EPILOGUE

TWO YEARS LATER

Marin

“If it’s a girl, I hope she looks like you,” Trace said, holding my hand as the epidural began to work its magic and those damn contractions became a thing of the past. “Now if it’s a boy—”

“He better have your dimples,” I said.

Trace smiled, and God did I love him. Between our soon-to-arrive baby and CJ, it’s all Trace ever talked about. I’m sure the guys on his team wanted to kill him.

My doctor entered the delivery room, stretching his rubber gloves over his hands as he approached. “How you doing, Marin?”

“I feel ready.”

“I bet you do.” His eyes flicked to the television on the wall we hadn’t bothered to turn on. “Hey, Trace. Feel free to put the game on.”

“I’m all set,” Trace said.

The lines in the doctor’s forehead deepened. “But your team’s playing.”

Trace shook his head, his eyes returning to mine. “My team’s right here.”

Even after a year of marriage and drugs numbing half my body, my belly still quivered at his words. At the look he gave me with his pretty blue eyes I hoped our baby had. At the way he loved me fiercely and completely. At the way he loved my son and our unborn child.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Trace leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, the familiar zing traveling right to my heart.

“I love you,” I said, knowing the words weren’t even close to adequate for how I felt about him.

“I love you more,” he said, wearing that dimpled grin I loved so much.

“More than the universe?” I asked.

“More than anything,” he assured me.

I smiled as the doctor moved to the foot of the delivery table and examined me under the sheet.

“Looks like your baby’s ready.” He pulled over a rolling stool and sat at the end of the table. “You ready to start pushing?”

Trace and I looked to each other, wide eyed with excitement. He squeezed my hand tightly as the doctor counted to three and I pushed as hard as I could. I was so happy I could give Trace this. So happy his mother had been wrong. He didn’t need some young girl to give him all the things he’d yet to experience. He just needed me.

“Good job,” my doctor encouraged.

I thought back to the draft. To Trace going second. To him beginning his football career in New Orleans while I finished my degree in Alabama. To Trace’s mother eventually realizing I was what was best for her son. I loved him before the money. Before the success. And given the way she started fawning all over me and CJ while he was away and I was pregnant with her first grandchild, you’d have thought our turbulent past had never occurred.

Life certainly had a funny way of throwing things off its axis. And while Trace’s parents waited with CJ and my parents in the waiting room, it became abundantly clear that we had the support and love of everyone around us. And no one could deny we were in love. Because if it wasn’t for Trace Forester, I wouldn’t know what real love was. I wouldn’t know what it was like to have a real father for my child. I wouldn’t know what it felt like to trust someone wholeheartedly again. 

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Give me another push like the last.”

I squeezed Trace’s hand as tightly as I could when the doctor counted to three and I pushed.

“Good job, baby. You’re doing great.” Trace dropped kisses all over my face. “God, I love you so much.”

I smiled through the pain because I knew he meant it. Knew he meant everything he said. Because from the moment we met (again), he had been nothing but honest with everything he said and did. And one thing was for certain, I could now see life through Trace’s eyes. And it was a pretty sweet life.

“One more push and your baby will be here,” the doctor assured us.

“One more?” I asked, shocked by the minimal pain and ease of this delivery. CJ damn near split me in two. At least that’s what it felt like.

“I can see the head,” he assured me.

I looked to Trace. His face held a mixture of love and excitement. “You got this.”

Tears glazed my eyes as I nodded at my husband, squeezing his hand as I pushed again, this time giving it all I had.

The doctor was right. That’s all it took. That was the push that brought our child into the world.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor announced.

I looked to Trace only to find tears rolling down his cheeks and a giant smile stretched across his lips as they cleaned our baby boy. 

“Thank you,” he said, staring at the little miracle we’d made together as he stayed beside me still gripping my hand.

I lifted my fingers to his cheeks, lightly brushing away his tears. “For giving you a boy?”

He glanced back to me. “For making every one of my dreams come true.”

“What about your fantasies?” I asked as the nurse grabbed for the scissors so Trace could cut the cord.

“Oh, babe,” he said before pressing his lips to mine. “The second you let me into your life, my fantasies came true.”

The End