by Cara Dee
"Because carbs are delicious," she laughs.
"Carbohydrates are good for you." Lord, I won't allow her to go on any stupid trend diets that are more ridiculous than… Actually, nothing is more ridiculous. "There is such a thing as choosing the right carbs. You will not go without. That’s an order." I tap her nose. "Now, when was your last period?"
That snaps her mouth shut, and I can practically sense the wheels turning.
We haven't been actively trying for a baby yet, but we've been careless about her birth control in an "if it happens, it happens" sort of way. If I'm not mistaken, she even forgot to bring her pills to Sydney.
"Do you think…" she whispers, a hand going to her stomach.
I feel my gaze going gentler, the doctor mode—as she so eloquently put it—slipping away. "Only one way to find out." I stroke her cheek and dip down to kiss her. "I may have prepared for an event such as this one. You'll find a few tests in my study. Bottom drawer of my desk."
*
It's a visibly anxious Chelsea who returns to our bedroom a few minutes later. I'm keeping a lid on my own nervousness by cramming half a blueberry pancake into my mouth. Leaving the bed, I yank on a pair of sweat pants and walk her over to our bathroom where I open the cabinet under the two sinks.
"You're not staying, are you—"
"I most certainly am." I find a cup for her to pee in and hand it to her. "I don't understand why you'd be modest. You're not a stranger to bathroom control." A particular favorite of mine when I want to push her. Giving her a beating while she needs to go to the bathroom, then forcing her to orgasm right before she goes…? A delicious sight, when humiliation and shame dance with relief and ecstasy.
"That’s entirely different." She huffs and sits down on the toilet. "You don't give me a choice then."
My mouth twists up. I don't give her a choice now, either.
Once she's finished, I extend my hand expectantly, and she sighs heavily and hands over the cup. Tearing the foil around the pregnancy test, I retrieve the stick and count the seconds as it absorbs the sample.
My stomach tightens with nerves and hope.
"How do you feel, love?" I side-eye her while she turns off the water and dries her hands.
She releases a shaky breath and offers a small smile. "Anxious as hell." She pauses. "And maybe a bit miffed that you would notice before me."
I chuckle at that, and then I pull her close to kiss her forehead. "Good luck marrying a doctor."
"I think I'll live." She hugs my midsection tightly and rests the side of her head along my sternum. Like me, she's no doubt watching the test. "Is it too soon, Rio?"
"A little—might need a few more seconds."
She grins up at me. "I mean to have a baby."
Ah. I kiss her nose. "I sincerely hope you don't think so. Otherwise, it hasn't been very wise to go unprotected." I lift a brow pointedly.
"I'm asking you, bastard." She narrows her eyes at me. "Can't you recognize a woman being overwhelmed and needing reassurance?"
Of course I can. That's why I'm ignoring it. "Did you just call me a bastard?"
She notices her slip and widens her eyes. "Shit, double shit—I'm sorry, Owner."
"No, no, I understand. You're having one of your rare brat moments." I hide my amusement, knowing this is working far better than reassurance she doesn’t actually need. What she needs is a distraction, nothing else. "It's a good thing there are ways to deal with such behaviors. My little imp."
She pouts up at me. "You're cruel."
I laugh. Then I figure it's time. Clearing my throat, I push down the sudden burst of anxiousness and reach for the test.
The result is right there, and I'm filled with so much love and protectiveness that it nearly floors me. It's a head rush. My mouth goes dry, and no words come out.
"Rio…" she whispers, eyes glistening.
I dip down and kiss her deeply, acting on instinct when I pick her up and carry her back to our bed. Never did I believe I'd ever have this. Before meeting Chelsea, I knew contentment and resignation. My home was a much, much colder space. And now…now I'm starting a family with the love of my life.
"I love you, Master."
"I love you more." Hovering over her on the mattress, I press a lingering kiss to her forehead and let my hand roam down to her toned stomach. I am who I am, so my mind is already racing ahead to the next seven or so months. "Bloody hell, now I understand why Mark and Brayden have been so overprotective."
Chelsea lets out a teary laugh and slides a hand down to my ass. "Don't go completely vanilla on me."
Not a chance.
I smile and shake my head. "Not that there's anything remotely vanilla about locking you up in a padded cell until you go into labor, but…" I chuckle at her horrified squeak. "Get the clover clamps you hate so much. We have a lot to celebrate, little rebel."
Behind the Scenes
Touching Truth, Part V
Greg Cooper
"Do you really think you can convince them?" Mark asks.
Christ, I hope so. "If I present my case well enough—"
"Seriously, Greg. Drop the lawyer brain for one minute." He stops in the middle of the stairwell and peers back at me. "They love you. There's no need to act like you're on trial."
I throw him a quick glare, and he continues up the stairs toward his rooftop terrace.
"Are you going to tell me why you wanted me to come over?" I ask impatiently.
"Your current issue, actually." He pushes the door open, and we step out to a million-dollar view of the city. "It's now partly mine, too."
I'd enjoy the view more if it weren't so damn frigid out.
"How so?" I take in my surroundings, hoping Mark will utilize his terrace in a better way than this. They've built a deck, complete with a seating area under an arbor with thick vines and string lights. There's also a fire pit and a couple supply chests with potted plants on top. But that’s not even half the terrace. The rest is bare.
"I'm gonna level with you, Greg." Mark puts on a beanie before folding his arms over his chest. "I've met Ryan and Angel on numerous occasions now, and I seriously doubt you can convince them to go for a house in the suburbs. Sausalito, least of all. They're not fancy people, and they love the city too much."
I scowl. "We can't raise a family in a two-bedroom apartment above a goddamn bar, Mark."
There is no question; sexually and D/s-wise, I am a submissive masochist through and through, but outside of the bedroom and our dynamic, I'm still a man very protective and family-oriented. There is a degree of control I will never surrender, and I've been hoping for a relocation if our relationship allowed it. Now I've been humbled beyond belief because Ryan and Angel want everything with me. Everything. A family, sharing a home, the making of major decisions. That sort of everything. And it's kicked up my need to give us a better place for that. Abby is already a part of this, and soon, there will be two—yes, two—little boys with us. We're expecting twins. I won't apologize for seeing the urgency, though I must wonder why no one else does. Have people lost their fucking minds?
My brother gives me a dry look. "There are alternatives, dumbass."
"Such as?" I respond irritably.
He twists his upper body and nods at the vast space behind him. "Evangeline wants to turn the rest into a garden. In other words, she—we—wanna make it kid-friendly."
"Yes, and…?" Good for them. Their firstborn will be here any day now.
"We can't," he replies. "Thing is, we technically share this roof with the lady across from us, but she's like ninety years old. In the time I've lived in this building, she's never been up here."
I wave a hand, dismissive. "Everything can be settled with money in these matters, even if it would lower the value of her condo."
"She moved into a home last weekend." He quirks a wry smile. "What're the odds the new owners have no interest in being up here?"
Probably not good.
"You could always
contact the new owners and try—"
"You're missing the point, big brother." He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. "The condo hits the market soon. Plenty of good private schools in the area. It's in the city. Close to Ryan's bar…" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "And if we end up sharing this area with people who wants something similar, this could be a backyard by next summer."
Oh.
"Well, hell."
"It's a four-bedroom apartment, Greg."
I nod, thinking, or trying to—in fact, my mind is spinning a bit too quickly. Christ. "The prospect of this makes me strangely anxious and hopeful."
It's just very fucking new. The image is entirely different from the one I've had previously. A house in the suburbs is virtually all I've ever seen as an option. Yet, this…this could actually work. Ryan and Angel certainly would prefer a place in the city, and it would be closer to work for me, too. Then good schools, as Mark mentioned. A place for the kids to run around… I look over at the edges of the terrace, satisfied. The brick wall is at least at chest-level for me.
"Good, me too." Mark grins faintly. "So you'll talk to Ryan and Angel?"
I'll do more than that. I'll present my case like the good lawyer I am.
*
The following week, I ask Ryan and Angel to meet me outside of Mark's building when they get off work. I adjust my tie and check my phone, these days living with the constant reminder that more children will join us soon. Evangeline went into labor last night, and I'm waiting for updates from Mark.
Angel is next.
Moments later, Ryan's truck pulls up along the curb, and I walk over to help Angel out of the monstrous vehicle.
"Ugh." She kicks a leg out. That's progress. Now the rest of her body needs to follow. "I had this vision of running up to you and jumping into your arms. Then I remembered I'm carrying two twenty-pounders."
I chuckle, always sure I can't possibly love her more, always finding out I'm wrong.
Ryan snorts a chuckle. "Twenty-pounders might be overkill, love."
Either way, if the boys are anything like Ryan, Angel will be in severe pain when they want to come out. "Come here, sweetheart." I place my hands under her arms and lift her out. "There we go." I lift her chin and dip down for a soft kiss. "I missed you today."
"Mmm, missed you too." She smiles curiously. "So what're we doing here?"
"Right." I clear my throat and produce a set of keys. "I would like to show you something."
Ryan joins us on the sidewalk, and I need some confidence, so I grab his hand and weave our fingers together.
We take the elevator to the fourth and top floor. As we exit the elevator, Angel guesses we're here to see Mark, though she's visibly confused since she knows they're at the hospital.
"Actually, we're going this way." Across the hallway is the only other apartment on the floor, and I use the key I sweet-talked myself into getting from little Mrs. Goldman. To be fair, I had Mark's assistance. Thanks to him, we can see the condo before anyone else.
The place is spotless and completely empty, leaving burgundy walls I'd like to change and nice, old hardwood floors.
You can see where picture frames have hung on the walls.
"Oh, wow." Angel enters the living room and waddles over to the windows. We'd have a lovely view.
Ryan looks…less excited. Goddammit. Of course, I expected him to understand what's going on the second we walked in, but I had hopes he'd hear me out.
"How many bedrooms?" he asks quietly.
"Four." I become even more worried when he releases my hand. "There's more." I lose my nerve in a way I'd never do in a courtroom, and I lay down my arguments in a ramble while Angel continues from room to room. "We'd be sharing a rooftop terrace with my brother. Barbecue area, garden, you name it. It would be nice for the children."
"Greg—"
"No, please hear me out. Your apartment has become a fresh start for me, and I won't lie. I like the place very much, but you must admit it's too small. If we share the bedroom, that leaves only one room for three children, even if Abby might only be there for weekends here and there—"
"Greg." He gives me a stare that silences me swiftly. "I'm fully aware we have to move."
"Then…then what's the problem?" I ask, at a loss. "Mark reasoned with me, and I understand you want to stay in the city. To be perfectly honest, it has great appeal to me these days, as well. So this place should be perfect. It's even close to the bar."
He hasn't left the hallway. Could he not at the very least give it a shot and see the place?
His mouth twists. "If you don't see the issue here, you gotta be the very definition of privilege, baby."
My forehead creases. "If this is about money—"
"Of course it is!" he groans through an exasperated chuckle. "I'd be lucky if I could get a mortgage to cover half this place."
Sounds fairly accurate. Being a bartender might not sound fancy, but it's a bar and an apartment he owns in an extremely expensive neighborhood. That said, yes, this area is part of the kill zone. Realtors go above and beyond to make sales here. Or commission, rather.
"I could be ready to sign the papers in five minutes." I straighten and fold my arms over my chest for this part. It's imperative he understand. "I'm all for egalitarian relationship standards, but Ryan, we're equals even when you're my Owner. What we do in and out of our bedroom has nothing to do with our say in the relationship." I pause, and he cocks a brow at me, listening. That's all I can ask. "What I'm saying is, if I covered the condo—or most of it; I truly don’t care which—it wouldn’t make us any less equal. Good grief, you give Angel an allowance as part of your dynamic, yet she decides as much as you do. So if you meant every word when you told me you want us to share everything, then…what's mine is yours, too. You're not the only one who gets to share what you bring to the table." Which is an awful lot, in my opinion.
What he's already given me can't be measured in money, and that’s the truth.
"Well, aren't you a stubborn little shit," he mutters. "All right, come on." He drapes an arm around my shoulders. "I can't argue logic, so let's check out the joint and see what happens."
I smile in relief.
His own smile is indulgent as I show him the kitchen and explain the little things I see in our future. It's big enough for a table that seats six, there's even a walk-in pantry, something I know Angel will appreciate, good work surfaces, the kitchen island doesn’t make it feel crowded, we could replace the old fridge and freezer, and—
"I love you." Ryan leans against the doorway, hands in his pockets. "You're adorable when you get excited."
I chuckle self-consciously. This level of excitement is new to me. "I love you, too."
He nods toward the next room. "Should we tell our girl we have a new home?"
"But you haven't even seen—"
"Hey. Not that your anal retentiveness ain't cute, but I don’t need to see the rest." He grabs my hand as my thoughts take a nose dive at a certain word. Cannot be helped. Good grief, I'm going back to adolescence. Ryan gives my jaw a sharp nip. "Get your mind outta the gutter, boy."
And of course, he just knows. "You're essentially asking me to make my mind homeless."
He barks out a laugh.
Epilogue
The Winning Touch
Dylan Reaves
5:17 AM
Breathe in…
Breathe out.
"The other side, please," the volunteer requests.
I turn so she can apply the temporary tattoos on my left arm, too.
The buzz around me makes it impossible to think this is a hotel parking lot on a normal day. Now, the tent-covered lot is the check-in area for triathletes from around the world. Breathe in… Breathe out. I check the time and rub my neck. Dozens of messages from family and friends fill my inbox, though that'll have to wait. I gotta keep my head in the game. Instead, I recheck the weather reports and see if there are any alerts about the sea current
s.
The woman peels off the paper on my biceps, revealing my race number. "All done."
169.
It's my first Ironman World Championship. I'm getting those digits inked somewhere after this.
One year of therapy and Cade and Gabriella beating sense into me, then three years of hard training. I've shed blood, sweat, tears, and given up once or twice.
Breathe in…
Breathe out.
Leaving the busiest area, I make my way over to T1 to double-check my gear. The first Transition area is close to the pier, and because I'm blessed beyond words to have Cade and Gabby in my life, they insisted on buying VIP packages that give them pier access. For me, it means I can see them before the race starts, and I fucking need it.
They're waiting for me right where the pier begins, and I push down my fears and hug them over the wooden railing.
"You've got this." Gabriella squeezes me tightly. "I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, sis." It's basically all I can say. I'm too goddamn anxious. You can feel it in the air: it's battle day. All week has been crazy—a media circus with events, interviews, and meeting fans I barely knew I had. An eye-opener.
"Come here, little pan." Cade engulfs me in a warm hug, knowing I've struggled recently. "We're celebrating you tonight no matter what, and then tomorrow…" He lifts my chin, and I nod. I can't fucking wait. "You itching to let it all go?"
"So much." I smile weakly.
Being a professional athlete and keeping the schedule I do right before major events leaves little to no room for, well, being little. Just these past four months, Cade and I have come to Hawaii at least ten times so I could get used to the terrain and the climate. Not once have I come here as his little boy. It's the opposite mind-set of what I need when I race. But tomorrow, fucking finally, we're out of here. I have some interviews after breakfast, and then Cade, Gabby, and I are flying to one of the smaller islands for a week alone. Private beach, our own safe haven, lots of play.
That said…today matters more than I can say. This is my comeback. I qualified and earned myself good sponsors. Now I show the world what I'm made of.
*
