“I doubt I’ll have an actual office,” Gale says wryly. “Even at ACCA, there was only the lounge for the coaches, and it was twice the size of NCC.”
“Does that mean no dirty workplace sex for me?” I gasp, pressing my hands to my chest. “Well, that’s it, then. I’m out.”
“We could always put a baby in her if she gets bored,” Lyot says, winking at Gale and then smirking up at me from beneath his inky lashes.
“Don’t you dare,” I cry. “No babies until I’m done with all the better things I want to do with my body.”
Gale’s scoffing chuckle dies in his throat, and his head whips around to stare at me.
“Until?” he says. “But you actuallywantone? Like, someday?” He sounds as terrified as I feel, but something fascinatedand darkly possessive lurks behind his eyes. I bite my lip and glance at Lyot. Who, having dropped the bomb, says nothing.
Lyot and I have talked about having kids before, back when we were younger. How he wanted them and I didn’t. I always told him it was because Jo was awesome and my parents were…not. And besides the obvious damper it would put on my career, I’m pretty sure I’d be a terrible mom. Monsters are notoriously selfish and have been known to eat their young.
But my monster has changed, evolved. She’s no longer a lean, hungry thing, clawing at the confines of my skin, hell-bent on devouring everything she touches. She’s…not tame, exactly, but sleek and satisfied. Her cage has become a playground—a territory of pain that, freely offered, nurtures rather than destroys.
And they’re both looking at me now, these gorgeous, adoring men who make me stronger than I ever dreamed I could be. Gale’s hair, grown out again, spills over the ridges of Lyot’s abs in his tight workout tee, and the sight of them is so tender and lovely, it’s hard to stay afraid.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to subject a kid to a mom like me,” I confess. “But you’ll both make amazing dads.Someday. Our kid will grow up feeling like the luckiest person in the whole world.”
“How do you know?” Gale asks. Lyot’s eyes shine.
“Because I know how you treat the people you love. Because I’m one of them, and that’s how I feel every day.”
Epilogue
Gale – Six months later
This party sucks. I give Gia about half an hour. When she was Duo Laurent’s prodigal daughter, people knew her name. Now she’s the center of her own fucking dynasty, and every new circus kid wants the chance to say they talked to her. She doesn’t hide from it now, though. Lyot and I lean against a wall in the corner of the main room and watch her hold court in all her glorious splendor.
We’ve been in Tilburg for over three weeks, and it’s the last night of the audition run for next year’s NCC hopefuls. I’ve been watching acts and acro tryouts and evaluating straps skills for two days. It’s a little overwhelming, having my opinion matter on a potentially life-changing level to a bunch of kids who aren’t that much younger than me.
The party is a tradition that the circus houses take turns throwing every year, and it’s generally avoided by the faculty. But as the newest and the youngest coach, Reggie encouraged me to “get to know the student population.” Ignoring my new boss’s suggestion didn’t seem like the best way to start the job. Especially when I’m trying to be taken seriously and tone down the cocky-asshole vibe.
Most of the students and candidates at the party recognize me from the auditions, or from my own orientation at the school over the last week. A lot of them know Lyot and me from our resumes or our socials, even if we’re not as famous as Gia. Some of them, however, seem to assume Lyot is another applicant and keep trying to drag him off for some drinking game in the kitchen, or worse, into a bedroom upstairs.
Mr. “Everyone wants to fuck me” has only gotten hotter in the last four years. And unlike Gia, with her aura of untouchability, our pretty boy is too goddamn approachable. I got spoiled on tour, where the cast and crew all knew who he belonged to. He keeps giving me these amused, knowing looks while I scowl and tell myself I can’t shove my tongue down his throat.
I’m a fucking role model now.
“Which one is the rope kid you were telling us about,” Lyot asks, taking a sip of his beer and scanning the crowd. “The one that reminded you of me?”
“He didn’t remind me of you,” I protest. Not really.
“He’s got Lyot’s rare talent of making the apparatus look like an extension of his body,” he teases, dropping his voice to a rasp that’s probably meant to sound like me but instead makes my dick sit up and take notice. He flashes me a smirk like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and I flip him off.
“He’s the tall one with the black hair and blue tips,” I tell him, gesturing with my chin. “Jericho something. Walsh, I think.”
Lyot follows my gaze.
“Pretty cute,” he observes, taking in the faded, ripped jeans and tight T-shirt.
“He’s a fucking child.” Nineteen, if I remember from his stat sheet.
“Hey, I’m only twenty-three. You’re the old man around here,Coach.”
“Don’t call me an old man.” I’ve been twenty-five for two months, for fuck’s sake. He gives me a sideways look.
“What about ‘daddy’?”
