Book 4 - Page 64 (1/2)

“Yes!” Jax and Madoc roared, shooting their arms into the air and then doing double high fives.

I put one hand over my heart and another over my stomach, aching from the worry.

The crowd cheered as the race ended, and I smiled, seeing Jared ignore everyone who tried to talk to him as he ran up to me, dumping his helmet on the ground.

“You see?” He lifted me in the air. “I’m always safe.”

And then he brought me down, cras.h.i.+ng his lips to mine in a way that sent me reeling. I almost cringed, hearing cameras go off as we kissed, but I looked at it as a step up that I wasn’t in a towel this time.

He set me down, wrapping his arms around me.

“Eh”—I shrugged my shoulders—“I’m not so worried about your safety anymore,” I lied.

He raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Just that you win.”

I leaned in, threading my fingers through the back of his hair and inhaling the scent of his body wash.

“And I wanted you in a good mood,” I told him. “I can’t give you happy news on an unhappy day.”

He c.o.c.ked his head, looking at me, confused.

“And the prize money will help,” I continued, “since you’re the only working member in the household, and I’m about to cost you a lot of money,” I teased.

He shot me a c.o.c.ky grin. “And why’s that?”

And when I leaned in to tell him why I needed him safe, why no obstacle could keep me from being happy right now, I felt his breath give way and his chest cave.

And tears immediately sprang to my eyes when he knelt down in front of everyone—cameras flas.h.i.+ng in the background and gasps from our friends going off around us—and kissed my stomach, saying h.e.l.lo to his child.

Epilogue

Tate

Seven Years Later

Fanning myself with the copy of Newsweek, I grunted as I bent down to pick up Dylan’s shoes off the carpet.

The July heat had me so aggravated that I was tempted to staple her shoelaces to the floor if she kept dumping her belongings everywhere.

Jared was next to no help when it came to building our daughter’s sense of responsibility. Yeah, she was only six years old, but we didn’t want her spoiled, did we? I constantly had to remind him that she’d be a teenager someday, and then he’d be sorry.

But Dylan Trent was a daddy’s girl, and heaven help him when she started wanting boyfriends and late curfews instead of candy and toys.