One Year Later

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

His voice wakes me, eases me into reality from a peaceful slumber. Sunlight streams through the windows, washing Boxer’s newly decorated bedroom with bright light.

He had the mancave decorations re-done when I moved in, and the outcome was a clean and cozy, refreshing style. Black furniture, gauzy curtains, colorful pops from pillows on the window seat. A plush white comforter rustles over me as I push it down, glancing up at the gorgeous face staring back at me.

“Hello, handsome.” I push myself to a seated position, stretching, yawning as his eyes follow my every movement. I catch sight of the breakfast tray in his hands and frown. “What’s the special occasion?”

Boxer sets the tray on the bedside table, then eases onto the bed next to me. “Happy Mother’s Day to the most wonderful mother I know.”

I rest a hand on my belly, not yet feeling the curve of the baby beneath my fingers. “We can’t celebrate yet,” I tell him, though the thought is so sweet it sends tears to tease my eyes. “We haven’t told Charli.”

After Boxer asked me to marry him last summer, we spent the fall adjusting to life as an engaged couple, moving in, testing out our new family unit. It’d been like a dream—smooth and simple and right.

We finally tied the official knot in a small ceremony just before Valentine’s Day. Small ceremony being relative. I’d wanted it private and intimate, but Boxer had a zillion and one teammates and family members that needed an invitation, so the party had grown to nearly a hundred people.

Lindsay was there, too, of course, as was Duke. He was responsible for this whole thing starting in the first place, as he mentioned loudly and tipsily in his speech. Also present had been Diana, the reporter who’d run the magazine article for us—an article which, surprisingly, hadn’t upset the world all that much with its release.

As it turned out, nobody cared about my dating Boxer. The people who did care were supportive. All except for one. Andy Rumpert. But he was forced to get over the article, and the failed contract, if he wanted to stay in the game.

Thankfully, a newer, shinier recruit had popped up for the next season looking for an agent. When I didn’t challenge Andy for the new player, it’d led to an odd sort of truce between us. In exchange for Boxer, he got an easy card for a surefire moneymaker.

I’d say I came out on top.

Maybe the best surprise guests of all had been Andi and Ryan Pierce. After Boxer had proposed, I’d finally taken Lindsay up on her offer to set up a meeting with the Minnesota Star, and my former recruiting interest, Ryan Pierce. I’d hosted the couple at a private lunch—without a word to Boxer—and apologized. For everything.

I apologized for the way I’d treated them, for the way I’d pushed apart a relationship that should’ve been left to flourish. A relationship that, in retrospect, was so clearly perfect.

I apologized for not believing Ryan, and for dismissing Andi, and most of all, for not listening when they’d tried to explain. Not only had they forgiven me, but they’d become some of our closest friends.

Shortly after the ceremony, we’d taken off for a long weekend in Hawaii. We were hesitant to leave Charli for too long, but we needn’t have worried. She adored having her grandparents shuttle her to and from school and spoil her rotten.

Even so, it’d been a productive honeymoon as evidenced by my growing belly. What a surprise it had been to find out a baby had happened so quickly, and though we savored the news and excitement together, we’d decided not to tell anyone—not yet, at least.

There was something about keeping the news quiet, private for a few months, that felt special. However, the expiration date on our secret was fast approaching. I’d been pushing to tell Charli for the last couple of weeks, but Boxer had resisted, claiming we’d tell her when the time was right.

“I’m not talking about this Mother’s Day.” Boxer slides behind me so his back is resting against the headboard, his hands circling my waist to land over mine, gesturing toward the baby. “I’m talking about Charli.”

“Charli?”

“Even before we were married, you loved Charli like your own. And these past few months...” Boxer trails off, his voice catching in his throat. “It’s been incredible. Watching the two of you together. You complete our family in more ways than I ever could’ve imagined.”

I swallow hard, blinking back tears that’d pricked the second he began talking. Spinning, I face him in bed, my hands coming to rest on either side of his face. My throat, still thick with emotion, can’t seem to bear words, so I press a kiss to his lips, instead.

A tender, gentle kiss. He responds immediately. Then more urgently, then with wild desperation. This sort of love, this overbearing, soul crushing need for him is beyond anything I had thought possible. I hadn’t seen the capacity for it before, not in myself, not in anyone, but as his tongue presses into my mouth, possessive, demanding, I can’t help but believe.

He pulls up my nightie, slides down my panties as he adjusts his position. His boxers fly off, kicked to the floor before he returns to sit against the headboard. “You are so damn beautiful,” he whispers, his hands snaking under my shirt to caress my breasts. “I came in here with the intention to feed you breakfast, and there it sits, forgotten.”

“This is much more delicious,” I tell him with a smile. “I’m not complaining.”

“I need a taste.” He leans in, kisses me on one breast, then the other. His hands gently run over my stomach for a long moment, and he studies it, me, us. “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” I wriggle closer against him. “Did you lock the door?”

“Of course.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

His mouth covers mine, plundering and hot, taking all that I can give. My arms circle his neck, my entire body pulsing with need for him. I raise to my knees as his hands grip my hips, hold me close, help me to rise.

I hover above him as he presses his length against my entrance, teasing, playing, his mouth distracting me with little kisses across my neck. Finally, the tension builds, twists until there’s a spiral of heat running between us, and his fingers dig into my skin, sliding me onto him.

I gasp at the feel of him, even after all this time. The fullness of him, the hardness of him, of his chest as I lean against him, of the contrasting softness in his eyes as he begins to move. We meet each other in a dance, a building, terrifying crescendo until it’s too much, and I cry out with release.

His mouth covers mine, swallowing my cries, holding me against him, against his lap, shattering together as the waves crest, carry us over, and gently fade into the distance.

His hands run through my hair, holding my head to his shoulder as the calm returns. His arms lock behind my back as he sighs with pleasure. “Damn.”

It’s all I can do not to drool on him, so I merely nod as a response.

“That was amazing,” he says. “I’ll have to make you breakfast more often.”

We climb from the bed, ease into the shower together where we take turns washing each other, peppering the moment with kisses, caresses until we can’t keep our hands from each other any longer. A second wave of need rocks through us, eases, and leaves us exhausted and satiated. The honeymoon might’ve ended, but our need for each other has only grown stronger.

An hour later, we’re still lounging in bed, finally making use of the toast and orange juice from the tray. The cereal is beyond repair, and the eggs have cooled. But it’s the most delicious meal I’ve ever eaten in my life.

A knock on the door sounds, and Boxer climbs from bed, taking a quick look to make sure we’re both decent. He opens the door and, to nobody’s surprise, reveals a head full of curly hair positively sizzling with energy.

“Hello,” Charli says with a cryptic smile. “How are you?”

“We’re good,” Boxer says. “Care for some breakfast?”

Charli eyes the tray, wrinkles her nose at the cereal. “Gross.”

I laugh, move to stand. “Let’s go make you some real breakfast.”

“Wait,” she instructs, eyes landing on her dad with real severity. “I have something for Jocelyn.”

“You do?” Boxer appears genuinely surprised. “What is it?”

“It’s a secret.”

She solemnly moves across the room, and I look over her head to Boxer, then ease my way back onto the bed. He shrugs, mouths no idea, and follows her to my side.

We all pile in, three people deep, when she finally pulls something out from behind her back.

“I made this for you,” Charli said. “I hope you like it.”

I look down, accept a handmade card on bright green construction paper. There’s crooked writing on the front, and it’s these letters that make my eyes well up with tears all over again.

Dear Joss,

Happy Mother’s Day.

Thank you for being my mom.

Love,

Charli

“Oh, Charli...” I read the card from to back one more time.A tear slides down my cheek. “Did you make this in school?”

“No. I made it because I felt like it.”

Boxer’s hand comes down, runs along his daughter’s hair. “Jocelyn’s pretty great, isn’t she?”

Charli nods. “You’re a really great mom.”

I open my arms and pull Charli into them. I kiss her forehead, her curls, and force myself to stop crying so she doesn’t get the wrong idea. “Thank you.” I clutch the card to my chest. “I’m going to keep this forever.”

“Okay,” Charli says. “What about breakfast?”

“We have a surprise for you, too,” Boxer says, easing down onto the bed next to us. His eyes make contact with mine, and I nod. He puts an arm around Charli, rests her head against him. “You’re going to be a big sister.”

Her eyes go wide, the size of saucers. “What?”

“A big sister!” Boxer breaks into a broad smile, unable to hide his own excitement at the news. “Jocelyn’s pregnant.”

“Jocelyn’s having a baby?” Charli turns to look at me. “Is it a boy or a girl? I want a boy. Girls are too sissy. Except for me. I don’t want to play Barbies.”

“We don’t know yet. It’s too soon to tell.” Boxer pulls her tight, kisses her curls.

“What do you think, Charli?” I ask. “Are you excited to be a big sister?”

“Depends. Do I have to share my room?”

I grin. “No, not right away.”

“Are there more coming after this one?” She shoots a skeptical look at both of us. “Because we only have one extra bedroom.”

“Probably,” Boxer says.

“We’ll talk about it,” I add.

Boxer laughs, leans over and kisses my forehead. “Whatever you say, boss.”