The cheers the crowd gave us that night last year? They have nothing on tonight.

  Tonight is thunder and lightning.

  It’s an earthquake, and we are the epicenter of big, bold, beautiful love, right here in Las Vegas.

  Stone

  We don’t get married that night.

  Because family matters.

  We don’t wait for long though. Two weeks later, I fly everyone to Portland, Maine, and we head to a little cabin we rented on a lake.

  Everyone we love is there: Zane, Nadia, Sage, Ivy, Eliza, Veronica, Callum, Bethany, Caroline, Ben, Candi, Terrence, Cruz. Terrence’s wife, Cruz’s wife, their daughter. Jackson’s parents. My mom, my grandmother.

  My dad’s not there, but that’s okay. I made peace with that long ago. And I have this family.

  I have family through blood, I have family through friendship, and I have family through love.

  My man.

  We marry on a dock overlooking a crystal blue lake. Jackson looks so damn beautiful in slacks and a button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled up to reveal those forearms I love.

  I’m casual too, in pants and a button-down. This is how we do things. His sister Caroline, an ordained minister thanks to the internet, stands in front of us. Bethany is by Jackson’s side. My brother, Zane, is by mine. They are our wedding party. Brothers and sisters, standing with the two of us.

  Caroline straightens her shoulders, and then she says the best words I have ever heard. “Do you, Stone Zenith, take this man to be your husband? To love, to cherish, and to take care of for the rest of your life?”

  I look into Jackson’s hazel eyes, and my pulse jackhammers. My grin is bigger than the lake. “I absolutely do.”

  She turns to him. “And do you, Jackson Pearce, take this man to be your husband? To love, to cherish, and to take care of for the rest of your life?”

  He swallows roughly, then says two simple words. “I do.”

  Peace flows through my whole body. Peace and happiness and promise.

  “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. We kiss before our friends and family.

  Tomorrow, this kiss will go up online, since Zane is recording it.

  I don’t mind that my fans will see me kissing my husband for the first time in front of the lake on a beautiful summer day in Maine.

  Because they know—they’ve always known.

  And they’re getting it, just like I am.

  Jackstone.

  For the rest of our lives. Yes, our love belongs to us, but before it was ours, others wanted it too. In a way, our love story is everyone’s, and I’m a lucky man to share a little bit of our life with the world.

  That is an incredible gift—to live and to love in a world where our ship is someone else’s wish come true—and my reality, for the rest of my life.

  I slide a hand around Jackson’s neck, curling my fingers over his skin, whispering just for him, “Did I ever tell you about the rock star who fell for his bodyguard?”

  “Let me guess. Did the bodyguard fall hard for him too?”

  “So damn hard.”

  “Sounds like our love story. And maybe your next song.”

  “It absolutely does.”

  We walk along the dock to join the party with our families, stopping to kiss one more time. Me and the guy who changed my life. Who shows me love every day.

  The guy who makes me feel like a rock star in every way, but most of all, in the way that matters the most.

  With love.

  Another Epilogue

  Stone

  Next year

  Life is good.

  I still tour, and Jackson comes with me sometimes, when he’s able to get away.

  His business is booming, and I’m so damn proud of him. I love what he and his friends have built. Something of their own. Something that lets them all lead the lives they want.

  Cruz and his wife had another baby, a little girl, and she’s absolutely adorable. We see them a lot when we go to their house for barbecues. Because Jackson’s friends are obsessed with barbecues, something I will never truly understand, but hey, at least the salads they serve there are good.

  The next one we go to is for Isabella’s birthday, and she has a bounce house.

  Bounce houses are officially awesome. She is the cutest kid ever, and we discuss important topics as we bounce, like unicorns and chocolate cake and books she wants to read someday.

  After we leave the barbecue, Jackson and I go home to Venice and walk on the beach.

  No bodyguard this time.

  Sometimes we leave home without one.

  The fact is, I feel safe with this guy. Jackson looks out for me. He protects me. That didn’t stop when we fell in love. It didn’t stop when we came together. That’s just who he is.

  A protector.

  He can’t not have his eyes on me.

  His arm around me.

  His mind watching out for me.

  Tonight, we walk across the sand toward the Pacific, the waves beckoning, and I tell him how thankful I am that he’s by my side. Then, because it’s us, I need to tease him. “I’ve gotta say, being married to you isn’t too shabby.”

  “Glad you find it tolerable,” he says dryly.

  “That’s a fair way to put it,” I tease.

  He ruffles my hair. “I don’t mind you so much either.”

  “Good. Let’s keep each other around.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  A little later, we walk back up the sand toward our house, weaving our way past a volleyball net.

  A group of college guys, from the look of it, are smacking the ball around, shouting in Spanish. One of them serves the ball, but it rolls away.

  Jackson grabs it, lobs it back to them, and says something that I think is “Here you go” in that language.

  That gets the wheels in my mind turning.

  They turn some more that weekend.

  On Saturday afternoon, we head over to the ballpark for a Major League Baseball game.

  We go to a private suite, meeting Nadia, who’s friends with the woman who bought this team recently.

  Cruz joins us too, along with his wife and their two little girls. He takes them to a playground inside the park, telling us he’ll be back soon.

  As the players go through batting practice, Nadia introduces us to some of her friends, including a guy from the New York Comets, a major leaguer named Declan. His team’s not playing today, so he’s here to scope out the competition.

  I shake his hand, furrowing my brow. The tall, dark-haired dude looks familiar. I try to place him. “Don’t I know you?” I snap my fingers. “Wait. Weren’t you that guy who was all over that charity auction a few years ago in New York?”

  Declan laughs. “You follow the player charity auctions in New York?”

  “Yeah, Stone. Do you?” Jackson asks pointedly. “Or were you bidding on Declan? Wait. Don’t tell me. You lost out on the bidding?”

  I roll my eyes. “Please. One, I didn’t bid. Two, if I did, I wouldn’t have lost. I remember you because my publicist showed your pics to me. Candi thought it was cool when that guy in the three-piece suit won you, and she was hoping you’d become a couple. Guess she likes ships too. Did anything ever come of that?”

  Declan shakes his head. “We went on a date or two. That’s all. That’s about my speed.”

  “That’s always been your speed, Declan,” Jackson says with a laugh.

  I arch a brow at my hubs. “You two know each other?”

  “We have some friends in common. When he was dating a TV star a couple years back, before I worked for you, I provided coverage at some of their LA events. Don’t worry, babe. Just like you didn’t bid on Declan, I didn’t date him.”

  I pinch Jackson’s waist. His hard, firm waist. “Did you think I was about to be all jealous that you once dated this New York Comet?”

  Declan laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “Don’t put me in the middle of this marital spat, bros.”

  I clap Declan’s shoulder but look at Jackson, laughing. “No worries. We are all good. My man knows I only have eyes for him.”

  “Good answer,” my husband says. He smacks a possessive kiss on my cheek, then turns his focus back to the ballplayer. “You’re in town for your series with the Devils? Does that start tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, I’m just scouting these guys before our first game,” he says, waving toward the field. His expression shifts, and he clears his throat. “Listen, I keep wanting to tell you—you two are my heroes.”

  Jackson arches a brow. “We are?”

  Declan gestures from Jackson to me and back. “Yeah, getting married. That’s awesome.”

  “I thought you were into playing the field,” Jackson says.

  Declan laughs. “I’m plenty happy being single, thank you very much. I just mean, I love all that you’ve done. Posting about your life together online. It’s awesome. Every time I see two dudes getting married or two women getting married, it does something to my heart.” He taps his sternum. “For so long, we couldn’t.”

  I hold out a fist for knocking. “Times they are a-changing. But you’re not going to change your player stripes?”

  The pro baller glances at the field, holds his gaze for several long seconds on the guys on the diamond, then swings it back to us. “Nah. I’d have to meet someone really special again to change my stripes. And I don’t see that happening.”

  I key in on one word. “Again?”

  Declan quickly shakes his head, like he’s covering up a faux pas. “I just meant…it probably won’t happen.”

  “Hmm. Don’t be so sure about that. Happens to the best of us,” I say, briefly wondering if there’s someone on the field he’d want to meet again.

  “Maybe,” Declan says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

  When Nadia grabs him for a chat, I tug Jackson closer. “Wanna bet he falls hard when he least expects it?”

  Jackson smiles. “I bet it happens any day now.”

  Once the game starts, we turn our attention to the field. A few batters in, Cruz and his wife return with their girls, and Isabella makes a beeline for me.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about unicorns and horses,” she says.

  “Hit me up. What’s on your mind?”

  As we discuss manes and tails, I can’t stop the train of thought that started rolling on the beach the other day.

  The idea that maybe, just maybe, there’s even more out there for my guy and me.

  When we get home, I pour a glass of whiskey, lean against the kitchen counter, and dive into the deep end. “Do you ever want to have a kid?”

  Jackson lifts a brow. “Not the typical way, I assume?”

  “I mean one of the other ways, obviously.”

  He takes a beat, drawing a breath, giving weight to his answer. “I would love to.” His eyes are etched with vulnerability, but hope too. “Do you mean it?”

  This should be hard to do, talking about kids, a family.

  But it’s not at all. It’s remarkably easy. “I do. I kind of think we’d be awesome dads. Don’t you?”

  He swallows roughly, like a knot of emotion is tightening his throat.

  Jackson closes the rest of the distance between us, wraps his arms around my neck, and just nods with a soft, shuddery yes.

  Another year later . . .

  The plane touches down in Bogotá.

  We spend the first few days signing paperwork and meeting with the international adoption agency. Getting ready.

  The morning of our gotcha day, I pace our hotel room. I check the time. I bounce on my toes.

  “Ready?” Jackson asks.

  “I. Can’t. Wait.”

  We leave to meet our little girl.

  She’s eighteen months old, and her name is Sofia.

  When the woman who runs the orphanage puts her in my arms, my heart squeezes then grows ten times bigger. It glows like the sun in my chest. Instant love—that’s what I feel as I hold her, running a hand over her soft dark hair.

  I’m already wildly in love with her and with this family that we have. And I know I’m going to write all kinds of songs about her.

  I press a kiss to her perfect cheek. “Hey, sweetie pie. I’m your dad now. Want to meet your other dad?”

  My husband brushes his lips to her cheek too. “Love you already, baby girl,” he whispers. Then he says it to her in Spanish.

  Like this was all meant to be.

  Jackson

  One more year later

  It’s a long day, but a damn good one.

  We nabbed a new client, helped some of our trainees snag jobs, and also, my daughter has discovered crayons.

  Too bad she likes to draw on the walls, but we’re working on that.

  As the sun dips over the Pacific, I sink onto the couch on our balcony as Sofia works at the table on a chunky puzzle with animal shapes.

  “Giraffe!” She waggles the long-necked animal piece.

  “That’s right. That’s a giraffe,” I say.

  “What’s this one?” Stone asks, pointing to a lion.

  “Roar!” Sofia says.

  Stone catches my gaze. “She’s brilliant and beautiful.”

  I give an easy shrug. “She takes after me.”

  Sofia sets the lion in his home in the puzzle, then claps. “I did it.”

  “You sure did. Now give Daddy a hug,” Stone says, and she clambers into his lap and smacks her lips on his cheek.

  But she’s an equal opportunity kisser, stretching across to smooch me. “For you, Dad.”

  “Aww. I love your kisses, baby girl.”

  She gives me one more, then grabs a purple crayon and climbs back into Stone’s lap again, pretending to draw on his arm.

  “Are you giving me new ink now, Sofia?”

  “Hey, that’s better than drawing on the walls. Also, I bet Candi would love a shot of Sofia drawing on you,” I suggest.

  “Take it, J,” he says, tipping his chin toward his phone on the table.

  I grab it, turning on the camera to take a pic. I snap it and smile. “Too cute for words.”

  “Get one of all of us.”

  I inch closer, wrap an arm around the two people I love most in the world, then snap a picture.

  I show it to him.

  “That needs to go on my feed.”

  I regard the shot one more time. The three of us, living life. Loving hard. “It absolutely does.”

  Later, he’ll post it, let the world see what we have.

  What we have is beautiful and fierce. There is nothing one-time-only about our family.

  This is us, for all time.

  For always.

  THE END

  Author’s Note: This book was written in 2020, and the country of Colombia is among those that currently allow same-sex couples to adopt internationally. That’s why I chose that country for Jackson and Stone.

  Want to know Declan’s story? He has a sexy, passionate romance coming soon in Scoring With Him and you can preorder it everywhere! Read on for a snippet below…and sign up for my MM newsletter to be notified of new books with LGBTQ heroes!

  Have you read A GUY WALKS INTO MY BAR? That’s my sexy American hockey player meets a charming British bartender romance and I think you’ll love it! It’s my first MM romance! Grab it everywhere! And read on for a preview of SCORING WITH HIM below!

  Declan…

  A good thing about being a major league baseball player is that dates aren’t hard to come by.

  The pickings are plentiful, and I definitely enjoy the offerings that come my way.

  I’ve wined and dined TV stars, entertainment executives, a footballer from the Renegades, a rich-as-sin internet executive, a blues singer.

  Maybe that sounds like I’m bragging.

  Maybe I am, but reality is what it is.

  I’m picky, and I get to choose. The whole situation works out well for me. I date here and there, on my own time and dime. I keep most of it off social media and that works out just fine.

  I might like dudes, but I don’t post about it, or trot around San Francisco showing off my preference for dick.

  I’m not in the closet, but I am a private guy. This approach has served me well for the last three years in the major leagues.

  Especially since I follow one ironclad rule.

  Don’t date a baseball player.

  The corollary to that is don’t hook up with a baseball player.

  And the footnote is definitely don’t ever ogle one either.

  Which means it should go without saying—don’t date one on your own team.

  In fact, that goes without saying so much that I don’t even have to say it to myself.

  Because I’d never do it. That’s the height of foolishness.

  It’s been an easy enough guideline to follow. Like I said, there aren’t that many options on pro sports rosters, and there are tons of options outside of the ballpark.

  That’s where I like to play.

  But then one February, as spring training begins, a certain hotshot rookie walks into my locker room.

  Grant Fordham.

  The rising star.

  The guy you want behind the plate.

  The guy who’s everything I need to resist.

  Looks like my resolve is about to be put to the test.

  Grant…

  Not gonna lie.

  This is the moment I’ve been waiting for since I was four years old.

  Since I first picked up the well-worn baseball glove my father gave me. Since I threw a ball to him in the backyard. Since he tossed it back to me and I caught it on the first try and he said, “You’re going to be an all-star catcher someday.”

  He was right. That’s what I became. And I’ve worked my ass off ever since then to get the call to The Show.

  Years of practice.

  Early mornings.

  Late nights.