," she gasps.

"Damn straight I am." I turn her around so that she faces the chair. "Better brace yourself, baby, because I'm going to fuck you so hard your eyes cross."

I don't give her more than a second before slamming into her wet cunt.

She cries out. "Geez, did you get bigger somehow?"

"Probably." I lift her hips until she's on her tiptoes and drive into her again and again until she creams all over me. I lift her up like a ragdoll and take a seat.

"I can't," she says, but her body is telling me a different story. I lean back and pull her down on top of me.

"Ride me, baby."

She plants her hands on my chest and squirms into place. Knees hooked over the arms of the chair, she begins to lever herself up and down over my rigid shaft. I help her with the motion, my hands on her ass lifting and lowering her until she's stuffed full of me, and when she launches into orbit and shudders and shakes all over my cock, I sit up and hammer into her until I come, spending every last ounce of me inside of her.

I collapse on the chair and take her with me.

"Good thing this thing is bolted to the floor," she murmurs tiredly against my chest.

"The guy who wrote the code must have a hairdresser wife."

She giggles at the thought. "I don't want to get up. Let's just sleep here."

"Good for me." I hold her close. I'm down to do whatever she wants, wherever she wants. There's nothing better in this world than holding her, than loving her. This is all I've ever wanted.

"Five. Four." I mouth the numbers along with the ump. "Three. Two. One!" I scream the last one and throw my hands in the air.

A stranger next to me grabs my upper arms. We jump together. He leans in as if to give me a congratulatory kiss but is hauled backward immediately. I grin at my husband, who has replaced the stranger, and launch myself into his arms instead. He catches me and half carries me over to the ring.

"Mick! Mick!" I call out. In the center of the ring, with his right arm raised high, my brother beams like a lighthouse. He gestures for us to come up, and that's the last I see of him before his team descends on him with shouts of joy.

Griff lifts me up, but I shake my head. "Let him have his moment."

The cameras are in his face, a couple of the ring girls are pressed up against him. Fans that have slipped by security dive under the ropes. Everyone wants a piece of Mick Murphy, the newest boxing champion.

"You're going to need a new manager at the gym."

Griff laughs. "Maybe two new ones after this. Mick's win is going to mean the gym will be overrun with newbies."

"Watch him say he's going to keep managing because it helps him be focused." The little one kicks in agreement. I rub a hand over my belly. Mick only knows one speed these days.

Griff looks immediately concerned. "Let's get out of here. It's too loud. The little one should be sleeping."

"The only time the little one sleeps is when I'm moving. I need her to start sleeping when I'm sleeping. Instead, she thinks it's playtime."

"Terrible." But he doesn't mean it because he loves when we're lying on the bed and the baby is kicking and turning. It's his favorite time.

"Liar."

He gives me a penitent smile and then directs me toward the tunnels away from the crowd. The locker room is already full of press and partiers. Champagne is popped. On a rickety table, a cake is uncovered. It will probably be on the floor before Mick even arrives.

The number of women in here is unreal, and very few of them are wearing much more than two napkins stitched together. Griff doesn't notice any of them. He's too concerned about making sure no one comes within five feet of me. The baby needs a buffer zone, he once said.

"Watch it," he warns in a dark tone when a reporter backs into that invisible buffer zone.

The reporter turns to mouth off, but when he clocks Griff's size and menacing face, he moves away immediately.

"The training you've been doing with Mick is paying off," I joke. The little one kicks in agreement. A small groan of discomfort escapes my lips. Griff whips around.

"What's wrong? Is it the baby? I'll get Doc. Where's the damned doc?"

"Stop." I hold up a hand. "She's just active. Mick's probably close. She always gets excited when he's around."

Sure enough, Mick appears in the doorway a moment later. Cheers erupt at the sight of him. He scans the room until his eyes land on us. He rushes by the well-wishers, the press, the women who want a piece of him, and picks me up. "I won, Lolo, I won."

"You did! I'm so proud of you."

"Okay, champ, you did great, but Lauren's cooking our kid in her stomach." Griff hauls me out of Mick's grip and sets me down.

"Sorry." Mick doesn't look repentant at all. He kneels down and knocks his fist lightly against my stomach. "Hey, kiddo. I just won the title. I've got a big old belt I'm going to hang in your nursery." He looks up at me, looking less like the twenty-five year old champion of the world that he is and more like my baby brother. "Can you believe it, Lolo?"

"I can." I ruffle his sweaty hair. "You were destined to be great." I pull Griff's hand to my mouth. "And thanks to Griff, you were able to grow into what you were meant to be."

Mick pushes to his feet and grabs Griff's shoulder. "Thanks, man. You did make all of this happen for me."

"No. You made it happen. I just gave you the space to grow."

Tears prick my eyes. "Please stop. You two are going to make me cry, and the press will take a photo and there'll be some headline about how the Murphy family is fighting."

"Murphy-Harris," Griff corrects.

"I mean, I'd beat both of you, so the headline should be Harris knocked out by Murphy." Mick bobs his head and throws a fake punch, which Griff easily blocks. The two spar pretty often, and Griff knows all of Mick's moves.

"Don't make me pull out the dad moves on you," Griff warns. "I don't want to embarrass you in front of all your fans. Speaking of which, the horde is about to descend on you."

Mick grimaces. "You know I hate this part. Put me back in the ring. I'd rather take a zillion punches than speak to the press or"—he waves toward the bevy of models that are anxiously awaiting an opportunity to flirt with him—"all of that."

Griff smirks. "Too bad." He gives Mick a push. "Go and do your job. We'll see you back at the hotel."

"Wait, you're not leaving me." Mick looks panicked.

"Gotta get your sister off her feet and feed her some ice cream. She's had a long day." Griff puts his arm around my waist.

"But I want to have ice cream, too." Mick looks distraught. "Let me do one interview and I'll ditch."

"What's this?" Mick's manager, Ken, appears like magic.

I stifle a smile and take hold of Griff's arm. "Sorry, little bro, but your fans await."

"This is child abuse," my brother mutters.

Griff and I are both laughing as we leave. Outside the arena, a car is waiting for us. Griff places me inside with tender care and then hustles around to the opposite door. Once we're both belted in, the driver heads off to the hotel. I lean my head on Griff's shoulder. "Why is life so perfect? Should I be afraid?"

"No. You paid your dues. You already had hardship and loss." He's talking about my mother, who passed away two years ago. Even though we had our differences, I do miss her. "You deserve both peace and enjoyment. Don't feel afraid or guilty." He tilts my chin around so he can kiss me. "Let me love you."

"If you insist." I open my mouth and let his tongue sweep in.

Loving me, in Griff's mind, is taking care of me, both physically and emotionally. He showers me with affection, holding my hand in public, hugging me, kissing me spontaneously. At night and random times during the day, he'll sweep me off to some private spot and make love to me. And he's not shy with saying he loves me either. He'll say it in front of gym employees, his partner Weston, random people on the street. I didn't know that this kind of happiness existed, and I don't know if I deserve it, but I'll take it because loving Griff means to accept all that he wants to give me. I guess I do deserve it. And him.

My darlings,

It's October and the leaves are turning. The year seems to be racing toward the end and I'm not ready. I haven't even thought about Christmas but I can already hear the jingle bells ringing. I might have to write another Christmas story.

Stay tuned. Love,

Ella