Declan shakes his head. “We went on a date or two. That’s all. That’s about my speed.”
“That’s always been your speed, Declan,” Jackson says with a laugh.
I arch a brow at my hubs. “You two know each other?”
“We have some friends in common. When he was dating a TV star a couple years back, before I worked for you, I provided coverage at some of their LA events. Don’t worry, babe. Just like you didn’t bid on Declan, I didn’t date him.”
I pinch Jackson’s waist. His hard, firm waist. “Did you think I was about to be all jealous that you once dated this New York Comet?”
Declan laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “Don’t put me in the middle of this marital spat, bros.”
I clap Declan’s shoulder but look at Jackson, laughing. “No worries. We are all good. My man knows I only have eyes for him.”
“Good answer,” my husband says. He smacks a possessive kiss on my cheek, then turns his focus back to the ballplayer. “You’re in town for your series with the Devils? Does that start tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m just scouting these guys before our first game,” he says, waving toward the field. His expression shifts, and he clears his throat. “Listen, I keep wanting to tell you—you two are my heroes.”
Jackson arches a brow. “We are?”
Declan gestures from Jackson to me and back. “Yeah, getting married. That’s awesome.”
“I thought you were into playing the field,” Jackson says.
Declan laughs. “I’m plenty happy being single, thank you very much. I just mean, I love all that you’ve done. Posting about your life together online. It’s awesome. Every time I see two dudes getting married or two women getting married, it does something to my heart.” He taps his sternum. “For so long, we couldn’t.”
I hold out a fist for knocking. “Times they are a-changing. But you’re not going to change your player stripes?”
The pro baller glances at the field, holds his gaze for several long seconds on the guys on the diamond, then swings it back to us. “Nah. I’d have to meet someone really special again to change my stripes. And I don’t see that happening.”
I key in on one word. “Again?”
Declan quickly shakes his head, like he’s covering up a faux pas. “I just meant…it probably won’t happen.”
“Hmm. Don’t be so sure about that. Happens to the best of us,” I say, briefly wondering if there’s someone on the field he’d want to meet again.
“Maybe,” Declan says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
When Nadia grabs him for a chat, I tug Jackson closer. “Wanna bet he falls hard when he least expects it?”
Jackson smiles. “I bet it happens any day now.”
Once the game starts, we turn our attention to the field. A few batters in, Cruz and his wife return with their girls, and Isabella makes a beeline for me.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about unicorns and horses,” she says.
“Hit me up. What’s on your mind?”
As we discuss manes and tails, I can’t stop the train of thought that started rolling on the beach the other day.
The idea that maybe, just maybe, there’s even more out there for my guy and me.
When we get home, I pour a glass of whiskey, lean against the kitchen counter, and dive into the deep end. “Do you ever want to have a kid?”
Jackson lifts a brow. “Not the typical way, I assume?”
“I mean one of the other ways, obviously.”
He takes a beat, drawing a breath, giving weight to his answer. “I would love to.” His eyes are etched with vulnerability, but hope too. “Do you mean it?”
This should be hard to do, talking about kids, a family.
But it’s not at all. It’s remarkably easy. “I do. I kind of think we’d be awesome dads. Don’t you?”
He swallows roughly, like a knot of emotion is tightening his throat.
Jackson closes the rest of the distance between us, wraps his arms around my neck, and just nods with a soft, shuddery yes.
Another year later . . .
The plane touches down in Bogotá.
We spend the first few days signing paperwork and meeting with the international adoption agency. Getting ready.
The morning of our gotcha day, I pace our hotel room. I check the time. I bounce on my toes.
“Ready?” Jackson asks.
“I. Can’t. Wait.”
We leave to meet our little girl.
She’s eighteen months old, and her name is Sofia.
When the woman who runs the orphanage puts her in my arms, my heart squeezes then grows ten times bigger. It glows like the sun in my chest. Instant love—that’s what I feel as I hold her, running a hand over her soft dark hair.
I’m already wildly in love with her and with this family that we have. And I know I’m going to write all kinds of songs about her.
I press a kiss to her perfect cheek. “Hey, sweetie pie. I’m your dad now. Want to meet your other dad?”
My husband brushes his lips to her cheek too. “Love you already, baby girl,” he whispers. Then he says it to her in Spanish.
Like this was all meant to be.
Jackson
One more year later
It’s a long day, but a damn good one.
We nabbed a new client, helped some of our trainees snag jobs, and also, my daughter has discovered crayons.
Too bad she likes to draw on the walls, but we’re working on that.
As the sun dips over the Pacific, I sink onto the couch on our balcony as Sofia works at the table on a chunky puzzle with animal shapes.
“Giraffe!” She waggles the long-necked animal piece.
“That’s right. That’s a giraffe,” I say.
“What’s this one?” Stone asks, pointing to a lion.
“Roar!” Sofia says.
Stone catches my gaze. “She’s brilliant and beautiful.”
I give an easy shrug. “She takes after me.”
Sofia sets the lion in his home in the puzzle, then claps. “I did it.”
“You sure did. Now give Daddy a hug,” Stone says, and she clambers into his lap and smacks her lips on his cheek.
But she’s an equal opportunity kisser, stretching across to smooch me. “For you, Dad.”
“Aww. I love your kisses, baby girl.”
She gives me one more, then grabs a purple crayon and climbs back into Stone’s lap again, pretending to draw on his arm.
“Are you giving me new ink now, Sofia?”
“Hey, that’s better than drawing on the walls. Also, I bet Candi would love a shot of Sofia drawing on you,” I suggest.
“Take it, J,” he says, tipping his chin toward his phone on the table.
I grab it, turning on the camera to take a pic. I snap it and smile. “Too cute for words.”
“Get one of all of us.”
I inch closer, wrap an arm around the two people I love most in the world, then snap a picture.
I show it to him.
“That needs to go on my feed.”