No one in the box had any trouble understanding.
J.J.’s parents were there. They’d taken Indy into their hearts, convinced of the love she gave to their biological son and the two sons of their hearts. The four of them had gone there, to Nebraska, first thing, after those two months had passed and Indy really couldn’t say no to any of it—to talking about marrying them or to actually doing it.
They’d gone to the farm and, sitting around that big, welcoming kitchen table, J.J. had explained how he loved the same woman that Sigge and Tyler loved, too. The Jacksons’ hearts were just too big and open, and they loved their son too much, for them to do anything but give their approval. So they’d held the wedding there, in a field of spring wildflowers. Indy was magnificent in a white dress that fitted her closely with lace from breasts to waist and then flared out with acres more lace ending a bit below her knees. She was unbelievably gorgeous, and Sigge was sure his eyes were glowing with appreciation and love just as J.J. and Tyler’s were, while they all waited for her to walk to them.
He was sure he was seeing the same expression in her eyes. Apparently, the three men looked all right in their tuxes.
They’d designed the ceremony to reflect what it was, a commitment made between three men and their woman. They’d taken care of the legal deal separately. The state of Nebraska recognized a marriage between Indy and J.J. They’d gone that way first, thinking it would be easier for the senior Jacksons.
They’d made the same decision, with the same reasoning, for their first child, too. Ife, an African word for love, was J.J.’s, and that hadn’t been an accident. She had J.J.’s pretty, brown eyes—absolutely irresistible on her—and his brown, coiled hair in braids and beads. She was a charmer, and it wasn’t only the Jacksons who’d fallen for her.
Tyler’s parents were in the box, too. They weren’t nearly as openhearted as the Jacksons, but Sig figured they were doing their best. Ife was a friendly sort and would toddle up to anyone who had a smile for her. He’d seen both the Lawrences pick her up for a cuddle.
Sig’s aunt and uncle weren’t really able to embrace an “alternate lifestyle”—that was how his aunt had stiffly phrased it. But his mom and intrepid mormor had come over for Sig’s second Super Bowl, when Indy had been obviously pregnant with Ife. Sig had sat with them and explained the situation, because there was no way Ife was going to pass as his child.
They’d gotten over it though, came back the next year, and fell to Ife’s charms just like they all had.
Now, Indy was pregnant with Sigge’s child. They’d made sure of that, too. They’d wanted each child born into a legal marriage between Indy and the bio dad. So a year ago, they’d quietly dissolved J.J. and Indy’s marriage and formed a new one for her with Sig. If all went as planned, they’d do it again in another couple years for Tyler.
They were all fathers to Ife and they would be to this next one, too, and the one after that. But Sigge understood now the looks he’d seen on J.J.’s face back when Indy was pregnant with Ife. Nothing compared to seeing sleek, fit Indy grow the bump that signified his child. Whenever he was close enough, like now, with his arm around her, inevitably he’d end up touching her, his hand on the bump. His baby had a potential future as a kicker.
Indy was due in four more weeks—the midwife had just barely given her blessing for her to travel to the game—so the bump was larger now than even his big hand could contain. No one expected her to produce anything smaller than nine pounds. That’s what Ife had been, even coming a polite week early.
Indy had taken to labor like the athlete she was, doing the wickedly hard work of it in her matter-of-fact way. They’d been at his house in Denver—their house now, additions having been built to accommodate all of them and their growing family. The three guys, a midwife, and a labor nurse had been there to support Indy and welcome little Ife.
Denver would be their center now, though they still had the cabin and spent time there every chance they got. Sigge had hung up his cleats last year. He’d taken a year off but had landed a job now as assistant coach for the next season. He planned on becoming the head defensive coach a couple years down the road when his old coach and mentor had taught him everything he could and settled into his own retirement.
This season would be it for Tyler and J.J., too. And it was a hell of a way for them to go out—head-to-head in the Super Bowl. Despite the odds-makers, Sigge expected J.J.’s team to win, which would be a good thing, as that one wanted it bad. Like Sig, Ty already had two rings, and Sig would never hear the end of it if Ty ended his career with a third one. J.J. was due, anyway, and deserved it as much as any man did.
J.J. was going into sports management and was already agent to three Cornhuskers who’d led their team to one of the best college bowl games ever played.
Tyler was threatening to become a ski bum and live off his buddies and Indy’s royalties, but Sig had seen his application to grad school. Apparently, there were still some unanswered math questions.
Sigge didn’t care one way or the other. They’d manage it all—their polyamorous relationship that had given them nothing but pleasure to date, the parenting, the shared household. He’d already arranged for staff to clean and cook, because they all had better stuff to do. Indy’s fans had noticed her productivity had fallen off since Ife, and he didn’t expect that to get better with this next one on the way.
Well, truth be told, it wasn’t just babies who placed demands on Indy. Keeping three men happy—and she did—took a bit of her time, too.
On the field, J.J. made a crucial block that broke up the rush and gave the QB time to find his target downfield. That put the team into field goal range, but only a TD would win the game for them. Indy moaned and clasped her hands against her lips. Probably she was going to hold her breath until the team came up with six points.
No surprise, they set up for a pass play. The defense was expecting it and had every man in the end zone covered. The QB feinted a couple times, and then, astonishing probably everyone in the stadium except for Indy, he handed the ball to the man at his side—J.J.
J.J. was a big, determined guy. He wasn’t stopped easily, ever. And when the goal line was just twelve yards away, and a Super Bowl win was on the line, he wouldn’t be stopped at all. He’d carry three defenders with him, if he had to, to make those yards.
That was just about what he did, too. Stumbling the last three steps, breaking one man’s grip on his ankle, and spinning to throw off the momentum from the last safety’s tackle attempt, he tumbled into the end zone.
As J.J. was surrounded by joyful teammates, Indy jumped up and down in jubilation. She didn’t seem to notice much when Sigge wrapped her up in his arms. It made him sweat a bit, that kind of activity in a woman that far pregnant. His woman. Pregnant with his baby.
Indy finally paid attention. She looked up at him and smiled, those blue eyes just a few inches below his. Their gazes held, and he was sure she knew what he was thinking.
He leaned in and kissed her, more in love with her than he’d ever been.
That seemed to be the way of it. Each day, each month, each year brought them all closer. Bound her more firmly into their hearts—his two friends’ and his. There appeared to be no limits, no end to the love they had for her, and she for them.
He held her in the air a bit before he set her back down. He had one hand on her lower back, and the other was on her belly again. “Happy now?” he asked, grinning at her pleasure.
“I was happy before,” she said. “As happy as I could imagine being.”
He understood where she was going—along the very same line of thinking as his.
They spoke the next words together, as one. “But every day it’s more.”
THE END
WWW.RACHELBILLINGS.WEEBLY.COM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Billings takes her pen name from her hometown. She lives in Western New York now, where she works, writes, and gardens. But she still misses th
e Big Sky.
She comes from farmers and likes to dig in the dirt and then sit back and watch things grow. She takes a similar approach to the raising of her three children. Her husband, being a scientist, takes a more methodical approach.
Rachel started writing stories in her head when she was five. They featured spunky girls who performed heroic acts while looking great and earning the admiration of attractive males. She knows when to stick with a good concept.
In her day job (which happens to be a night job, too), she works to help women have stronger, healthier, happier lives. In her writing, she hopes to entertain and maybe even enrich women’s lives through romantic and erotic fiction. She does consider her work to be fantasy and realizes that some events described may not be physically possible. Not all things should be tried at home.
She has learned that love has power and believes that when two (or four) people love each other, many things are possible. Happiness. Growth. Enlightenment.
For all titles by Rachel Billings, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/rachel-billings
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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