Easiest question ever. “I do,” I say, looking into the soulful brown eyes of the man I adore. He looks back at me with love, passion, and vulnerability. That’s my guy.
She turns to Declan next. “And do you, Declan Steele, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him in sickness and health, for as long as you both shall live?”
Declan grins at me like he’s won not just the husband lottery, but the life lottery too. “I do.”
“You may kiss your groom.”
We do, locking lips in front of all our friends, our family, and our teammates. It’s our first kiss as husbands, and somehow, it’s even better than that time in a car on the side of the road years ago.
Later that night, at the reception at a nearby restaurant, the deejay plays Pearl Jam like I requested, and I stride up to my husband. “Want to dance to something your speed?”
With a laugh, Declan takes my hand, and we slow dance. His arms loop around my waist, and mine move around his neck. “Now, this I can move to,” he says.
“See? I know you.”
“You sure do.”
We slow dance to a few more tunes, and when a Lady Gaga number kicks on, he heads to the bar for a glass of water while I stay on the floor with Reese, Holden, River, and Owen. As I shake my hips, I wink at my husband, mouthing, told you I’d dance for you.
Declan smiles and shoots me a sexy-as-hell look.
At the end of the night, his father walks over to me and extends a hand. “Thank you, Grant,” Jon says. “You’ve made my son very happy.”
“He makes me very happy,” I say.
Jon leaves soon after. He didn’t make a scene. He didn’t cause trouble. Sometimes that’s all you can ask.
As the wedding winds down, I snap a selfie of the two grooms looking sharp in our suits. “We look good, Deck.”
“Post it on my socials, rookie.”
I kiss his cheek and take his phone, posting the shot on both our feeds.
When my husband and I go home that night—we’ll have our honeymoon in November in our new home in Hawaii—I take him to our bedroom and strip him naked. His tailored suit lands in a pile of expensive fabric on the chair in our room.
Declan does the same to my clothes.
We crash into each other, kissing and touching. But before we lose ourselves completely in our favorite activity, I clasp Declan’s face and say the thing I’ve always wanted to tell this man: “You’re my first and my last.”
“Yes, I am,” he says with a satisfied grin.
I’d say I’ve won the life lottery too.
38
Declan
A week later
Grant shakes me awake two days before pitchers and catchers report. “Dude, I need new ink.”
Rubbing my eyes, I yawn. “Why the urgency?”
“Because I’m married now. Duh.” He pulls on a T-shirt. “I need something to celebrate being a taken man.”
I sit up in bed, dragging a hand through my messy hair. “My name in a heart? So cute.”
He scoffs. “Love you, man. But no.”
“How about I worship Number Eighteen?”
Grant shakes his head. “Get up, get up. You’re coming with me. I know what I want.”
“Mind if I shower first?”
“Mind if I suck you off in the shower?”
Tilting my head, I pretend to consider that offer. “Nope. Don’t mind at all.”
Grant delivers, and twenty minutes later, we hop in the BMW and drive to Petaluma.
Grant has his sights set on a bird.
“Like a big bird of prey,” he says as we walk along the block to Ink Lore.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Can you picture it? Full back tat.” He reaches behind him and drags his fingertip down his spine. “An eagle, wings spread, being all badass.”
“As eagles are,” I say.
“I want to be covered in it.” We reach the shop, and when Grant sets his hand on the door, I cover it with mine and meet his eyes.
“What are you really getting?”
He winks. “You’ll see.”
“Indeed, I will,” I say, then push open the door and follow my husband into the shop.
A woman with purple hair waves to us.
“If it isn’t Grant ‘Knows He’s Hot Shit’ Blackwood,” she says brightly, then shifts her gaze to me. “And hey there, Declan.”
I walk over to the artist and kiss her cheek. “Good to see you, Echo. How’s everything?”
“Living the dream,” she says, gesturing to the store. “My dad gave me the shop when he retired.”
“Congrats. That’s awesome.”
She snaps on gloves, then turns to Grant. “I’ve got everything ready for you. I had the design already done. Are you good to go?”
Grant whips off his T-shirt. “Absolutely.”
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s on this work of art?” I ask again.
Echo shrugs impishly. “Ask your man.”
Grant mimes zipping his lips. So, I huff, then sit and wait.