I grin as we sneak out of the nursery. “We are not dramatic.”
“Your family—ourfamily—is the very definition of dramatic. A picture of the O’Ryan clan is next to the word in the dictionary. J.D. proposes on a concert stage. Dramatic. Greyson runs off the field like a knight in shining armor to save his boss. Dramatic. You make a video about me and share it with the world. Dramatic.”
“Well, Parker and Witt aren’t.”
He lets out a hushed scoff. “Maybe Witt isn’t. We’ll see, but do you remember that Parker quit the UMich hockey team because his girlfriend cheated, and how he hates his tutor and is always talking about it? Dramatic.”
“But you love us,” I smirk.
“I do, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He leans over and gives me an open-lipped kiss, slightly damp with a little bit of tongue, and I moan into his mouth.
It's been a while since we’ve had sex. Months, in fact. His recovery. My delivery was harder than expected, and pure exhaustion has won this game.
Our living room looks like a baby store exploded—tiny jerseys, burp cloths, and diapers tucked into every possible drawer. The Armadillos logo is everywhere because apparently, my family believes football loyalty should begin at birth.
The baby monitor crackles. Our son sighs in his sleep. My heart melts instantly. “Look at him. He’s perfect.”
He really is.
Dark hair. Long fingers. A grip that already feels like he could throw a spiral fifty yards. When Matt holds him, I see it—the quiet awe, the gratitude, the way he looks at our baby like this moment is stitched into his soul.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
He nods. “Yeah. Just thinking about how I almost missed this.”
I press a kiss to his jaw. “But you didn’t.”
We didn’t rush anything—not the wedding, not the season, not the healing. Life slowed us down whether we wanted it to or not. And somehow, that made everything sweeter.
Matt’s back at the stadium full-time now. Stronger.Healthier. Slightly more annoying, according to Greyson. The doctors call it a miracle.
I call it stubbornness, love, and a hell of a support system.
I stretch beside him, yawning. “When he wakes up again, you’re on diaper duty.”
“I changed the last one,” he says.
I lift a brow. “When you married me, I had ‘do everything I say’ added to the marriage license.”
He laughs and pulls me close. “We’ll see about that.”
We can’t take our eyes off the monitor. Our son stirs, fists waving, already demanding attention like he owns the place.
“Thank you for letting me be his father.”
I don’t have time to respond before Matt kisses me, and my heart feels so full it almost hurts. Our need is hot and desperate. And even if our bodies aren’t ready, we’re ready to risk it.
Some plays are risky.
Some break every rule.
But the forbidden plays?
They’re the ones that change your life.
EPILOGUE
PARKER – THREE YEARS LATER
