Play with the Phantom: Epilogue

Ari

Six Months LaterThe first time I read the email, I think I imagined it.The second time, I blink twice at the email, then reread it ten more times.The third time, I scream loud enough to startle Maddox, who crashes in from the kitchen in nothing but boxers and a “World’s Okayest Ex-Con” apron, eyes wild and spatula raised like he’s about to fight someone.“What’s wrong?” he asks, scanning the room.“I got a book deal!” I scream back, holding my phone in the air.He blinks. “A book deal?”“I got a book deal on my fan fiction story!”Maddox lowers the spatula slowly. “The bone collector one?”I nod, still breathless. “Yes!”The original dark romantic fantasy, loosely based on meets ,had been blowing up on the fanfic sites, but never in my wildest dreams did I think an actual would pick it up.The Nightmare Before Christmas Beauty and the Beastpublisher Maddox’s face splits into a grin so wide it knocks the air out of me. “Holy shit, angel.” And then he crosses the room in three long strides, drops the spatula, grabs my waist, lifts me into the air, and spins me around until I’m breathless for an entirely different reason.The email had been clear. A boutique romance imprint attached to a major publisher saw my viral fan fiction, , and wanted to adapt it into a full-length novel. I’ll keep the rights, the IP, and get a sweet little advance that makes quitting my CPA job actually, terrifyingly real. It’s been something I’ve been toying with over the last couple of months, because as much as I love my clients, writing my monster smut makes me so gloriously happy that I’ve realized over the last year that I would maybe like to do it full-time.Monstrously YoursAnd now… I can.Plus, Maddox proofreads all of my weekly chapters, and he’s been encouraging me to take more time to write.“Holy shit, Ari,” Maddox says, reading the email over my shoulder. “This is a big deal. I’m so proud of you.”“Thank you.”He tucks his face into my neck, arms tightening around me like he might never let go. “You did this. All on your own.”I laugh, blinking back sudden tears. “You helped.”“I just sat next to you while you spiraled about plot holes and questioned if anyone would care about a brooding graveyard warden who eats bones for power but falls in love with a candlelit librarian. You did everything else.”“You loved it,” I whisper, teasing.He lifts his head, smirking. “I jerked off to it.”“Maddox!”“What?” he shrugs, completely unrepentant. “Chapter sixteen was filthy, and you know it.”I cover my face with my hands, groaning into my palms. “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d smother you with that apron.”“Mm.” He leans down, brushing a kiss just beneath my ear. “I’d love for you to smother me with something else.”“I’m sure you would.”I laugh softly, still breathless, still stunned by the email, the spinning warmth of it all. But then his voice drops a little lower.“So does this mean you’re going to say yes today?”I freeze—not in panic, but in surprise. Not because I don’t know what he means. But because I do.It’s not the first time he’s asked. Not formally. Not down on one knee. But in passing, in bed, in the small, quiet moments when we’re half asleep or watching reruns of crime documentaries while eating cereal straight from the box. He asks me to marry him with that teasing glint in his eye, like it’s a joke. Like he’s testing the weight of the words.And I always laugh. I always deflect. I say “Not yet” or “Ask me when I’m wearing real pants,” and he always lets it go. Because he knows I needed time.But now?Now, everything feels different.I can our future—me writing in this house where he lives with me now. Him working at the desk next to me, like he does now, and taking lunchtime walks around my neighborhood to get out of the house and enjoy our quiet life. Maybe a cat or a dog, and one day, a baby. Double dates with Frankie and Dante, now that Dante has decided Maddox is worthy of me.see I couldn’t see it right away. I needed time.But now?He feels like the exact right decision.I look up at him, his strong arms wrapped around me, his smile still soft from the excitement of good news. This man—this obsessive, beautiful, dangerous man—loves me better than anyone ever has. Better than I’ve ever let anyone try.myAnd maybe I’ll never tell him outright that today, , feels like a beginning. Like a shift I didn’t see coming.thisBut I lean in and kiss him once—deep and certain—and when I pull back, I whisper, “Ask me again. .”OfficiallyHis answering smile? It’s slow and devastating and absolutely . He sets me down on the couch gently, then backs up. My stomach flips when he disappears around the corner of the kitchen, only to return with something behind his back.knowingMy nerves are shot, and I feel my eyes begin to water before he even gets close to me. And when he does, he holds a tiny, heart-shaped box in front of me, dropping to one knee.The box is plastic. Glittery pink. With the faintly retro glimmer of something that makes my heart squeeze and a sob escape from my mouth.“Is that a… Polly Pocket?”He grins wider. “Custom-made.”“Maddox.”“I wanted something special. Just for you. Frankie told me this was the best idea I’d ever had.”“You asked Frankie?”He nods. “And Dante. They approve, by the way.”I half laugh, half cry at the audacity of this man.He pops the box open. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a ring. A simple gold band with a dark aquamarine stone in the center, carved into the shape of a flower. A… It’s stunning. Bold and uniquely beautiful.forget-me-not. Just like him.Just like us.“I wanted to get you something that reminded me of you. Something unexpected.” His voice drops, and I can hear the tremble under the confidence now. “You’ve changed my entire world, Ari. You made this house my home. You my home. You made me believe I could be more than what I came from, or where I’ve been. That I could have a future instead of a sentence. That…” I swear I see the hint of tears in his bright blue eyes. “That I could have a second chance at love.”became I blink rapidly, trying to hold it together. He swallows, then takes my hand.“I want to be your biggest fan. Your loudest hype man. Your forever partner. The one who’s always watching out for you, and making sure you’re happy. And most of all… I want to be your husband.” A breath. “Will you marry me?”I don’t even try to stop the tears. I throw my arms around his neck, knocking the Polly Pocket out of his hand in the process.“Yes,” I whisper into his skin. “Yes. You maniac. Yes.”He laughs, that low, delicious sound that always melts something deep inside me, and lifts me off the ground again, spinning us both.The ring slides perfectly onto my finger.It’s not traditional. It’s nothing like I expected.But I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything more—I don’t think I’ve ever loved more.anyone MaddoxSeven Months LaterMy mornings look different now.No more hustling through federal-grade firewalls, no more burner phones, no more black ops consulting for men who never signed their names. I still take jobs, sure—small ones, clean ones. The kind where I get to work from the office we share while Ari writes her monster fuckery next to me with her little glasses on and my hoodie swallowing her frame.But the truth is, I’m building an exit plan. A clean one. Because I’ve had the high-stakes life already, and none of it compares to this.To .herShe’s almost six months pregnant now, and the sight of her padded in softness—round belly, glowing skin, that slightly unsteady way she moves through the house—undoes me daily.I’m going to be a father. Again.Only this time, I’m not deployed across the world. This time, I get to wake up beside Ari and put my hand on her stomach and feel my son kick. I get to cook breakfast, fold tiny laundry, and kiss her until she moans into my mouth like she used to when all of this was still unspoken.I’m ready to be a stay-at-home dad. Ready to take care of our son so she can chase down her writing dreams—turn fan fiction into a career, write werewolf kings and tentacle lovers and monster soulmates while I wash bottles and keep them both happy and fed.Now that I have a glimpse of this life, I’d burn the world down just to keep it—with Ari’s swollen belly and our son comfortably existing inside of her.And today? Today’s not special. It’s not an anniversary or a big milestone. It’s just us. Quiet. Comfortable. .HomeBut I can’t stop looking at her.She’s wearing one of my old t-shirts, threadbare and tight over her growing belly, and humming something under her breath as she wipes down the kitchen counter. Her hair’s loose, dark and wavy as it hangs down her back. Her skin glows in the low light. Her ring catches on the edge of the counter, and she turns, smiling at me like it’s the easiest thing in the world.My wife.A shotgun wedding three months ago, before she started showing, and now I get to call her my fucking wife.And just like that, I’m gone.I cross the room before she even realizes what I’m doing and lift her into my arms.“Maddox,” she breathes, startled but smiling, her hands flying to my shoulders. “What are you doing?”I don’t answer. Just carry her straight to the bedroom and set her down just inside the doorway like she’s made of spun glass.But my eyes?They’re starving.She sees it immediately. Her smile softens, but her body goes still.“Maddox…” she murmurs, eyes searching mine.I drop to my knees.“I need you to understand,” I say roughly, my hands already sliding beneath the hem of her shirt. “I need you to understand what you mean to me.”She swallows. “I do.”“No,” I rasp. “I don’t think you do.”She starts to speak, but I’m already pushing her shirt up, already kissing my way up the inside of her thighs.“No one,” I say, mouth against her soft skin. “No fucking one—has ever made me feel the way you do.”Her breath hitches.“You’ve always been mine,” I murmur. “But now?” I place a kiss on her belly as I look up at her. “Now you’re both mine. Forever.”She’s panting already when my tongue moves down between her legs. One lick, slow and reverent, and she’s trembling. She’s so sensitive, so swollen, that she comes in mere seconds now.It’s one of my favorite things about her being pregnant.“I’m going to worship you now. And you’re going to let me.”Her knees go soft, and I catch her easily, tossing her leg over my shoulder. My fingers dig into the backs of her thighs as I bury my mouth between them, licking and sucking her engorged nub like a man possessed, letting my tongue pierce into her wet cunt as she cries out.And she tastes like everything I’ve ever fucking wanted.Minutes pass like hours.Her head lolls back against the wall. Her voice is hoarse from moaning. My scruff and chin are coated with her arousal, and my cock is aching—leaking—but I don’t stop. I keep her right on the edge—circling, kissing, murmuring filth into her skin.“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”“Good girl. Fuck, you’re so perfect like this.”“Open for me. Just like that. Let me taste what’s mine.”When she comes for the fifth time, it’s with a desperate sob. Her whole body seizes in my hands, and I hold her through it, groaning into her like I might die from the feel of her falling apart again.But I’m not done.I lift her—gently, carefully—and carry her to the bed. I lay her down like she’s priceless, because she is. I peel off that old t-shirt, trace every curve, every mark our son has left behind on her body, and I strip down beside her.“I thought I wanted to bend you over and fuck you like a madman,” I admit, voice low, peeling off my shirt.“But now?” she whispers, lips parted, eyes shining.I crawl up her body like I own it.“Now, I just want to feel every inch of you. Slow. Deep. If I could, I’d fuck another baby into you right this very second, letting my cum take root inside of you again.” I groan, kissing her. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, angel.”I nudge her legs apart and press the tip of my cock against her slick, swollen heat. She’s already panting, already ready, already mine.When I push in, slow and steady, she gasps and arches off the bed.“Oh my god, yes—Maddox⁠—”I don’t rush.I don’t pound.I move like I’m etching her into my bones, because I am.One hand cradles her jaw, the other rests splayed across her belly. Something primal pulses through me, just like it does every time I see her swollen belly.I did that.Me. “If you weren’t already knocked up,” I growl, “I’d be coming inside you so hard you wouldn’t stop dripping for days.”She whimpers, and her legs tighten around me.“Fuck, Ari, come for me. Come with my cock deep inside you.”She cries out, her whole body trembling, and I don’t stop. I kiss her through it, hold her close, fuck her through every last quiver, every last tightening around my cock.And then I come too, deep and hard, spilling inside her with a guttural sound that doesn’t even sound human. It’s relief and obsession and gratitude all wrapped into one fucking soul-shattering orgasm.I don’t pull out. Don’t move. Just hold her.Our bodies slick with sweat, tangled up, still connected in every way.“You’re still shaking,” she whispers, a teasing smile in her voice.I bury my face in her neck and nod.“Yeah,” I murmur. “But I think it’s just because I love you.”She laughs softly, her fingers stroking my hair as she runs them against my scalp. And somewhere in the quiet between heartbeats and steady breathing, I feel it settle.Peace.This is what peace feels like, and for the first time in my life, I’m experiencing it for myself.And I’ll do any--thing to keep it.fuckingMaddoxTwo Months LaterThe IKEA crib instructions are in Swedish.Or maybe it’s Finnish. Whatever the hell it is, it isn’t English, and even my dad, who was fucking born in Sweden, can’t figure them out.“What the actual fuck is a ?” I mutter under my breath, holding up a plank of what I assume is crib-side A.fjällsippaAcross the room, Ari’s laughter rings out like sunlight, warm and loud. She’s sitting cross-legged on the nursery rug, her round belly making her shirt ride up just slightly—just enough to make me want to abandon this entire crib and carry her to bed.Again.Frankie lounges beside her, shoving Goldfish crackers into her mouth with the kind of chaotic energy that only comes from being six months postpartum and running on hazelnut lattes and four hours of sleep.Dante is pacing behind me, reading the directions like he’s decoding a bomb. “You’re holding it upside down.”“No, I’m holding it like it deserves to be held. With violence,” I grumble, turning the piece around.Ari snorts and leans back on her hands. “Maybe we should’ve just paid the extra fifty dollars to have them build it.”I glance over my shoulder, and the sight of her—glowing, relaxed, belly full of our kid—makes something tight in my chest loosen all at once.“Absolutely not,” I say. “My son is sleeping in a bed built by my own two hands if it kills me.”Dante grunts. “It might.”Frankie throws a cracker at him. “Let them have this moment. You’re just jealous no one ever asked you to build a crib.”He mutters something under his breath and picks up the tiny wrench tool with a scowl, and for the first time, I realize what this moment is.Full circle.All the chaos and the dark edges that got us here? They’re still part of the story. But right now, we’re in the soft part. The golden hour of what comes next.Ari catches me staring and gives me a small smile, eyes bright, hand resting on her bump.“Almost done?” she teases.“If you weren’t watching, I’d be done already,” I murmur, straightening.Frankie cackles. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been glaring at that screw for ten minutes.”“Just making sure it’s tight enough,” I say dryly.“That’s what he said,” Frankie mutters under her breath, and I can’t help but laugh.It definitely breaks the tension, though.When we finally get the last piece in place, Ari insists on taking a picture. Frankie says it’s for Instagram, but I know better. It’s for later. For our kid. For when he’s old enough to hear about how his ex-con dad got into a swearing match with a box of wooden planks.As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, Dante and Frankie head out. Frankie calls something over her shoulder about bringing Ari more Medjool dates— apparently—while Dante grumbles about traffic all the way down the driveway.good for softening the cervix,I snap a quick picture to send to Asher and my dad, and the three of us trade a few texts back and forth.Asher eventually realized that Ari and I were madly, desperately in love, conceding to our relationship. We don’t see him much these days—he moved out to the East Coast—but my parents visit often.Once the last taillight disappears down the street, the house falls quiet.And then it’s just us.I close the door and turn back toward her, heart aching at the sight of her curled in the rocking chair, one hand cradling her belly, the other flipping through a baby name book we’ll never actually use. A couple of months ago, we decided to add an extension off our bedroom to turn her two-bedroom into a three-bedroom for the baby. I wouldn’t think of asking her to give up her grandmother’s house, and now we don’t have to.“You okay?” I ask softly.She nods. “Just tired.”I walk over, kneel in front of her, and rest my forehead gently against her stomach.Her fingers thread through my hair. “I love you,” she murmurs.And then, because I’m me, I glance up with a smirk. “I love you, too. And I can’t wait to fuck more babies into you when you’re ready.”She laughs, breathless and fond. “Jesus, Maddox.”I rise, taking her hand, helping her stand with care.“No,” I say quietly, brushing her hair off her cheek. “Not Jesus. Just me. The man who’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure you know you were never too much. That you were always worth choosing.”She tears up immediately, like usual lately. I press a kiss to her forehead, then her lips.“Now come to bed and take a nap,” I murmur. “Let me spoil the hell out of you.”Because every piece of this—this family, this love, this second chance—I’m holding it with both hands now.And I’ll never let it go.AriOne Month LaterIt’s late.The kind of late that turns everything blue and soft, with shadows curled around the corners of the room like secrets.Maddox is asleep in our bed behind me, his hand resting against the curve of my belly, as if he’s afraid to lose contact even in sleep. He always ends up there, like it’s instinct. Like he’s already protecting our son from the world.I stare at the bassinet across the room. The one he built by hand, despite the trouble he had with the crib… and the dresser… and the rocking chair.I cried when he finished it. Not because it was perfect—which, obviously, it wasn’t. There’s still a tiny scuff on one of the rails from where he threw a wrench and cursed the IKEA gods. But because it was ours. And it’ll be the first place our son sleeps before he’s big enough to sleep in his bedroom.Built with care. With love. With purpose.I still don’t know how I got here.A year and a half ago, I was in a relationship I’d outgrown. I was settling for someone who gave me breadcrumbs and called it a feast. I was exhausted from being good, from being small, from folding myself into the shapes other people needed me to be.And now… now I’m growing a whole damn person and living the dream as a full-time author of two and a half books.This tiny boy we haven’t met yet? He’s already everything. Not because he’s perfect, or because I expect him to be. But because I already know what it feels like to be raised by people who believed love was something earned.I won’t do that to him.Maddox and I talk about it sometimes—what kind of parents we’ll be. It usually ends with him tearing up and me pretending not to cry because my hormones are a war crime.But it always comes back to the same thing.He’ll never have to wonder if he’s too much.He’ll never have to tiptoe around his feelings or mold himself into someone else’s version of lovable. He’ll be wild and soft and loud and angry and beautiful, and we’ll love every version of him.We’ll love him when he gets it wrong. When he breaks things. When he forgets to clean his room or fails a test or comes home with a scraped knee and tears in his eyes. We’ll love him when he’s quiet and unsure, when he’s angry at the world, when he’s scared.We’ll love him if the only thing that makes him happy is a toy.We’ll love him because he’s .oursBecause he’s made of every brave choice we never thought we’d get to make.I press my hand to my stomach, feeling the faintest rolling movement against my palm.And I whisper, “You’re already loved more than I ever knew was possible.”Behind me, Maddox shifts in his sleep, and murmurs, “Are you talking to him again?”I smile, blinking back tears. “Yeah. He’s moving.”He makes a sleepy, rumbling sound. Then, still half asleep, he says, “Tell him I said hi. And that if he’s anything like you, I’m already fucking terrified.”I laugh softly, my chest warm.God, we’re going to mess up.But we’re going to do it together. Loudly. Softly. Imperfectly.With our whole hearts.And for the first time in my life, that feels like enough.