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“If this is too much, tell me.” He sputters curses. “Tried to hold back, worried if I got you pregnant too soon, it would put too much pressure and you.” He thrusts deep again. “Might have forgotten for a minute how strong you are.”
“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m going to break,” I say before meeting him thrust for thrust.
This time, when I come, I do it into his chest, trying to muffle the cry from the strongest orgasm I have yet to feel. John Paul follows less than a minute later. His cock twitching, the hot liquid filling me, just as he said.
Hands on my face, he kisses me softly over and over again until his breathing and mine start to even out. “You’re fucking amazing.”
Eyes closed, I smile. “No, you are.”
EPILOGUE
Seven Years Later
Ayear after we left Walton, Spud was doing life. And after gathering strong evidence that Kal was involved, the case against him was finally going to trial. It never did because Kal was killed in an accident. Karma? Maybe.
Whit was angry, so angry, and I couldn’t blame her. There was enough evidence to convict him on several charges, and if they got the right jury, he could have been charged with Nelly’s murder as well. But as it worked out, Nora would be sheltered from all that shit for a very long time, maybe even forever.
Two years later, my contract was up with the Mets, and I declined their offer of a four-year forty-million-dollar contract. Instead, I signed a three-year twenty-million-dollar contract with Houston. The baseball world speculated that I was having a mental breakdown or that Whit and I were getting divorced. The reality was, Whit was pregnant with twins and with Nora and Baby B—which is what Nora calls her little sister, Bianca Mildred Paul. Pastor and Mrs. B were getting older and were being asked to retire. We bought the field beside our house and built a bigger home for our family and gave them the house I had grown up in. We also fund their ministry so they can continue spreading the word at the jails and rehab centers nearby.
Danny and Chloe got married that summer, and they continue to work with us. Danny is always fixing something on one of the shelter properties or our homes, and Chloe flies with him to check in with the ladies. The program they’ve all put together is based on empowerment, and there are more success stories than not. When they’re home, they’re at the lake or with us. During the season, Chloe or York, who co-owns a PI firm with Marks, travel with Whit when she can make it. Two kids are doable. Four? That’s a beautiful kind of chaos I don’t think we were prepared for.
After Houston, Whit and I decided we were ready for a change again. When I meet the owner of the Jersey Jags and seeing that his team was run a hell of a lot different than any I’d played for, in a way that it was like a family, I was interested. He had Leland Locke, who was playing for them, reach out to me. He’d never steered me wrong. He said the team might not win a lot of games, but it didn’t feel like you were selling out to them. Chuck Turner was also playing for the Jags; he was a damn good friend when I played with him my first three years with the Mets.
We needed to make sure Danny and Chloe, who were expecting their first child, were willing to make the move. Chloe’s sister had graduated veterinary school and happened to be working in Trenton and buying an animal clinic from a vet retiring. Chloe wanted to help her out.
So, I signed a four-year fifty-million-dollar contract, and we moved.
The younger three had no memory of anywhere but Walton, so the change was big. Nora and Bianca loved it from day one. The boys, Gregory and Grant, took a week or so, but now, they all have dozens of friends and are involved in activities after school.
With the charities running themselves mostly, Whit sprang on me that she wanted to go back to work part-time, and she acted nervous. That was crazy to me. I told her she should do whatever made her happy, so my wife took on two shifts a week at Mercy West in the ER. She did that until she found out she was pregnant for number five. Chase is a year old now.
Today, after practice, we found out that our newest player, who is one of the best I’ve seen in years, our designated hitter, Amias Steel, his family was buying the team from the current owners.
To say it was a shock is an understatement, but we should have seen it coming. The stadium was shit compared to others, the ticket sales were way down, and I’m guessing the owners wanted to retire with some money and not broke.
I have zero idea what I want to do, which is why I’m not doing a damn thing until I talk to Whit, and then we’ll talk to the kids, and of course Danny and Chloe.
When I walk out to the parking lot, I see Amias is surrounded by a bunch of his people, and he doesn’t look all that happy.
When I get to my vehicle parked next to his, I ask, “You good?”
“Fuck no, I’m not good,” he huffs.
“Something I can help you with?” I ask, not wanting to leave him in a bad spot.
“Stop being a big-ass baby,” one of the girls says to him.
“Stop getting all up in my business,” he snaps at her.
The girl, Tris, turns around. “I’m the youngest of us three, but he’s the baby.”
“Tris, that’s one of my teammates, and you’re?—”
She cuts him off. “One of the new owners of this dumpster fire of a team that we’re going to make number one.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
“You think I’m kidding?” she asks me.
