Page 147 of Raise Me Up

Glancing around the party, I wonder when it would be appropriate for us to slink off. Probably not until Hail and Z take their leave.

I can be patient. I have forever with my two men.

Eventually, the old Atonement crew wanders over. Always one to ruin a mood, Malek sprawls over Griff’s lap to get closer to us, a predatory jungle cat creeping on its prey.

“So, Liam. Let me get this straight. Ornotstraight.” A flash of sharp white teeth. “You’re fucking him, and he’s fucking her, and she’s fucking you?”

Griff jabs a hand into Malek’s ribs, and Malek curls up like a centipede.

“What? Everyone knows I have no filter,” Malek says.

“I wish you’d find one,” Hail complains, absentmindedly playing with his husband’s bowtie. Z’s smiles have come freely today. I notice his fingernails are painted the same shade of red as Hail’s dress shirt.

Relationship goals.

“My sex life isn’t up for discussion,” Liam replies.

“Yeah, asshole. Don’t ask people who they’re fucking.” Griff smacks Malek's head. Malek reaches a hand up to pinch at Griff’s nipple.

As soon as Hail ushers Z inside the hotel under the guise of resting up for their honeymoon flight out of DFW in the morning, the party starts to wind down.

Which meansournight can begin.

Liam slides a room key into Beau’s pocket, letting his hand linger there. “Room 708.”

He leans over to kiss the hollow behind my ear. “I’m the only one allowed to peel that dress off you, understood?”

I nod desperately as Beau takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go, sweetheart. Our boyfriend wants to play.”

Reaching out, Liam grips Beau by the tie and tugs him down close to his mouth. “You can kiss her. You can touch yourself, but you don’t get to come until I say so.”

With Beau’s tiny growl of frustration, he leads me away.

I glance back at Liam as he takes a seat at the bar for a glass of sweet tea, knowing he’s about to make us wait for him.

Thankfully, it won’t take years this time.

Epilogue

Beau

Five years later

Tiny feet patter on wood floors as I tug on a hoodie and lock up the music room and our bedroom. I leave Lilah’s pink bedroom—what used to be the spare bedroom—open in case she changes her mind about letting Felicity play with her toys.

It’s not that our daughter doesn’t like to share. It’s that she’s particularly concerned about the cleanliness of her space after the last time Felicity came to play.

I pause at the bottom of the townhouse stairs, waiting for the culprits of all the ruckus to appear on what has got to be their hundredth lap around the house.

A miniature Liam comes skidding around the corner into the hallway, her thick curtain of black hair swishing around her round face. Cosmo skitters after her and thuds into the wall, causing me to chuckle.

Warm brown flick to me. Immediately, they burn down to my soul, ravenous for secrets.

I would say it’s normal for all children to stare like that, but Lilah’s on another level. She’s the offspring of the metal god Liam Beckner, and I swear she was born with the idea that she was meant to protect me, too.

Daddy, you need to nap.

Daddy, you need to call your doctor.