Tate shook her head. I heard her suck in a quick breath.
I took her hands, everything around us fading away, blurring as Tate's face came into sharp focus in my vision. The only face I wanted to see for the rest of my life. The woman I loved. My perfect match.
"Tate," I said, my voice low and quiet. "I would have told you two months ago that this was impossible. Illogical. Completely outside the realm of reason." I took a breath. "But I've come to realize I don't care about any of that. When you find the person who can take your whole being in their hands and really see you—the person who understands your faults and holds you close anyway—it doesn't matter what's logical or reasonable. All that matters is that you fit together, and we do.
"I've spent years thinking about finding the perfect match. I've been looking for as long as I can remember. And I really never thought I'd find you. And I definitely didn't think I'd find you the way I did—without an algorithm, without the math.
"I love you, Tate. I can't imagine my life without you. I don't want to. You are my match. Will you marry me?"
Tears were slipping down Tatum's cheeks, and she took in a shaky breath, her eyes shining as she looked into my eyes. "Yes," she said. "Yes, absolutely. Max, you're my match too."
I kissed her then, my chest warm and everything in me reaching for the woman I held, the woman I loved. After a few minutes, everything around us began to come back into focus, and I realized everyone was cheering and clapping. I stepped back, still holding Tate tucked into my side, laughing with relief and joy.
Trace had disappeared, but he came back now, striding out the wide open glass of his living room, carrying two hideously uncomfortable chairs made out of trees. "Let me be the first to present you with a wedding gift!" He put the chairs down in front of us and grinned. "I'll help you load these in your car when you go," he said, leaning in close. "You're not getting away without them. The couch will be along soon after. Congratulations."
I laughed. Even the most uncomfortable chairs known to man couldn't ruin the moment.
Tate and I were perfectly matched, and I was the happiest man alive.
Finale
Tallulah
I was loving this Mr. Match shit. It was the best idea I'd had in years.
The publicity had been awesome for the Stars—suddenly we had crowds at our games and some of the women had signed sponsorship deals in the last month. It'd been good for me too, though I still hadn't found my own match. I wasn't worried. I was unique, and I didn't want just anyone. But expanding Mr. Match nationwide meant I'd have access to the entire country full of single men, and somewhere in one of those fifty states was a guy just waiting for me. I could wait for him too.
But when Max called and asked me to run a couple profiles for him, I wasn't quite sure what to do—ethically, I mean.
"Okay," I said, after he’d told me he and Tate were engaged. "So why do you care now? You already promised to put a ring on it. Seems a little backward."
"I know," he said. "I just ... I feel like I have to know."
"What if you're not a match? Will it matter?"
"No. Definitely not."
"Hmmm. I don't know, Max." I thought about it. Max and Tate had a good thing. They were getting married. As much as I believed in the power of the algorithm, I wasn't totally sold on it being the final answer. "Tell you what. I'll run it, but I'm not going to tell you. And then some day, if you and Tate both want to know, you come to me together and I'll give you the answer."
"T, no, I don't—"
"It's not a good idea. You're fucking with things you don't understand."
"It's my math."
"Not the math, Max. Love is more than that. It's magic, and if it's working, you don't mess with it."
"Just tell me the answer." He sounded peeved, but I didn't care.
"You come to me together, and I'll tell you. Until then, just be in love, Max." I hung up.
This was the new age of Mr. Match. Sure, the math could make a match, but I believed if you found that certainty in your own heart, it didn't matter what the math had to say about it.
Mr. Match was reborn, and he had a softer touch now. A woman's touch.
I couldn't wait to make my first match!
THE END
Chapter 149
BONUS EPILOGUES!
Read on for FOUR bonus epilogues — one for each book!
SCORING THE KEEPER’S SISTER
BONUS EPILOGUE
Chapter 150
I Love Your Stuff
Fernando
The condo in Coronado, which had once felt cold and sparse, impersonal and empty, now felt … Well, let’s just say Erica has a surprising amount of stuff.
“What is this for?” I held up a small round glass ball. It was a tiny bit flat on one side. I gripped it like a baseball, considered how satisfying it would be to hurl it from the patio out toward the ocean. It had a decent amount of heft. I pantomimed the throw but didn’t release. Erica would kill me.
“What? What do you have?” Erica wandered toward me lazily, the T-shirt she’d slept in loose around the tops of her thighs and her hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She sipped from a cup of coffee, and I had a pang of happiness, a blooming jolt low in my gut. She was gorgeous. She was mine. She was—“Oh my God, Fernando, put that down!” She was angry.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s pretty and I like it and it was one of the first things Trace bought for me after he got signed, and …” she trailed off, her eyes dropping and a faint flush crawling up her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
I put down the little globe carefully, stepping toward her and taking the cup from her hand. I turned, setting it on the counter. “It’s okay, babe.” I stepped close to her, lifting her chin so that her eyes came up to meet mine. “I get it, it’s okay. This is all just new, that’s all.”
“It’s not that new. We’ve been married over a year. I’m just weird about stuff,” she said, her arms sliding around my waist as she looked up at me. “You know this about me.”
“Yeah, but we haven’t gotten all your stuff completely moved in until now. So this is new. And you’re weird about a lot of things,” I teased. That earned me a pinch on the side. “Ow.”
“I grew up without stuff of my own. When Trace got his contract … it changed both our lives in a lot of ways. I mean, I got a job too, of course.” The fire I adored relit in Erica’s eyes when she said this. She wasn’t a girl who wanted her way paved by other people, and it was one of the things I loved about her. “But it was a lot to get used to. The money that came with the Sharks,” she finished.
“I know. And if you want more stuff—”
‘It isn’t about the actual stuff. More about that time in our lives, what it was like to go from nothing to…” she looked around my condo with its high ceilings and wall of windows. “To a life like this.”
“Erica,” I told her, leaning forward so my forehead touched hers. “I love your stuff—all of it.”
Erica’s hand slipped off my back and landed on the generous swell of her belly. “Have you even looked in the nursery lately? Talk about stuff!”
A sense of happy satisfaction swelled in me and I chuckled. “The nursery makes me happy, so I look in there every single day. And baby Fuerte can have all the stuff he needs. He’s going to be the world’s first newborn soccer star. He’ll probably get signed straight out of the womb.”
Erica stepped back, picking up her mug again and settling on a stool at the counter. She wrinkled her nose at me. “You don’t even know if it’s a boy.” She sipped from the mug. “Gah. I hate decaf.”
“It’s a boy,” I assured her. “And you can have leaded again after perfect tiny Fuerte pops out with his golden foot and perfect coordination.”
“Or hers.” She lifted an eyebrow.
Whatever. I knew in my heart it was a boy, and I’d already indulged in more than my fair share of father-son soccer training fantasies. I pictured us out o
n the sand, running together, passing a ball between us, tackling each other and wrestling. I didn’t have a brother growing up, so there may have been a bit of a brother fantasy happening here too, but once tiny Fuerte got big enough, I knew he’d be strong enough to take me down and wrestle. I couldn’t wait.
“I think it’s a girl,” Erica said, breaking me out of my fantasy. “And so does your mother.”
“It’s just wishful thinking on Mom’s part,” I said. “When I was loud growing up she would tell me she had always wanted a little girl to wear a dress and sit quietly in the corner, coloring.”
“Like any daughter of mine is going to wear a dress or sit in the corner,” Erica said, looking indignant.
“You know what she meant. It’s not a literal desire.”
Erica looked over the counter at the clock on the oven. “Speaking of your mother, if we’re going to make Sunday brunch, we’d better go.”
“Mom had started hosting Sunday brunch after Erica had fallen asleep at the table at Mom’s usual Sunday dinner. Pregnancy made Erica even more feisty than usual, but it also made her sleepy. Very sleepy.
Erica put her cup back down and pushed herself to her feet with a sigh.
“Need help getting dressed?” I put a little suggestion in my voice. There was nothing I loved more than seeing my wife’s perfect body, and knowing the changes it had undergone were because she was growing my child (who for now I had nicknamed the Fuerte Flame — just a tiny little Fire) inside her.
“We definitely don’t have time for your brand of help.” She turned and began moving back toward the bedroom.
“You love my brand of help,” I called after her. But she was right. We didn’t have time for that.
I picked up the little glass globe again and smiled. My life was perfect.
Chapter 151
Tiny Player Alert
Erica
Brunch at Mama’s was no small affair. Her La Jolla condo practically swelled with all the Sharks players and their significant others, all sitting, standing, laughing, and drinking in every spare inch of space Mrs. Fuerte’s place had.
“When are we goin’ to meet this wee one?” Sophie asked me, pointing at my huge stomach. It stuck out in front of me like I was smuggling team balls in my dress. The two of us had found a spot on the couch as the Sharks all roared with laughter over something my ridiculous brother Trace was telling them in the kitchen.
I loved Sophie. I loved her sweet nature and her lilting accent. Since she’d made my wedding cake, we’d become great friends, and having her marry Hamish—my own personal favorite Shark, aside from my brother and Fuerte, of course—just made it perfect.
“Not for a while yet,” I said, wincing as a cramp rippled through me. “Though she’s giving me a bit of trouble today,” I admitted.
Sophie’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
I shook my head, pushing her concern away. “It’s fine. Just standard preggo discomfort.” It was my first pregnancy. I hadn’t really figured out what was standard, but I didn’t need anyone worrying about the little pangs I’d been feeling since getting out of bed this morning. And if normal people started worrying, Fuerte would go ballistic. “Little twinges as she shifts around in there, I guess. She’s big now—the doctor says she’s right on track.”
“And you’re due in two weeks?”
“Yep.” I pressed a hand into my side as another little twinge went through me.
Sophie was watching me intently. “Should I get Fernando?” She glanced to where the men were all still laughing and drinking, bumping shoulders and generally acting like overgrown fraternity brothers.
“Definitely not. He’s worse than his mother about freaking out. I’m fine.”
Magalie and Tatum stood in the kitchen with Fernando’s mother, and Cat was bustling around the table, pouring water as her fiancé, Xavier set silver in place.
Mrs. Fuerte came out of the kitchen, a casserole dish in her oven mitt-covered hands. She looked tiny next to all the huge men filling her house. “Brunch is ready,” she called, and conversation quieted. “Chilaquiles in this dish, eggs and bacon and sausage in the kitchen. And there’s fruit coming.” She set down the dish, and Fernando began bringing the other items to the table as we all sat. Soon, there was so much noise and conversation around the table, food passing constantly and drinks being poured, that I was able to just settle back into my chair and take a few deep breaths.
Something was definitely going on with me today. I wasn’t worried, but I’d tell Fernando on the way home, maybe spend the rest of the day in bed, letting things quiet down around me and inside me.
My brother was piling food on his plate like a man who’d recently been rescued from a desert island, and Fernando watched him from across the table. “There are no food challenges being issued here today, man.”
“I know that,” Trace said, his shoulders straightening.
Magalie laid a hand on his arm and leaned in, whispering something.
Trace shrugged, and turned to her. “I’m just hungry,” he said, glancing around.
“Let the boy eat,” Mrs. Fuerte said. “Let’s all eat. Erica, are you not hungry today?”
I wasn’t. In fact as I sat at the long table, surrounded by everyone I loved, I was starting to feel a tiny finger of fear work its way into my spine. “I’m okay,” I said, wishing I could make it true just by saying it.
My mother in law narrowed her eyes at me. “Mija, you come with me.” She stood and moved next to my chair, offering me an arm.
I’d found through experience that you didn’t argue with Fernando’s mom. About anything. I stood, taking her arm, though the idea of me leaning on the tiny woman was kind of comical. She led me to the spare bedroom and practically pushed me onto the bed. “What is wrong?” She asked. “The baby?”
I shook my head. “No, too early for that. I’m just really tired today. And I’m having these little—“ I laid a hand on the side of my belly just as one of the little pangs came, only this one was less little and more pain than pang. “Oh, sh—shoot,” I managed, reigning in my potty mouth for Fernando’s mom.
She shook her head and clucked. “You’re going to the hospital,” she told me. “‘Nando!” She called.
Fernando must’ve been worried when I’d left the table, because he appeared in the doorway in about two seconds flat. “What’s going on? Are you okay? The baby?” He was at my side in an instant.
I turned and let my feet fall to the floor again, determined to be fine. I pushed my weight onto my feet and felt a gush of liquid release from somewhere inside me. “I’m … oh God.”
“Did you just …?” Fernando looked down at the spot darkening the side of the bed and the little rug where my feet rested.
Another pain shot through me, and my fear and irritation morphed into anger. “I did not just pee myself, if that’s what you were about to ask.”
“‘Nando, take her to the hospital. The rest of us will follow.”
I shook my head. “It’s too early. Maybe if I just rest?”
“Your water broke. My grand baby is coming. I’m excited to meet her, but I don’t want to do it here. You need to go now.” She gave us each a stern look and laid a strong hand on Fernando’s shoulder. He was still kneeling at my side, staring up at me.
“Fernando,” I hissed. “We need to go.”
His eyes widened slightly, and then a huge smile lit up his face. “Baby time!” He said, and then he stood and whooped loudly, yelling it again. “Baby time!”
Oh God, this was going to be a long day.
Clearly baby time was the end of complete sentences.
My brother appeared in the doorway. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“We’re going to the hospital,” I said, a little worried that Trace would freak out. He was bigger, but I was older by a few minutes and I’d always taken care of things when we were little. I still worried about him.
“Let’s go,” he sai
d, moving to my side and helping me up off the bed. This seemed to snap Fernando into action, and soon I was settled in the seat of Fernando’s Tesla, a caravan of cars behind us as we made our way to the hospital.
Chapter 152
Look at my Face. MY FACE!
Fernando
I was more excited about being a dad than I had been about most things in my life. It was up there with marrying Erica.
My heart was pumping madly through every minute of the delivery process, and when the baby was finally close, not even the angry words my wife spewed at me or the fierce half-moon puncture wounds on my arms from her nails could lessen my joy.
“He’s almost here,” I told her, peering down at where the doctor was working. “I can see his hair.” The grin on my face was making my neck and jaw ache, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I was more pumped up than I ever had been during the Cup tournament the previous year.
My baby was coming. This was the definition of winning.
“Would you stop the maniacal grinning?” Erica hissed, digging her nails into a new spot on my arm.
“I can’t help it,” I told her.
She had a few seconds to roll her eyes before the doctor was telling her to push again, and I looked down to see the tiny head emerge.
“That’s amazing,” I heard myself say on a breath. “And horrific.” I’d never look at my wife quite the same way again.
“Don’t look down there!” Erica shrieked. “You stay up here!” She pointed to her face, and then dug her nails into me harder, letting out a high-pitched moan as the doctor called out, “It’s a girl!”
Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 80