"You two have planned out a lot of this already," Mom says. "I'm surprised."
“We’ve been talking about this since football season, when we realized that we were looking at this being long-term. So some of these plans have been around a while. It was just his proposal that kind of came up suddenly, although Duncan told me he wanted to ask me for weeks prior to when he did."
"What about the wedding?" Dad asks. "I mean, honeymoons, ceremonies, all that."
I shake my head. "We're going to do it in two stages. After Duncan graduates, we're going to go to Vegas, and yeah, I know that sounds trite, but it’s what we want. We're going to get married there, and then Duncan and I are going to go to Jacksonville to get settled in. He hasn't specifically picked out which house we're getting yet, but we're going to go down, pick something out, and then get to work. Duncan wants to get to the playoffs his rookie year, and I agree with him. Too many rookies with first-round picks show up thinking they don't have to put in the work. If he’s learned anything since he and I started his rehab the first time, it’s that he knows how to buckle down and work. We'll do our honeymoon later on—we’ll find the time.”
"Well, if you say so. Let's save the rest of this until dinner, why don't we? Tell us about your trip to Jacksonville. I know it's kind of related, but in your emails, you sounded like you had a ton of fun."
"I did. You two will love it when you visit. In fact, I think I made a new friend, a woman named Whitney."
Tres Amigos is a nice restaurant, and even Dad relaxes as the appetizers come to the table. "To Duncan and Carrie," Dad says, raising his bottle of Dos Equis for a toast. The rest of us, who aren't drinking for various reasons, lift our glasses. Mom doesn't like alcohol, Duncan's driving, and well, I’m pregnant, although Mom and Dad still don't know. "Duncan, I hope you realize how lucky you are."
“Trust me, I know," Duncan says. "Carrie is precious, and I’m a lucky man to be starting a family with her."
Mom, who sips at her iced tea, hums. "A family? That would be nice some day. I've sometimes thought about little grandchildren running around that I can dote on."
"Actually Mom, it's going to be sooner than you think," I say. “We didn’t want to throw everything at you at once. We wanted to save this for a time when you could absorb it, and maybe celebrate, but I'm . . . well, we're going to have a baby."
Dad drops his bottle of Dos Equis, which explodes on the tile floor of the restaurant. The waiter rushes over with a towel and offers to get him a new drink, but he waves him off. "Tea, please. I—I think I've had enough alcohol."
The waiter leaves, and Dad turns to Duncan, his eyes burning with intensity. "One question. Did you know about this before you asked Carrie to marry you?"
Duncan and I exchange looks, and he chuckles. "In a remarkable coincidence, Mr. Mittel, I bought the ring and was taking Carrie to dinner to propose when she told me."
Dad considers it, then nods. "Vince. Duncan, my name is Vince."
Dad stands up and comes around the table next to me. I stand, and moments later, we're hugging, before Mom and Duncan join us for a group hug. I'm in the middle of the three people whom I love the most in the world, and it's the best feeling in the world.
Epilogue
Duncan
"Happy anniversary, bro."
"Thanks," I say, clinking glasses of tea with Troy. "Thanks for having me and Carrie over for the barbecue."
Troy laughs as we sit on the back porch of his house. The late spring sun is low in the horizon, and we're both relaxing after a good day of off-season conditioning. The humidity is tough on me. Carrie and I have only been back in Jacksonville a week since her graduation, and after the California dryness, it takes a while. "Duncan, you live two blocks away. You, me and Carrie carpooled to work half the time last season. I think having you over the day after your first wedding anniversary is hardly out of the question."
"Still," I say, leaning back. "It was nice of you and Whit to cut your time in Silver Lake Falls short in order to come back here."
"Well, after Patricia's news, this summer's going to be pretty hectic. I thought you and I might just get our heads in the right zone before everything goes nuts. I mean, we've already had Carrie's graduation and your anniversary. Then what, you two go off on your honeymoon, and Cory and Patricia's wedding—all of this before training camp, by the way."
I smile and nod, sipping the tea. It's good, and Troy insists on the best quality. He doesn't knock me for the occasional beer, but since he's dry as a bone, I don't drink at all around him. It just isn't right to treat your friend that way. "Yeah, that's gotta be a brain buster, your new father-in-law being your high school teammate. We'll all be busy, though. But you stayed in good shape up there in Washington. At least, Carrie said so."
"Your wife is a taskmaster in the weight room." Troy laughs. "It's weird to be intimidated by a woman who's pushing you to work harder when she just had a baby six months ago. By the way, Whit's a bit jealous at how quickly Carrie bounced back to her pre-baby weight."
I snort. "Oh, like she has anything to worry about. I see the way you look at her. You need to be careful, or else you're going to be having child number three soon enough."
"That'd be nice," Troy says, and he means it, I can tell. "One kid for each bedroom . . . it'd be nice. Kind of completes the house.”
"It would, wouldn't it?"
We sit for a few more minutes, thinking our own thoughts. Carrie and Whitney are out. Whitney's got a line on some new artist she wants to work with, and Carrie's taking our daughter, Cammy, in for a checkup, giving Troy and I some guy time before we start the grill. Even Laurie and Travis are gone, off with their mother for a little while.
"So are you looking forward to next season?"
"Aren't you?" Troy asks with a grin. "We made the conference championship this year. I want to get back at Denver for that last-minute field goal. I missed the block by—man, I saw the tape a hundred times. I missed tipping that ball by less than an inch."
"I know. I keep going over that missed catch I had that led to the final punt. You know, the Pro Bowl and taking third in Rookie of the Year were nice, but I'd have liked that conference champion's ring, and of course, the Super Bowl.”
"It sounds strange to say it, but I think it'll happen," Troy says. "I mean, I know that every player says that, but with what we've got going here, the chances are good."
We hear two cars pull up out front, and Troy and I quickly finish our teas and get up, Troy opening up the grill and starting to scrub the grate while I go inside and get the steaks out of the fridge. The front door flies open, and Laurie comes tearing in, her little brother trying to keep up, but his soon to be two-year-old legs can't keep up with his sister, and Travis lags behind. "Hi, Duncan!" Laurie calls out as she streaks past, looking for her target. "Daddy!"
Troy puts down his grill brush and sweeps his daughter up and into a hug. She might be eight, but missing those five years, she still loves getting hugs and playing with her father, and Troy's a good one. Travis comes by, his little toddler legs working hard, and Troy sets Laurie down long enough to give his son a hug before going back to his work while they go off to play in the back yard.
The front door closes, and Whitney and Carrie come in, Cammy on Carrie's back in her sling and something between them. "What in the world did you get?"
"It's a landscape," Whitney says matter-of-factly, patting the huge brown paper-wrapped package. "The artist had it available, and I bought it for you guys."
"Whitney, you didn't need to," I say honestly. "I mean, you've got a great eye, and that piece in our living room is great, but . . . that thing's huge!"
"Oh, we'll find room for it after we get back from the Bahamas," Carrie says, coming over and giving me a kiss. "How are you doing?"
"I could use a rub-down," I tease, kissing her lips. "Even Troy was whining about what you put us through."
"Hey, thank Coach T. He helped me on the design. But we'll
see what we can do, especially if you return the favor."
Carrie turns, and I see that Cammy's fallen asleep on her mother's back, a content little smile on her face. I kiss my daughter's mostly still-bald head, and whisper in her ear, "Daddy loves you, my angel."
"So how was her doctor's appointment?"
"We're both doing fine," Carrie says, exchanging looks with Whitney, who chuckles and nods. "In fact, Whitney and I have some news for both of you. Troy?"
Troy, who's started the gas grill, closes the lid and comes to the door while Laurie and Travis play outside in their play area. "Yes, Carrie?"
Whitney looks at Carrie again, and I can see they've been planning something, sharing a secret. "Well, we wanted to tell you together. The visit to Dr. Lee's—we kind of both asked her to check us out as well."
"Is everything okay?" Troy asks, and Whitney nods. She goes over and puts her arms around Troy's neck, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.
"It's perfect. Actually, Troy, our summer just got a bit busier. Congratulations, Daddy. You have a third child on the way."
"No fu— no way!" I say, grinning. "You dog! Weren't we just talking about that?”
"Oh, don't celebrate too early," Carrie says, pulling me into a kiss. "Because Whitney's not the only one pregnant again."
Carrie's words hit my mind, and our kiss deepens, my heart swelling at her news. Troy coughs politely, and I realize that I'm cupping my wife's breast in the middle of his kitchen. "Sorry. Got carried away."
"Well, it's not like there's a problem with that." Whitney laughs. "Carrie and I both admitted we were feeling a bit strange while we were out, and so on a whim, we asked Dr. Lee to give us the tests."
I look at Troy, and he's just as happy as I am. "You know what this means, right, EC?"
EC is my personal nickname for Troy, since he keeps going on and on about emotional content. He's even got a t-shirt that he wears under his shoulder pads with that printed on it.
Troy looks back and nods. "Damn right. We're going to have to go all the way this year. Super Bowl champs."
I take Carrie's hand and kiss her knuckles. "With the right team around us, how can we fail?"
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Did you miss Gavin and Brianna’s story? Keep reading for a preview of their story, Anaconda!
Reckless
By Lauren Landish
I’d do anything for her . . . even give up my crown.
As the son of mob boss Don Carlo Bertoli, I’m considered the crown prince of the Bertoli Family, but it’s a title I’d rather earn than have it handed to me.
When Luisa Mendosa, the beautiful daughter of a rival mob boss shows up on my father’s doorstep, I know I shouldn’t be getting involved with her. But with long, honey blonde hair, a voluptuous body, and an ass that would make Sir Mix-A-Lot jealous, I can’t help myself.
Her father doesn’t approve of us, and when he learns she’s carrying my baby, all hell’s going to break loose — maybe even a war. But she’s worth it, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Luisa and my baby safe.
Chapter 1
Tomasso
From ten thousand feet, circling SeaTac in our landing pattern, I was disappointed in seeing Seattle again. I should have driven. Up there, it was too pristine, too clean, too . . . quiet. I'd spent the past four years, more or less, being quiet. I was ready to get back into the pulse of life.
Not that the quiet hadn't helped. Four years prior, when I was eighteen, the last thing I wanted to be was Tomasso Bertoli, heir-apparent of Carlo Bertoli, Godfather of all of Seattle and Tacoma. I wanted to be a normal guy, with normal dreams and the expectation that I wouldn't have to risk my life either by getting shot like my uncle, Johnny, or going to jail like my cousin, Vince. Spending ten years in jail worried about dropping the soap? No thanks. Not for me, even if I was protected.
So I took the opportunity to get the hell out of Seattle. In fact, I went country, although my family never really knew to what extent. Going by the name of Tom Bertoli, I couldn't hide my heritage, but I hid just about everything else. Gone were the suits, the designer clothes, and the slick looks that had gotten me plenty of attention and plenty of ass in high school. Instead, I'd worn off-the-shelf jeans and t-shirts. My Alfa Romeo was replaced with a Chevy, and I tried to act like a normal college student.
Well, a normal college student in most ways. I was about fifty miles from the Gulf Coast in Alabama, in a little town that was just outside Mobile, and I grew to appreciate a few things. Fried catfish, for one, dusted in corn flour and then deep fried. I had to work hard to keep the weight off during my first year in college. I'm not one of those skinny poof types—I took after my uncle Johnny and have loved the weights and the powerful look since about the first time I picked up a weight in the house gym. So as good as it was, I had to watch the Southern food.
But the second and best part about being in the South? Southern girls. Say what you want—there are lots of dirt poor areas—but the women are something else. Southern girls know how to treat their men right. They know how to talk, how to move, and how to be feminine in ways that the girls I knew in Seattle didn't. Some of them liked to put on a front about being good girls, but once you got past it, they were down to fuck like it was nobody's business. The hardest part was getting the snaps on their shorts undone.
But starting in my junior year, things just went weird for me. Maybe it was that I got bored. Classes were easy, and finding new challenges in the women department was getting harder and harder. I mean, I'd picked up a pretty good list of accomplishments, but it was just too easy, and I stopped wanting to be in the South any longer.
Whatever the reason, during my last semester in college, I felt an itch inside me, a desire to go back to Seattle. I'd left because I didn't want to be Tomasso Bertoli, crown prince of the Bertoli family, and I knew I still didn't . . . at least to a degree. I didn't want to be handed a position merely due to my last name. What I wanted was to earn my place, to work my way up. If I were to take over when my father was ready to retire, then I'd do it because I was ready to handle the position. If I couldn't, then I'd happily pass it on to Adriana or Daniel if they wanted it, or to my little brother, Angelo.
My thoughts raced in my mind as the Delta 737 circled SeaTac. The city was just too damn sleepy and sterile up in the air. I should have driven.
Thankfully, I was met at the gate by one of my favorite members of the Bertoli family, Pietro Marconi's son, Jake. Instead of going to college, Jake signed up for a three-year hitch with the Army, figuring that he'd pick up all the training he needed to become better at following in his father's footsteps by working a little bit for the government. He'd gotten out a few months before I graduated, and he looked healthy and happy. "Tommy, it's good to see you."
"Actually, Jake, you can call me Tomasso now," I said with a smile, exchanging brotherly hugs with my friend. "I think I got all the ‘Tommy’ out of me down South. You ever get to Alabama?"
"Can't say that I did," Jake replied. Unlike his father, who looked like he was Italian, Jake always had a bit of a California surfer vibe to him, but who knew where in his DNA the dark dirty-blond came from? His mother, Carla Marconi, had coal black hair like her husband. “The best I could manage was doing infantry school over at Fort Benning, Georgia. Then they stuck me in fucking Korea for the rest of the time."
"Which is probably why if I visited Korea right now, I'd find a ton of little half-Korean, half-Italian kids running around," I joked back. "Seoul's going to need a new Little Italy."
Jake laughed, patting me on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Tomasso. You seem different though—more serious than you were, a more focused look about you.”
"We can talk in the car. What did you drive?" I asked as Jake reached for my bag. "No, I got it."
Ja
ke's hand stopped a few inches from the handle. "Really?"
I nodded. "Really. Jake, before I left, I didn't want to be the prince. I still don't. I don't want that handed to me. So I'm going to earn it. That starts with little things like being able to carry my own bags."
He nodded, and I grabbed my suitcase and duffel bag, following him out to the parking lot. "As to your question, I figured you'd be looking for a good ride, so I brought the Cali."
The Ferrari California was one of my favorite cars in the lineup owned by my father, and I whistled as I saw the sleek lines and blue-gray paint job. "Still sexy as fuck," I said, holding my hand out. "Keys."
Jake chuckled and held them out. "I thought you said that you wanted to earn it."
"Hey, the car's still in my father's name," I said with a laugh. "Besides, I spent four years driving a Chevy. Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?" Jake said, tossing me the keys and climbing into the passenger seat.
"Tell me you have absolutely no country or southern hip-hop on the sound system. I think I've had my fill of that over the last couple of years,” I said, climbing into the driver's seat. I'd forgotten how ironically luxurious a firm foam seat felt. I'd gotten too used to soft foam that just mushed out like a fucking pillow under your ass. The Ferrari, though, grabbed your legs, ass and back and told you to sit the fuck down right here. The growl of the engine as I started it up sent a shot of adrenaline down my spine, and I grinned as I flipped the switch to retract the hardtop convertible roof.
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