Joy and relief expanded my heart as I laughed loudly and hit him with a pillow. “Why would you lie?”
He easily grabbed the offending pillow out of my hand before I hit him again. “I wantedyouto be sure howyoufelt.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dirty trick. What if I were happy I wasn’t pregnant?”
“Baby girl, we’ve been friends for too long. You wanted that man’s baby. Now, go, because once you get back home, we have a trip to New York to plan.”
“We do,” I agreed and hurried down the stairs. I grabbed my phone and called Canaan as I walked out the door. The familiar tone sounded in the night air. I cried out at the sight of Canaan casually leaning against his car parked behind mine in my driveway.
Canaan pushed off his vehicle. “I couldn’t leave without knowing.”
I hurried to him and slipped my arms under his. “Canaan Jackson, will you love me always like I will always love you?”
“Yes.” His gorgeous lips curved. “Kensie Garrett, will you promise to fight for us even when I’m being an asshole?”
“Yes. I realized too late that when I walked out of your life, I probably made you feel abandoned all over again. I’msosorry.” I touched his cheek.
“And I’m sorry for pushing you away when I needed you the most.” Canaan brushed his lips against mine. “Won’t happen again.”
I grinned at him. “So, are we doing this for real this time?”
“Only if you’ll agree to be my wife again.” He hugged me.
“I might as well be your wife since you knocked me up.” I tugged on his beard.
Elation and nervousness flitted across his expression as he cupped my face. “Are you sure about having my baby and being tied to me? I know I’m a lot.”
I covered his hands on my face with mine. “What you heard was fear. I was so afraid you wouldn’t want this baby or really love me that I hurt you again.”
He nodded. “We need to work on that because I never want to hurt you or make you doubt my love for you again.”
“The only man I’ll ever want, need, and love is you.”
Canaan ran his hand over my back to grab my hips possessively. “You better remember that this is mine forever.”
I shook my head. “I swear you act like my ass is the only thing you missed.”
“It is. I was so used to this . . .” He squeezed my behind “. . . bumping against me every morning. I cried at the thought that I couldn’t touch, taste, or watch it bounce.”
“I swear I hate you.”
He kissed me and murmured against my lips, “I hate you so much too.”
Epilogue
Canaan
May of the following year . . .
The stands were full of people excited to witness the Formula One comeback of Canaan Jackson. Although I’d won another NASCAR race and had competed in other Formula One races, I had to conquer my ultimate fear: racing on the track that almost killed me. I refused to practice the way I had last year, using my time preparing for my other races as my training. Malcolm had nearly quit when I relayed that I would not be practicing for this race.
While I meditated, my instinct told me that I was prepared, and only fear prevented me from excelling. I decided that if I couldn’t find peace within before the race, I wouldn’t compete. Although I knew Kensie was worried, she didn’t try to deter me or talk me out of my decision. She told me countless times over the past few months how she believed in me. Her relentless and unwavering support as she traveled with me whenever she could—whether to races or practices—until she became too big with our child to travel, had only drawn us closer. Sharing a life that grew inside of Kensie matured our love faster than time, and we were quietly married in Barbados, in the backyard of my grandparents, on New Year’s Eve, with all our loved ones present. My mother and my two sisters were even in attendance. She’d seemed proud of me, and maybe we would talk about her decision to leave me with her parents, with little contact over the years, and how that affected my ability to trust. Or maybe we wouldn’t. It no longer mattered why because I had been blessed to be raised by Pops, Mama G, my father, and Ms. Murielle.
Kensie chronicled our life together, sharing it in posts for the fans who loved and supported us. She rarely went live on social media, focusing her creative energy on her third book after completing her doctorate and turning her dissertation into her second book. This time, she planned to explore how to keep it hot and maintain love when both individuals are career-driven. Her editor loved the idea, and the advance she was offered demonstrated the love. Kensie had delayed the job at Howard until we could relocate to D.C. as a family, but would begin in the fall as an assistant professor.
For now, Kensie was content to be a mother and a writer. Kennedy Carron Jackson was born in January to a sobbing daddy, who loved that my first was a girl. A little girl who looked just like Kensie did as a baby. Kennedy also appeared to have my energy and physicality. Her motor skills developed rapidly. At four months, she was alert and sitting up independently. Ms. Murielle claimed that her fast development was nature’s way of making room for the next baby. I hoped so. I loved seeing Kensie swell with my child as much as she enjoyed being pregnant. Creating a family with Kensie made me feel more like a man than anything I’d ever done.
Malcolm tapped my shoulder. “You’re good?”
