AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Later on, after everyone is cleaned up and settled, I lie next to Callie on the hospital bed, with our swaddled little guy between us. Callie looks tired and so damn beautiful, my chest aches.
We’ve been kicking around a few names, but decided to hold off on a final call until he got here. “Okay—first round picks for his name on three,” I tell Callie. “Three . . . two . . . one . . .”
We both say it at the same time.
“William.”
Callie’s smile grows and new tears spring up in her eyes.
“Will Daniels,” she says softly. “It’s a good name. A handsome, strong name . . . just like his daddy.”
Will’s fist wraps around my finger, holding on tight.
“He has your hands,” my wife notices. “I wonder if he’ll play football?”
It would be awesome if he plays—I love the game—and I hope he’ll love it too. That it’ll bring him the same joy it’s always brought me.
On cue, Will lets out a healthy squawk.
“He has your voice. It projects.” I laugh. “He might like theater.”
Whatever he wants, as long as he’s happy, I’ll be good with it.
Callie gazes at me with her big, green, adoring eyes. “I love you, Garrett.”
“I know.” I lean over and kiss her forehead. My voice is a hushed, sacred whisper. “I love you too, Callie.”
Epilogue 3
Us
Callie
I walk out of the auditorium where the Lakeside Players Group just finished meeting and planning the dramas and musicals we’ll be performing this year. I head up to the practice field, where my hot coach of a husband is running his August football practice.
“Hey, Mrs. Coach D.” Addison Belamine, a senior and captain of the cheerleading squad, waves as she passes me.
Yes, that’s what Garrett’s kids—his students and the cheerleaders and the football players—call me. I think it’s cute—it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. And Garrett loves it . . . he gets that sexy, tender, possessive-caveman look in his eyes whenever he hears it.
“Hi, Addison.” I wave back as I make my way up the path.
And speaking of sexy . . .
There is nothing that turns me on more than seeing Garrett on a football field, holding our son. I suspect he knows this, which—besides the obvious benefit of hanging out with his boy—is another reason I think he brings Will to practices every chance he gets. My beautiful, dark-haired son chews on his hand and watches the players with rapt attention, from his outward facing spot in the carrier on Garrett’s chest.
“What the fricking frack, Damato?” Jerry Dorfman yells. “Wrong play—get your head out of your butt!”
Garrett and the coaches have been pretty great about watching their language when Will’s around. His first word was “Da”—but God only knows what it would’ve been otherwise. Probably dumbass.
“No, no, no!” Garrett waves his arms at a player on the sidelines. “Jesus Christ—you’re fumbling because you’re holding the ball too tight!”
“No, no, no, no, no, no . . .” Will chants. That was his second word.
“It’s god damn genetic.” Garrett shakes his head.
That would be Patrick O’Riley. He’s a clencher—like his older brother Nick before him.
Garrett takes Will out of the carrier and holds him with one arm, his head in Garrett’s large hand, tucked against his side. “This is how you hold the ball—this is the amount of pressure you use to keep the ball.”
Then Garrett puts our ten-month-old in the sophomore’s arm and points.
“Now run.”
Will giggles as he’s jostled around, having a blast. And I’m not concerned, because I know that Garrett would cut his arm off before he ever put our son at risk.
Still, as the football player jogs past me, I add my two cents.
“You drop my kid, O’Riley, I’ll hurt you.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Coach D., I won’t drop him.”
Garrett smiles as I approach, his eyes sliding up and down over me and liking what he sees. “Hey, you. You all done with your meeting?”
“Yep. I’m going to head home with Will. We’ll take Woody for a walk around the lake.”
Garrett nods, his dark hair falling over his forehead in my favorite way. “We’ll be done here soon too—another hour.” He wraps his arm around my lower back, pulling me closer. “Let’s go out tonight. Twelfth Night is playing at the Hammitsburg Theater. You can get dressed up, we’ll enjoy the show . . . then I’ll take you home and undress you.”
I giggle. “Hmm . . . who’s going to watch the baby?”
“My parents have Ryan and Angela’s girls, and Connor’s boys—he’s got a date tonight . . .”
