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Epilogue

10 Years Later

Lainey

“Don’t keep looking out the window,” I admonish, as Nick pulls aside the curtain for what seems likes the hundredth time in the last ten minutes.

“It’s important to see how he drives. You can tell a lot about a guy based on that,” he replies, his face still glued to the glass.  “Are you sure we should let Cassidy go on this date? Girl’s only fifteen. She should be in her room studying or something.”

I hide my smile by rubbing my cheek between Nick’s shoulder blades. He’s having a hard time letting Cassidy go.

“Daddeeeeee!” A high-pitched voice squeals through the speaker system. “I’m ready for the pictures! If you don’t come down soon, we’re going to be late.”

Nick sighs, his shoulders drooping. “Why couldn’t you have backed me up when I told her no.”

“Because, like you said, she’s fifteen. It’s time. Speaking of time, I wish your son would hurry up and arrive.” I press a hand to my aching back. “I think I threw a disc walking up the stairs.”

My dear husband spins from the window and drops to his haunches, low enough to press an ear against my protruding stomach. “Hey, champ, now would be a good time to come out. You’d be saving your old man a world of hurt. If you come out now, I’ll buy you a battery-operated Porsche. Top of the line. How about it?”

Son number three remains stubbornly silent. He’s already a week overdue and is showing no signs of wanting to leave the nest, much to my intense dismay.

With another sigh, Nick straightens and leans in to give me a hard kiss. It doesn’t last long, though, because the screeching begins anew. Cassidy might be on the cusp of womanhood, but she doesn’t have much more patience than a flea.

“You better get downstairs before Cassidy loses her kittens,” I murmur against his mouth. Reluctantly, he drags his lips from mine.

“Coming,” Nick bellows, not bothering to use the intercom system. Years of barking out orders on the football field make it easy for him to project his voice. The squawking immediately stops.

He gives my giant stomach another pat before striding out of bathroom.

I follow at a slower pace, which is a good thing when our youngest barrels down the hall.

“Slow down there, cowboy,” his father warns, catching the seven-year-old by the arm. “Where’s the fire?”

“Cassie says the baby’s coming,” Thane shouts. His eyes dart around his father’s to pin on my stomach. “Is it? Is it going to drop out right now? Have you peed yet? Cuz Harper said when his mama had a baby she peed right on the floor. That’d be gross.”

Gross things fascinate Thane. “I’m not peeing on the floor, baby.” I run a hand over his short brown hair, dark like his daddy’s. “Your brother isn’t ready to come out yet.”

“I wish we were having another girl,” Thane grumps. “We’ve already got three men in the house.”

I hide a smile behind the back of my hand. Ever since Thane learned he wasn’t the youngest anymore, he’s been referring to himself as a man. I find it adorable, but he’s a serious boy so I can’t let on that it amuses me or I’d hurt his manly feelings.

Nick swings our soon-to-be middle son up into his arms. Long, lanky legs dangle down the side of Nick’s frame. Thane’s going to be a tall one—taller than his daddy, for sure. “I’m not good at making girls, son. Besides, we’ve got Cassidy and your mom. No other girls can compare to these two.”

“Uncle Reece says I smell like a barn, and that if we had more girls around, maybe I’d smell better, and then Sancha would like me instead of Dobson the dickhead.”

“Thane! Language!” I scold. I wait for Nick to add his rebuke, but he’s staring at the ceiling, nearly dying from the need to laugh.

“Sorry, mama,” Thane says completely unrepentant. “Uncle Reese says that—“

“Uncle Reese isn’t going to be babysitting you anymore if that’s the kind of language he’s using,” I warn.

“Uncle Reese didn’t say Dobson was a dickhead,” Thane says, with a most put-upon tone. “He said dickheads were guys that were so dumb, their heads were in their dicks.”

“Nah, you’re messing it all up.” A new voice adds his two-cents from the end of the hallway. Our oldest boy pushes away from the wall to shake his head at Thane. “Get it right. Dickheads are guys who think with their dicks. The guys with their heads up their dicks are assholes.”

“Gray! That’s enough,” I cry and shoot my husband a pleading look, but Nick is so red from holding in his laughter, I swear he’s going to explode.

“I am getting it right,” Thane replies indignantly. “The asshole is where the poop comes from. That’s different than the peehole. I ain’t the one wrong. You are!”

“Am not,” taunts Gray.

The two launch themselves at each other. Nick finally gathers his self-control and wades into a mess of flying fists to separate our two boys. Born only eleven months apart, the two look almost like twins. Their identical mouths are set in mulish lines, and their brown eyes spark fire at each other.

“None of that now,” Nick says. “You two promised to get along and take care of your mama tonight. You reneging on your promises?”

“No, sir,” chorus my two angels. They straighten their shoulders and shoot to my side, each one taking a hand. “We got you, Mama.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Now, we’re going to go downstairs and see your sister and daddy off.”

Halfway down the stairs, I stumble to a halt as Cassidy floats into the foyer. Standing under the crystal chandelier Nick had flown in from Milan when we bought this house seven years ago, my eldest child looks like she should be on the front cover of a magazine. Dressed in a peach gown with tiny sleeves and a skirt with so many layers of chiffon, we could cover the entire house, from end to end.

Nick slaps a hand across his chest. “Where’d Cassidy go?” he asks in mock surprise. Although, by the tone of his voice, part of that shock is very real. She’s growing up, and it’s so bittersweet.

“Daddy.” Cassidy rolls her eyes. “Obviously, I’m standing right here.”

“Nah, Cassidy’s a little girl.” He holds his hand up to his hip. “About so high. I used to carry her on my shoulders. You’re…you’re not a girl.”

She flushes, lifts her full ball gown skirt slightly and swishes it back and forth.

“Cassie’s still a girl, Daddy.” Thane says.

Nick reaches up and ruffles his hair. “Is that right?”

“Dad was being fascist,” Gray interjects.

“Facetious,” I correct.

“Whatever,” Gray replies with a scowl.

“Ha!” Thane points at his brother. “You missaid a word.”

“Missaid isn’t a word! And it’s mis-pronounce!” Gray yells back.

I move in between the two arguing boys before fists can fly again. “Cassidy, you look amazing. Greta did a marvelous job with you.”

“Thank you,” my daughter says. Her eyes sparkle like dark jewels. “And thank you for letting me go.”

Nick grumbles under his breath about boys and hormones and how a fifteen year-old at a prom is too young, but Cassidy and I ignore him.

“Go stand by the fireplace,” I instruct. “We’ll take a few pictures there before Ryan comes.”

“Ryan’s a terrible name,” Nick says. “Do you know how many successful quarterbacks there have been named Ryan? None.”

“That’s fine, Daddy, because Ryan’s an engineer. Not a football player.” Cassidy flounces over to stand in front of the unlit fireplace.

“Don’t remind him,” I advise. “Your dad can’t believe there’s a guy out there who doesn’t love football.”

“Ryan says real football is played with your feet,” Gray says.

Nick nearly crushes the camera between his hands. “I can’t believe we’re letting Cassidy go on a date with a boy who doesn’t even appreciate real sports.”

“Take the pictures, darling,” I say, running a soothing hand over his shoulders.

Outside, the sound of a car pulling up has the boys running to the door.

“It’s Ryan!” cries Thane in excitement. He throws open the door and races out.

Cassidy rushes behind them, forgetting both of her parents in her haste to get to her boyfriend before her brothers do.

“You sure I can’t punch him in the nose before they leave? Kind of as a pre-dance warning?” Nick asks, taking his place beside me. He snakes his arm around my back and I lean into him, grateful for his support.

“No, not even a friendly tap.”

“You’re no fun.”

“You didn’t say that nine months ago,” I tease, as I watch Ryan climb the steps. He high-fives the boys before stumbling to a halt.

“C-C-Cassidy,” he stammers. “You look beautiful.”

Cassidy ducks her head. “Thank you. You look amazing, too.”

The two stare at each other for a long moment until Gray makes a gagging noise. The teens break eye contact and start chattering with the boys. My soul swells so big at the site of my children talking together that I nearly expire.

Nick’s fingers curl around my waist. “Do we have to let her go?” he whispers. “She’s so young.”

“Today prom. Tomorrow college.” I stroke a hand over the top of my stomach. “But we’re always going to be a family. No matter how many dances she goes to, or how many boys come and sweep her away. No matter what, she’ll always be ours.”

His hand slides over to join mine.

“Ours,” he echoes.

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