When she walked out holding the test, he froze mid-flip over the skillet. His eyes went wide, then that smile, the one that took over his whole face and made the room glow, broke through.
“For real?” he asked quietly.
“For real.”
He scooped her up and spun her around right there in the kitchen. He laughed and cried and rattled off baby names and nursery colors before she could even process what this meant. Then he sobered, pressed his hands over her still-flat stomach like he could already feel something there.
“You’re gonna slow down now, right?” he asked. “The business, the foundation, all of it. You gotta take it easy.”
She had known that conversation was coming. “I can’t just stop, DaVinci. We’re in the middle of launching.”
“Then we hire people,” he said. “Lo, I’m not playing with you. You carrying my babies. You have to let other people carry some of this weight.”
Six months later, she was still figuring out what letting go looked like, but she heard him.
“It’s time, it’s time,” Stacia fussed beside her now as the lights in the arena dimmed and the crowd roared. Halo moved to the glass and looked down at the court. Staff set up the podium at center court. A giant banner with his number waited to be raised.
Her phone buzzed.
My One and Only: Where you at, Angel?
No, she had not changed his name in her phone, and she probably never would.
Me: In the section, waiting.
My One and Only:Come here. I need to see you before this starts.
Me:Baby, you’re supposed to be getting ready.
My One and Only:I am ready. I just need my wife.
Halo grabbed her clutch and made her way down to the tunnel. Security waved her through without question. She had been coming to this arena long enough that most of them knew her by name.
DaVinci stood near the entrance to the court, hands in his pockets, looking out over the floor. Fresh cut, beard lined up, diamonds in his watch catching every bit of light. He looked good. Too good.
“You gotta stop being so obsessed with me, baby,” she teased, her voice low and light.
He turned, and the smile that spread across his face hit her the same way it did two years ago. Her stomach flipped, and she could not even blame the twins.
“No can do,” he said, pulling her into him. His hands found her waist, then slid lower, protective and possessive at the same time. “You trying to upstage me at my own ceremony?”
“Maybe. How are you feeling?”
He drew in a breath and glanced back toward the court. “Weird. Good, weird, but still weird. I spent half my life in this building. Now they’re about to retire my jersey, and I’m done. For real this time. It’s bittersweet.”
“You miss it?” she asked.
“Sometimes. I miss the game. The competition. I don’t miss everything that came with it. The travel. The pressure. The politics.” He looked back down at her, his expression softening. “I don’t regret it, though. Retiring was the best decision I ever made. Second best, actually.”
“What’s the first?” She knew the answer. She still wanted to hear it.
“Marrying you.”
She kissed him, not caring about the staff walking around them or the cameras that might catch it at a distance. When she pulled back, his eyes were dark and locked on her like she was the only thing in the room.
“You’re gonna make me late to my own ceremony,” he murmured.
The stage manager called his name. DaVinci kissed her forehead, adjusted his suit jacket, and stepped back.
