Page 92 of A Taste of Sin

“Neither of you did anything,” Selene points out as she takes a stack of plates from Beck and sits it by the pizza boxes. “I don’t think I saw you lift a single box between the two of you.”

While she’s chastising them, I hand the girls plates and Beck sets about fixing drinks. I smile to myself, loving that we’ve already established a rhythm even though this is our first official night together as a family.

Imani’s brows furrow. “What’s the point of having two dads if we have to carry boxes?”

Questions like this activate this instinct in Beck, Selene and me. This impulse to pause and reiterate, to dissect and decode, to flat out ask Imani if she truly considers us her dads. Both she and Isis call us by our names, which has always been fine, but being referred to in that way, even indirectly, is significant and extremely meaningful.

We can’t make a big deal of it, though, or else we risk making her feel weird or self-conscious about it. That’s the last thing anyof us want to do, so we share a brief look, just to acknowledge what the comment means to us and then move on.

“Damn, she’s got a point,” Beck says, sliding drinks across the island to each of us. The wedding band on his finger catches the light, and, on instinct, I rub the pad of my thumb across mine. It’s been a little over a year since we took vows, legally binding ourselves to each other with Selene as our officiant and all the people we love, including our soon to be daughters, in the audience.

Conversation flows around me. Selene and Beck go back and forth with Imani and Isis about the amount of calories you burn supervising work you didn’t perform, while I lose myself in the sweet chaos of the family I created and the beauty of a moment I will never have to leave.

EPILOGUE 3: BECK

“You know the whole point of running our own security firm is being able to end meetings when we want to,” Cal chides, speeding through a yellow light that turns red as soon as we cross the line.

“Relax, Drake, we’re not going to miss the reservations.”

I try to sound certain about that, but I don’t even know where we’re going so my guarantees don’t exactly hold weight. He cuts an eye at me, mild annoyance rolling off him as he breaks yet another traffic law to get us wherever we’re going on time.

“We left the office thirty minutes late.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

I’ve already explained that Shaw and Morgan delayed my departure with questions about overtime, so I don’t bother mentioning it again. Instead, I resort to some basic guilt tripping to get him to forgive me.

“Are you really going to be mad at me on my birthday?” I ask, reaching over to grab his hand. He tries to hold out, gripping the wheel tighter at first, but eventually he caves, linking our fingers together.

“No, I guess I can’t be.”

Triumph curves my lips. “I knew it.”

“Shut up, Beckham.”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“We’d already be there if you weren’t such a workaholic.”

I roll my eyes, unable to admit that he’s right. Me getting caught up at work is a common occurrence, but the same is true for him. The only thing that gets either of us out of the office on time is a commitment involving Selene, the girls or all three of the angels our world now revolves around. We should probably be just as rigid when it comes to making time for each other or ourselves, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

Mainly because we love what we do so much.

I’d never pictured myself in the private security sector, but after working a job to repay the favor Cal called in with Hunter’s friend, Russ, I got kind of obsessed with the idea of more money, lower stakes and the ability to fire a client whenever I felt like it. Cal, of course, was on the same wavelength, so we took the leap together, making Shaw and Morgan our first hires.

“Do we have much further to go?” I ask, scrolling through my texts to see if I’ve got any from Selene or the girls. They’ve been quiet for most of the day, which is odd. I would be worried except they all told me they’d be busy with work and school. Their demanding schedules are the reason Cal and I are celebrating my birthday alone for the first time in years.

“About five more minutes,” he says.

“Can I really not know where we’re going?”

“Beckham.”

The sharp warning has me sitting back and my seat and shutting the fuck up for the rest of the ride while Cal folds a satisfied smile between his lips. When we arrive at the restaurant—an authentic Italian spot that makes their pasta in house—that smile grows wider because he knows I’ve been wanting to come here since it opened.

We walk into the building hand in hand, drawing the attention of other diners, and I relish the absence of anxiety in my body as we follow the hostess to the back of the restaurant. I haven’t felt it in years. The fear that used to cover our love, shrouding it in shame, making me want to hide something that should have only ever been celebrated.

As we stop in front of a pair of doors that lead to what I assume is a private dining area, Cal squeezes my hand and stops. His eyes are soft, his expression softer.

“Before we walk in here, I want you to know that you deserve this.”

My lips part, and a request for him to elaborate begins to work its way up my throat. Before I can lend my voice to it, the doors open, revealing the faces of the people I adore most in the world. Selene, Isis and Imani are in the front. Behind them are Monique, Hunter, Rae, Riley, Mama J, Al and Erin.

“SURPRISE!”

They shout in unison as Cal leads me into the room. I follow him the way I followed him into deadly missions, career changes, and a love that forced me to stretch and grow in ways I never thought I could: with a certainty that as long as I stay by his side, everything will turn out beautifully.

THE END