“Anything for you . . . Coach.”

He pins me against the wall, his lips gently finding mine. It isn’t an erotic kiss, nor is it made for the church. It’s passionate and heavy, like he’s slowly memorizing every contour of my lips.

“You’re my girl, Milly. My Family. My everything,” he whispers.

My hands fall to his waist and I hold him tightly. “You’re the one and only man who’s ever owned my heart and held my hand. I love you, Carson.”

He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. “Come on, Coach, let’s go home.”

“Home?”

He nods. “You think I’m going to stay with Knox? No fucking way, not when my girl has an apartment I’ve had my bare ass all over.”

I chuckle. “Wow, way to ruin the romantic mood.”

“Ruin it? I just intensified it. We’re moving in together, Coach, whether you like it or not.”

He kisses me again and guides me out to the parking lot.

And honestly, I can’t deny how much I actually like the idea of Carson moving in.

I like it a lot. One of the things I love about this man so much is his faith in us. He told me last night he knew from the moment he watched my parents together that he wanted that with me. He saw how Mom and Dad loved openly and genuinely and craved to give me that.

They met with him early this morning and held him in hugs that I knew touched his heart. Healed the gaping wound the loss of his parents created. Mom had kept him in her heart the years he was gone. She’d had faith in him that he’d come back to me, to them, and that when he did, her arms would be open wide. They showed Carson forgiveness he didn’t expect, and told him that from this point forward, they considered him one of their sons. It was both moving and heartbreaking watching him cry. Watching him mourn. Watching him heal.

We talked about his parents after that and what his dad said about me, and I cried. I cried because my beautiful man had lost such incredible people far too early. Yet there was an expression of peace in his eyes rather than distraught agony, and that alone gave me joy.

My crazy, talented, sexy man was home. I felt whole again . . . and sore in places I had forgotten existed. Tomorrow will be our true test though. He might play with the big boys now, but I’m still me, and I refuse to let his beefcake muscles frighten me.

Back to the dugout, Stone. Time for some real training.

THE END