Shutout: Rules of the Game Book 2
Shutout: Epilogue

3ish years later…

Of my twenty-three years on this planet, this has got to be one of the most embarrassing moments I’ve had.

My hands tug at the denim, but it won’t budge. “Ugh!”

“What’s wrong, Tink?” Tyler walks around the corner, toweling off his wet hair. He’s wearing nothing but black boxer briefs, and even though we just showered together, his lean, toned body briefly distracts me from my predicament.

I’m standing in the middle of our walk-in closet trying to get dressed. Emphasis, trying. The jeans I’ve been living in for the past two months are suddenly several sizes too small. I got a little overzealous trying to force them up, and now they’re stuck halfway up my thighs.

That’s right. I’m trapped in my pants. It looks every bit as ridiculous as it sounds.

“Can you help me?” I gesture to myself. “I don’t want to lose my balance trying to get these off.”

It’s a valid concern given how clumsy I’ve been this pregnancy. Over the past few months, I’ve broken two phones, sprained my big toe, and spilled Chanel Rouge Noir nail polish all over our off-white carpet. I also shattered a glass yesterday when I turned around and knocked it off the counter with my belly.

A smile emerges across his lips and he sets aside his towel, walking over to me. He scoops me up effortlessly, carrying me to our bed. If he notices my weight gain, he doesn’t let on. He’s been amazing in a number of other ways during this journey, including holding my hair back through morning sickness, tolerating my weird cravings, and humoring my aversions—even when I had to ban coffee from the apartment for a month because the very smell of it made me sick.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “What would I have done if you weren’t home?”

He chuckles, gently lowering me to sit on the edge of the mattress. “We’ll get a chair for the closet.”

“I’m officially boycotting denim.”

“Also a valid solution.” Kneeling in front of me, he gently peels the jeans down my thighs and sets them next to me on the bed. He cups my belly, his warm palms molding around the curve. “You’re beautiful.”

I glance down at his hands resting on my bare stomach. They used to eclipse my bump, but my bump is rapidly catching up.

Pregnancy symptoms hit me early and haven’t subsided. Six months in, I have to pee constantly, I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep, chicken tastes weird, and now that I’m past the morning sickness stage, I have killer heartburn. According to the internet, that means our baby is going to have a full head of hair, but that’s little consolation when I have to sleep upright.

I might be a little cranky, too. Just a tad.

“I’m enormous.”

“You’re supposed to get bigger, Ser.” Tyler caresses the swell of my skin with his thumbs, planting a kiss above my navel. “I love your belly. That’s my baby in there.”

It’s hard to stay cranky when he says things like that.

He reaches past me and grabs the tub of mango belly butter off the nightstand, unscrewing the lid. I heave a sigh of relief as he rubs a dab into my skin, instantly relieving the dry, itchy skin that’s been plaguing me lately.

I run my fingers through his still-damp hair. “Thank you.”

“Always.” As he moves on to the other half of my belly, I scan the array of tattoos inked into his upper body, zeroing in on the Tinker Bell artfully blended into the rest of his sleeve. She’s been drawn to look like me. He got it when we were apart during my fourth year of college, and he picked the left side so it would be closer to his heart.

It’s even harder to stay cranky when I remember that.

My gaze travels lower, to the list of dates etched along his lower ribs on the same side. My birthday. The date we met. The date we moved in together permanently after I graduated. And a blank space below for all the milestones to come.

“I love you.” My chest pulls tight as tears spring to my eyes. I’m so lucky. I couldn’t have asked for a better life partner. We just got back from a babymoon in Greece, and I’m more in love with him than ever.

Welcome to pregnancy. It’s an emotional smorgasbord.

“I love you. Both of you.” He plants another kiss on the top of my belly, then one on my cheek. Pushing to stand, he offers me his hand to help me up. While not strictly necessary, it’s definitely appreciated. “Let’s finish getting dressed and go for a walk, wifey. Some fresh air will do you good.”

Though we might as well be married, technically we’re not engaged yet. It’s my fault; I said I didn’t want to plan a wedding in the midst of a pregnancy and a move. I regret it now because house hunting has been a total bust.

Heading back into the closet, I pick out a stretchy black maternity dress. There’s less chance I’ll get trapped in it later—but with the way my luck is going, it’s still a possibility.

The elevator brings us down to the ground floor, and we step out onto the street, greeted by warm spring air and the noise of New York City. I love it here; the cars, the noise, the chaos. Something about it makes me feel alive.

Tyler threads his fingers through mine, steering me on a now-familiar route through our neighborhood. We start near our favorite deli, pass the yoga studio I attend several days a week and approach the only drycleaners he trusts with his custom suits. On the far side of the block is Lily’s Ice Cream, which I’ve frequented an embarrassing number of times since we moved to the area.

Sadness glimmers within me as I steal a glance down the street. “I’m still bummed about losing that place.”

After months of searching, we finally found the perfect place a few weeks ago. A sprawling brownstone over twice the size of our current apartment. Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, tons of living space. I have an entire Pinterest board full of inspiration saved for it, including the exact shade of pink paint I want in my office, and the perfect white kitchen to recreate.

Sadly, it’s a seller’s market. By the time our broker submitted an offer, it was already pending. I was heartbroken. I still am. Hormones might be a factor in how hard I’m taking it. Tyler was disappointed, but not nearly as sad as me. I have the emotional resiliency of a toddler these days. I need naps and frequent snacks like one, too.

He squeezes my hand. “We’ll replace something soon, Tink. I promise.”

I guess it wasn’t perfect. The interior was dated. It needed some paint and renovations. Still, that knowledge is little consolation when the things that can’t be fixed—like the location and the bones of the place—were solid.

Panic looms in the back of my mind. “What are we going to do with the baby?” My nesting instincts have kicked into overdrive. We picked a small apartment knowing it would be temporary, and without a permanent place, I feel unsettled.

“We still have time. He’s not going to be here for a few more months.”

When we come to a halt at the corner, I turn away from the street in question, tugging Tyler with me.

“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s grab something from Lily’s.”

Tempting, but making it there requires passing by the brownstone.

“Maybe another time.”

“I’ll get triple chocolate and share with you,” he offers.

It’s a dirty trick. Triple chocolate is my second favorite, which means I can get strawberry cheesecake for myself and then eat half of his. The temptation is almost too much to refuse.

“Fine.” I can’t avoid this street forever. Much as I like to contribute to the local economy, it’s hard to justify ordering dessert delivery several times a week and guilt-tipping the courier $20 because it’s only two blocks away.

As we pass the row of brownstones that house the unit we lost, I make a point to look the other way. Tyler slows to a stop and steers me directly toward it.

“Let’s go look for a sec.”

“What?” I protest. “It’s not—we can’t. The other buyers got it. There’s been a sold sign out here for two weeks.” It’s gone now, so the new owners must be moving in soon.

He ignores my objection, gently steering me up the steps. Once we’re standing at the front door, he pulls a key from his pocket.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Instead of replying, he unlocks the door and motions for me to go first. I step inside, and all the air leaves my lungs. It’s even more beautiful than before. The walls have been freshly painted a creamy white and the hardwood floors gleam, newly refinished.

I look back and forth between the house and Tyler. “I’m confused.”

“The other sale fell through,” he tells me. “It’s ours.”

“Ours?” My throat tightens, and hot tears fill my eyes.

“The sale closed two weeks ago. Then I called in some favors and got a couple of trades in here to do the work so you wouldn’t have to worry about it. All we need to do is hire movers and we’ll be good to go. Your mom said she’d come help us get settled before the baby comes.”

“You’re kidding.” I blink back the moisture blurring my vision, threatening to overflow.

“Dead serious.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” I sob a laugh and throw my arms around him.

He squeezes me, being mindful of the belly. “You were so crushed the first time. I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I knew we’d get it for sure. There was a bit of a bidding war.”

“Bidding war?” I’m not sure I want to know the details. We can afford it, but the initial asking price involved a lot of zeroes.

I’m a sniffling mess as he leads me through the rooms one by one. All of the details are perfect, down to the hardware on the doors.

We step into the kitchen, which looks like a completely different house than before. Last time I was here, it was full of dark wood and even darker green tile. Now it’s bright and airy, filled with white cabinets, trimmed marble countertops, and accented by glossy tile backsplash. It’s so beautiful I’d live in the kitchen itself if given the change.

“You stalked my Pinterest, huh?” I ask Tyler.

He grins. “Every board. Come on, let’s go look at your office.”

Fingers intertwined with mine, he leads me upstairs, and we take the first bedroom on the left. It’s the smallest one, which frees up the remaining bedrooms for the rest of our eventual children—should we even stay in New York City that long. With his career, there’s no way to predict.

The office is equally amazing. A new coat of soft, warm pink adorns the walls, and a row of newly installed white built-in bookcases sits along one side. Once I throw in a desk, it’ll be exactly what I always wanted.

“Thank you.” I turn to Tyler and stand on my tiptoes to reach him, brushing my lips to his. “This is amazing. I love it. I love you.”

He hugs me and releases me, kneeling down as he does. At first I think he’s tying his shoe, but then I see him pull something out of his pocket.

Pregnancy brain has me a little slow to catch up, and it takes until I lay eyes on what he’s holding for me to put everything together. Between his thumb and finger is a massive cushion-cut pink diamond set on a thin rose-gold band. It’s stunning, and exactly what I would have picked.

“Question 1162,” he says. “Will you marry me?”

“Hades,” I whisper, choking back a sob. “Of course I will.”

I give him my left hand and he slips on the ring easily, evidently having sized it for my pregnant sausage fingers. Holding it out, I admire the way it sparkles in the light. Did I mention it’s massive?

Tyler stands and draws me to him, kissing me softly. “I love you.”

“I love you.” My tears start to overflow again. I’m overwhelmed in the best possible way. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

“I would do anything for you, Tink.”