Tonight, I put my name on a runway. Tomorrow, my father is going to teach the man I’m in love with how to do something because he wants to.
Dom has never needed anyone. Not really. Not that he’d admit it.
But as I watch him get pulled into my family, one thought settles in: maybe we can give him something he’s never had before.
A loving home.
Epilogue
~DOMINIC~
The Cup’s on my kitchen counter, and my beach house looks like a locker room detonated. There are empty beer bottles, swim trunks drying over chairs, a damp towel abandoned in the hallway, and someone drew a dick on the balcony glass with sunscreen.
Outside, my team is loud enough to scare the tide back. There’s laughter, the occasional shouted insult, the hiss of the grill every time Zed flips something over open flame. The music is low but constant.
Second Cup as captain. Feels different than the first. The first one was proof I can do this. I’m not just some political puppet who learned how to skate. This onefeels like… confirmation. I didn’t fluke my way into anything.
I lean in the doorway and watch them for a second. Tanner’s in the pool up to his chest, talking to Addams on a flamingo floatie. Davidson’s got Matt in a headlock. Jace is glued to Zed’s side at the grill, talking his ear off.
“…I’m just saying, if we do the lake house for training camp, we can convince Dom to get jet skis.”
Zed grunts, noncommittal, tongs poised over a row of burgers. He looks almost relaxed. He’s still quiet, still Zed, but every time he tries to fade to the edges, somebody drags him back in.
Everyone is trying to talk to him. They aren’t letting him disappear.
Good.
I feel something loosen in my chest at the sight of it. The Cup’s great. Rings are great. But your team becoming family? This is the point.
I scan the group again, looking for my girl. When she’s nowhere in sight, I stop Melody to ask.
“She went inside like a minute ago,” Melody says, drink in hand.
“Thanks,” I say, pushing off the frame. “Try not to let Jace bore Zed to death.”
The noise dulls as I step back into the house. The AC hits my skin, cool against the heat that’s permanently settled in my bones since June started.
I find Jessica upstairs. Our bedroom door is half open. Sun slants in through the balcony glass, casting long rectangles of light across the floor.
She stands in the middle of it, barefoot, still a little damp from the ocean. She’s wearing a bikini top, tiny bottoms, and a sheer dress thrown over it that does nothing besides turn everything underneath into suggestion.
She’s looking at the wall. More specifically, at the stick mounted above the dresser. Old composite, black, tape fraying at the top in a way I’ll never let anyone “fix.” Plaque under it with a date and a team logo.
Her arms are folded, head tipped.
I lean on the doorframe for a second and just watch.
Both my home and beach house used to feel too big for one person. Too grand, too quiet, like a reward Ididn’t really need. Now it looks wrong without her shit scattered through it.
A sketchbook on my nightstand. A hair tie on my doorknob. A fabric swatch draped over the back of a chair like she’ll be back for it in ten seconds. I don’t remember how I ever lived there before her.
“You planning to stare a hole through that thing?” I say, making my presence known.
She turns and flashes me a smile. The dress is technically decent, but the light hits it and suddenly I’m getting curves, shadows, and skin. Her hair’s still damp at the ends, curling a little. There’s a faint pink strip across her nose from the sun she swore she wasn’t getting.
“Can’t stay away from me for even a minute, Captain?” she raises a playful brow.
“Try a second,” I chuckle.
