He runs over to me, a handsome grin pulling at his lips. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“What about school? I can’t let you give up your dreams for me.”
“You’re not. I’m choosing to.” I clutch his jersey in my hand and pull his mouth down to mine. “I love you, Tatum, and I’m done messing around. I want to be with you and have little soccer prodigy babies with you. No running, no drama. Just you and me.” He laughs and I join in, the sound infectious.
“Good, because I’m not letting you go.”
Epilogue
Bria
Ten Years Later
“Ref, open your eyes! That was a foul! What, oh, you’re going to walk away? Real brave. You better—”
“Hey, baby, what are you doing?”
“What do you mean? The guy is blind! The little shit ran right into Mia.” I get a death glare from a woman to my left. I’m assuming she’s the mother of the aforementioned little shit, but I couldn’t care less. I’m sure she already knows her son is a terror.
“I know, baby, but I don’t think it was intentional since they’re, well, five.” My husband’s sexy smirk pulls me from the oncoming emotional meltdown simmering on the horizon.
“What if Mia is hurt?”
“She got right back up and started playing again. Our girl’s tough, it didn’t even faze her.” He’s right, but I can’t help being overly emotional right now. “Can I get back to coaching now, please?” I nod and he kisses me. Even after all this time, the slightest peck can leave me weak in the knees.
Tatum retired from playing two years ago and has since taken up coaching our twins on their coed U6 soccer team. In a few years they’ll have to transition to separate teams and maybe then I’ll step in to coach our daughter and he can keep coaching our son.
“Alex, watch out for your sister, please,” I call to my son on the field.
When I got pregnant, we didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. One of the nurses slipped up when she told us we were having twins. From there, we assumed both were girls and planned to name them after two of the most iconic female soccer players of our time—Mia after Mia Hamm and Alex after Alex Morgan.
We were very surprised when our son was born first, but we were grateful Alex is a unisex name. I’m sure someday he’ll find the story hilarious, but probably not until he’s much older. I don’t know how many young boys would get a kick out of being named after a girl.
After the two, we thought we were done. We got our boy and our girl, but the universe had other plans.
I rub a hand over my non-existent baby bump, but it’s a force of habit. I can’t wait to tell Tatum tonight; he’s always wanted a big family and at the rate we’re going we’ll end up with a soccer team of our own soon.
The rest of the game passes and I think I’m the only person keeping score, but how can I not? My kids are rock stars. They’re the only two to score any goals.
I help my handsome husband clean up the balls, cones, and variety of orange peels before we head home.
The routine once we get home is pretty standard. The kids get a bath, they play for a while, we eat dinner, and then they’re off to bed. I love the hours at night after my little monsters go down. I love them more than anything, but I also love the quality time I get to spend with my husband every night.
We’re lying in bed facing one another. I’m tracing his newest ink coloring his ribcage—the roman numbers of our kids’ birthdate, twice, to represent each child.
“I’ve been thinking,” he tells me. His voice is gravelly—a deep, sexy timbre I’ve learned means he’s thinking dirty thoughts.
“What about?” I say before peppering kisses across his expansive chest.
“We should have another kid.” My heart flutters in my chest. It’s like he’s inside my head.
He moves quick like a cobra, pinning me down underneath him. His mouth moves to my neck, kissing all my favorite spots. I moan from under him, my back arching involuntarily.
“I’ve been thinking too,” I manage to say. I didn’t have a good time to tell him since we got home. This is my opening.
“Hmm?” he says, working his way down my chest to my ultra-sensitive nipples. I hiss as he wraps his lips around one of the peaks. The noise catches his attention.
“I think you’re going to have to get another tattoo under those roman numerals.” My smile is broad and I swear I catch his eyes glistening with tears.
He returns my smile and kisses me senseless. “Are you saying—” he starts after breaking the kiss. I nod.
“We’re already pregnant.” I laugh, the sound bubbling up as euphoria takes over.
Tatum kisses me once more, slower this time. I push my fingers into his thick, raven locks and hold him against me. We make love late into the night as if I’m not already pregnant and we’re still trying.
Once we fall asleep and morning comes, I’m woken up by two jumping beans attacking me in bed. I grab onto my little boy, with his sandy blonde hair all rumpled from sleep. My husband tickles our daughter, her musical lilt filling the room. She took after her father, with long, thick dark hair.
The two of them are a perfectly split combination of us. I can’t wait to see who our future baby turns out to be, but I know with Tatum by my side, we can handle anything.
THE END