The Trade (Coastal Rivals Book 1)
The Trade: Epilogue

Today’s the day. It’s my boyfriend’s first official NFL game.

I’m all geared up in my Bobcats jersey with West’s last name proudly displayed across the back. Last April, he was selected by the Bobcats as the nineteenth draft pick. We always knew he was a shoo-in for the first round, but Carolina was a toss-up until the very end.

Needless to say, my brother and I went absolutely feral when we heard the news.

Now, nearly four months later, I’m prepping for a trip to the stadium, yanking a few wayward curls from my ponytail. The two of us are running late again, as per usual. But just as soon as I pop that last flyaway into place, the front door of my apartment smacks open.

“Jesus Christ, Cam,” I chide, tossing a throw pillow directly at his head. “Did I not tell you to stop barging in here?”

Cam was given a key to our apartment last June, just on the off chance that I’d need his help checking in. With West constantly training and traveling, he wanted me to have a backup, a failsafe in case anything was to happen.

Honestly, he’s similar to my brother in that respect. Protective, cautious, and overbearing at times.

Sure, I’m often left alone in our city apartment, but I honestly crave the solitude when West’s away. It’s my time to breathe, relax, and rejuvenate from the busy lifestyle that we both lead. Besides, I’m mostly cooped up studying anyway.

My master’s in Sports Journalism is grueling work, and the Hussmann School is a full-time commitment.

“Yeah, well, this is an emergency,” Cam says, jutting out his chin. “We’re about to be late as fuck.”

I sigh, tucking my cell phone into my back pocket. My eyes dart to the clock above our stove, indicating that we are, indeed, about to be late as fuck.

“Sorry, I was trying to see if I could fit my lucky sweatshirt under this jersey, but it’s gonna be too fucking hot.”

“No shit. It’s still summer.” He gestures toward my open doorway with a wild flourish of his arm. My stomach’s in knots as we rush from the apartment together, practically running toward the back parking lot.

We both skid to a stop when I spot his familiar SUV. Cam’s parked sidelong in a space marked for WC & J Residence Only. I quirk a brow in his direction, hands flattened against my knees as I catch my breath.

“You know, there’s visitor parking here.”

“Just get in the damn car, Jennings.”

The ride to the stadium is a whirlwind of nerves and excitement, punctuated by Cam’s erratic driving and an unending stream of music blasting through the speakers. The nerves in my stomach tie themselves in knots, one over another, a tangible manifestation of the excitement I’ve been trying to keep at bay.

“I think your heart’s about to jump out of your damn chest,” Cam points out, a teasing lilt to his voice.

I let out a small laugh, my fingers unconsciously tracing the hemline of my jersey. “You’re not doing any better. Don’t even try to hide it.”

The retort earns me a smirk and an exaggerated eye roll. But all conversation stops as the stadium finally comes into view. The transition from nervous anticipation to pure, unabashed joy is almost surreal.

And now, it’s been hours since we parked and found our seats, hours since the initial excitement gave way to a colossal tidal wave of pride.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of West than I am in this moment.

Well, except for that time when he passed his English Lit course. Or when he graduated from Dayton with a degree in Social Sciences, subverting the low expectations he set for himself. But this is definitely a close third.

Both my boys are killing it on the field tonight. West is rushing the ball like his life depends on it, while Mica dominates the defensive line. At the end of the fourth quarter, West lines himself up, takes two steps toward the line of scrimmage, and throws a quick pass to their team’s tight end.

The completion lands him his first regular-season pass for a touchdown. The sounds of celebration are ear-piercing, nearly drowning out the announcer’s voice. “And that’s the game, folks. The Carolina Bobcats take home the win, with a score of—”

It’s complete chaos in the family box. Cam and I are losing our minds, cheering and screaming alongside the ear-piercing crowd. When I glance over, West’s mom, Aileen, has tears streaming down her face. I wrap my arms around her, embracing her small frame as she cries into my hair.

Aileen is not only one of the kindest women I know, but she’s also filled to the brim with adoration for her one and only son. Although my parents couldn’t make it to today’s game, they’re watching it live and incessantly texting us all in the group chat. I swear my phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since the start of the game.

Aileen tilts back, fingers braced around my body while she holds me at arm’s length. “I’m so proud of our boy,” she says, projecting her voice through quiet sniffles.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?”

She finally releases me, turning to embrace Cam with similar vigor. My eyes drift around the crowded box, latching onto the faces of dozens of team spouses and significant others.

They’re all cheering for their partners in equal measure. And although it’s endearing to see their smiles, there’s a pang in my chest at the thought of what’s missing.

I’m the only person here to represent my brother, for what feels like the hundredth time. No wife and no semblance of a girlfriend, not even the promise of one. Because Mica Jennings is still . . . himself. Jumping from girl to girl, partying after away games, and having his name plastered in the tabloids.

No plans for settling down anytime soon.

He says it doesn’t bother him, but I know, deep down, he wishes he had someone to come home to at the end of the day. I can see it every time he looks at West and me—happily in love and moving through the next chapters of our lives together.

And when we’re all around Shannon, he barely even glances in her direction. I know he doesn’t want to upset me, but we’ve all moved on except for him. It’s like he can’t even stand the sight of her now.

As for Shannon’s feelings on the matter, well, it’s clear she’s no longer impressed by my brother. She’s happily partnered up with someone else and has been for the last six months. Regardless, I wish Mica could find his own version of a happy ending, and sooner rather than later.

By the time the team filters into the box, I’m a giddy ball of anticipation. Player after player saunters through, each with a well-deserved swag to their step. They hug and kiss their partners, happily chattering away about the game.

And it’s not long before I catch West’s eye.

His face carries the brightest smile I’ve ever seen from him, gaze laser focused on mine. He takes a few long, purposeful strides toward me, pushing through the crowd with one mission in mind. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

It’s obvious from the look in his eye—West is about to kiss the shit out of me.

I pop up from my seat to meet him halfway, our lips crashing together. This isn’t just a game-winning kiss or a simple victory peck. It’s a pride-filled declaration of love for the person I can’t live without.

When he pulls back, his hands are still cupped around my face.

“You were incredible out there,” I murmur.

He kisses me again, this time a gentle press of his lips to my forehead. “God, I fucking love you,” he says.

I return the sentiment, nodding to his mother on my right. He takes a moment to collect himself, as if he just remembered that he’s in a room filled with his teammates and their family members. It’s not just the two of us here, existing in our own little world.

He embraces his mom, then his best friend, then it’s right back to me. “Where’s Ace?” I ask, eyes darting around the box.

“He said he’ll catch up with us later. He needed to have a word with his agent, I guess.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder, turning his attention to our company. “As for me, I think I need a quick detour to the restroom. I’m gonna have Jade walk with me if that’s cool?”

Cam playfully rolls his eyes, shooting us both a shit-eating grin. His mother, on the other hand, appears blissfully unaware. “Sure, honey, just don’t be gone too long,” she says, shaking her phone toward us. “I want to get some good pictures of all of us.”

“Of course, Mom.”

His fingers thread through mine, tugging me behind him as we bob and weave around the crowd. He guides me toward a private bathroom in the upper-level suites, single-minded and sure-footed. As soon as we’re shut inside together, his hands are glued to my hips.

“Sorry.” He ducks his head, murmuring the words against my neck. “I just needed a moment alone with you.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“That was incredible.” He shakes his head, damp hair tickling below my ears before he pulls back. “And you—fucking hell, you look so damn good in my jersey. Mica’s never gonna get to see you wearing his number again.”

“You know he’d kill both of us for that. I promised him I’d rotate.”

“Whatever.” His lips curve into a full-out grin. “I can’t even care about that right now. Just—I need to kiss you.”

He snakes a hand around the nape of my neck, tugging me closer as our lips meet.

“You did so great today,” I mumble against him. “When you made that final pass to Fischer, I almost lost my mind.”

“I know, right?” He moves to place soft kisses against my cheeks, my chin, my forehead. “That was fucking wild—my first touchdown pass in the League. I’m still so wired.”

“I bet you are. I know I am.” In fact, I doubt that I’ve ever felt more alive than I do in this moment. There’s nothing like watching the love of your life finally achieve his dreams. “I’m so proud of you, though.”

“Say that again,” he groans.

“I’m proud of you?”

“Yeah, that.” His head tilts back, a pleased smile on his face.

“Okay, well, I am.” I run my fingertips along his muscled arms, trailing up until I’m cupping the underside of his jaw. “Proud of you, that is. I also love you. So. Damn. Much.”

“I love you . . . and I need you.” His fingers slide up my neck, thumbs circling the soft spot under my ears. “Can I please fuck you?”

“Here?” I gasp his name, squirming as he shifts our hips together. “My brother, your mom, and your best friend are all out there waiting for us.”

His head dips as our lips brush. “I don’t see your point.”

“My point is—” Another gasp leaves me as his teeth nip at the shell of my ear. “—we can do this later. You know, when we head back to our apartment tonight.”

“Always so logical,” he grumbles.

“If I get on my knees, will that tide you over for a few hours?”

He pulls back, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I—you . . . Christ. Really?”

“Shh.” I press my index finger to his lips, trailing it down his chest as I drop to my knees. “Let me show you how proud I am of you. Just for a minute.”

My fingers make quick work on the fly of his pants, sliding inside to grasp the length of him. He’s painfully hard already. His cock sits heavy in the palm of my hand, warm and throbbing as I pump him over once. Twice. I pitch forward, lips primed to—

And then, there’s a pounding on the door, an unwelcome interruption to West’s game-winning prize.

“Get the fuck out here, you two!” The sound of Mica’s voice hits us like a cold bucket of water, dashing both our hopes for a little post-game fun.

“Shit,” West grumbles, hastily tucking himself back inside his pants, dick rapidly deflating at the thought of being caught by my brother.

“Give us a second,” I call back, voice dripping with irritation.

Mica pounds on the door again, three times before he finally relents. I listen for the sound of his footsteps trailing away. Then, with one tiny shred of regret, I finally get off my knees.

“I guess we should head back out there,” West mutters, a warm flush to his cheeks.

“I think that would be wise. Later, though, I promise.”

His laughter is warm, soft, a sweet melody that wraps around me like a familiar blanket. “You know, I can’t wait to come home to you . . . every day for the rest of my life.”

My heart clenches. “Pretty sure you have to ask me first.”

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head.” He gently flicks the end of my nose, a playful smile on his lips. “It’s coming.”

“I love you, Theo.”

“And I love you,” he promises with one final kiss to my crown. “More than anything.”

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