Chapter 39

BRIGGS

Nancy June Jones and her crew had to leave right after the interview. I thanked her and saw her off before wandering back down to the lake.

The wind had picked up a bit, the breeze a welcome relief on that hot August afternoon. We wouldn’t have many more days like that. The summer was winding down.

I’d never spent a winter in the Muskokas. I could pack up the boys and my staff and head somewhere warm. That sounded more appealing than months of long dark nights, alone in my bed.

The last thing I wanted to do was an interview. And a live, unscripted interview about my personal life?

~Definitely not.~

Aside from pregame and postgame interviews, I never went in front of the camera. Yeah, okay. I was a professional hockey player for twenty years. I spent my entire career on camera.

But I’d never agreed to an exclusive, one-on-one interview before. I was one of the most sought-after subjects in the journalism world.

Nancy June Jones was the only person I trusted. And she dropped everything and hopped on her private jet to fly up to my house.

~Did Layla watch it? Was she upset that I discussed personal things about her?~

I had no choice. I couldn’t let that go. How could that horrible excuse for a human being make up something like that about her little sister?

She was supposed to take care of Layla after their mother died. Shelly Lucas was the scum of the earth. I would make sure she ~never~ saw her kids or had anything to do with them.

Some people might say that’s harsh, that everybody deserves a second chance. But I disagree. Some people do things that can’t be erased, no matter how much time goes by.

I would never tell my boys they ~couldn’t~ meet their birth mother, but they will know the truth about their conception. Their dad is a celebrity. My entire life story is available on Wikipedia. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

A red-tailed hawk soared over my head, landing on a thick branch that hung over the rocky shoreline. I could feel his beady eyes boring into me from his perch above me.

I’d seen him a few times that summer. Or her. I had no fucking idea if it was a male or female. I wasn’t into bird watching. Vlad was with me one day and told me what kind of bird it was.

He said red-tailed hawks are regarded as messengers, in Native American culture. They show up when we need to take note of subtle messages around us, reminding us to pay attention to hidden meanings in our life.

Something like that—I don’t know exactly. I’m not a spiritual man.

I stared at the water, a series of images playing in my head. I saw my boys ripping around the lake on jet skis.

Then they morphed into teenagers, taking girls out on the boat so they could make out with them. I saw grown men who looked just like me, with children of their own. Kyla was there.

She’d grow into a beautiful young woman and find someone who made her happy. And I’d still be alone, sitting on my dock, watching life pass me by.

“Briggs.” Layla’s soft voice carried in the breeze.

~Now I’m hallucinating. I should head inside, lock myself in my office, and get fucking hammered.~

“Briggs.”

I turned around. Layla was standing on the path, her long hair fluttering in the breeze as she gazed up at me with a nervous smile.

“Layla,” I gasped, my voice coming out as a strangled croak. I cleared my throat, willing myself not to get my hopes up about why she was there.

“I watched the interview.”

“You did?”

She nodded.

“How did you know about it?”

“Kyla came by and turned on my television.”

“She told me she was going grocery shopping with Sonya.”

“She’s worried about you.”

“I’m worried about me too,” I whispered, stepping closer to her. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it, Layla. I love you. I need you, baby.”

“I love you too,” she sobbed. “I miss you ~so~ much. I ache for your arms to hold me again. I want to feel your lips on mine, and I want you inside me. Every night. For the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

I ran the rest of the way down the dock and scooped her up in my arms, our mouths coming together in a ravenous mating of tongues and lips.

“Oh, baby! I’ve missed you so much. Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

“I promise.”

***

I pressed a soft kiss to Layla’s shoulder before gently sliding my arm out from underneath her. She stirred, mumbling some gibberish in her sleep. My girl was exhausted.

After I made passionate love to her, I fucked her senseless. That’s how we roll. I’d found the perfect woman. She liked it hard and rough, and I loved making her scream.

I crept out of bed, shutting myself inside my walk-in closet. I’d have to move some of my clothes to make room for Layla’s stuff.

She would be sharing my bed every night from now on. If it was Mary’s night off, we’d sleep in Layla’s old room, or bring down the baby monitor.

Layla wasn’t resuming her position as my nanny. She didn’t know that yet though. But I had a hunch she would be okay with it when she found out what her new role was going to be. If she accepted.

I reached into the back of my underwear drawer, retrieving the box my mother had overnighted. It was risky shipping a family heirloom.

And it was even riskier, and presumptuous, to think I might have a use for my grandmother’s engagement ring. But I had never given up hope that I would get my girl back.

And I had vowed that if she did come back, I would make sure she never left again.

Some people may think it’s tacky to propose to your girlfriend in bed, after fucking her into a coma. But like I said, that’s how we roll. The only conundrum had been where to hide the ring.

I snuck back into bed, tucking the box under my pillow. She was actually snoring. A nice guy would let his girl get some shut-eye after a long sex marathon like we just had.

But I was too excited. I wanted my ring on her finger.

I reached between her legs, planning to wake her with a little clit action. But I aborted that plan when my finger got covered in sticky jizz.

Tacky proposal or not, I wasn’t giving Layla a ring covered in semen.

~You’re a real catch, asshole. Very romantic.~

I tiptoed to the bathroom and washed my hands. When I returned to the bed, Layla had rolled over, now facing the middle. But she was still sleeping soundly.

Her amazing breasts stood proudly, defying gravity from their position high on her chest. I lowered my mouth, sucking one of her large nipples between my lips.

I licked and nibbled it into a hard peak. She started waking up just as I was about to switch to the other one.

“That feels nice,” she mumbled sleepily.

“I love you so much, Layla Lucas.”

“I love you too, Briggs Westinghouse.”

“You belong to me now, baby.”

“You belong to me too,” she whispered before a cute giggle escaped her lips.

“Are we playing the copycat game?”

“Are we playing the copycat game?”

“How old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“I wanna suck your giant cock until you cum down my throat, and then I wanna give you a rim job.”

“I’m not saying that!” she exclaimed, slapping me playfully on the chest. “And I’m definitely not doing the second part!”

“I got you to stop copying me.”

“You’re very clever, Mr. Westinghouse.”

“You’re very beautiful, future Mrs. Westinghouse.”

Her eyes widened, her jaw going slack when I reached under my pillow and produced the small white velvet box.

“Marry me, Layla.”

“Briggs!” she gasped.

“That’s not the answer I was looking for, sweetheart.”

She stared at the ring, blinking rapidly before she lifted her head to meet my expectant gaze. Her eyes filled with tears, which overflowed to cascade down her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I would love to be your wife.”

I took her hand, slipping the ring on her finger. My hands were shaking so badly, I almost dropped it on the sheets.

“I promise to be the best husband you could ever wish for, Layla. I want to give you everything. You’re the queen of this castle now, baby.”

“Everything, you say?” she teased, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. You’ll never want for anything again. My girl will never go hungry, or dress in second-hand clothes.

“You’ll never have to work a day in your life unless you want to. If you wanna go to culinary school, I’ll send you. Or whatever you decide.”

“I just want you, Briggs. You and Kyla and the boys. That’s all I need. I always wanted a big family. Now I have one.”

“We can make our family even bigger.”

“That would be nice. But if it doesn’t happen, that’s okay. We’ve got the triplets. They’ll keep us busy.”

“It ~will~ happen,” I whispered. “Whatever it takes, we’ll do it. We’ll find the best fertility specialist money can buy, and get you knocked up.”

“Okay.”

“Speaking of knocking you up,” I murmured, climbing on top of her. “I think we need to celebrate our engagement with a little baby-making practice.”

“Mm. I could go for one more orgasm.”

~“One?”~ I nudged her thighs apart, lining my cock up. “Sweetheart, I never give just one. I’m Briggs Westinghouse. I do everything in multiples.

“I had more hat tricks than any other player in the league. I have four kids, including triplets. And I plan on giving you at least three babies.”

I slid inside my fiancé, a feeling of complete contentment settling over me as our bodies joined in harmony, together as one.

EPILOGUE

LAYLA

I stepped onto the terrace while the other women were preoccupied with Kyla’s dress problems. The seamstress hadn’t let out the bodice nearly enough.

My future stepdaughter’s extremely large breasts had provided me with a few moments of much-needed peace and quiet.

Briggs’s family is great. I love them to death.

They welcomed me with open arms before Briggs and I were even a thing, with the twin sisters trying to play matchmaker during their visit early last summer.

But being trapped in a room with both mothers, the twin sisters, ~and~ Kyla, all trying to talk over each other? ~Too much.~

The wondrous scent of coconut and plumeria filled the air, the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean sparkling in the early afternoon sunlight.

The empty beach stretched for miles, the soft, powdery sand waiting for bare feet to sink into it. But every guest on the private island was gathering on the beach on the far side of the luxurious resort.

I vowed not to cry. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. And it was.

~The one where I married my prince~.

But I was entitled to a moment or two of sadness. One hundred guests were in attendance to share our special day. And not one of them was mine.

They were all family, friends, teammates, and business associates of Briggs.

Shelly was the only family I had. And there was no way she was getting an invite. My sister had harassed me for weeks after Briggs’s televised interview with Nancy June Jones.

I had to change my phone number. After she showed up outside the gate of the Muskoka house, screaming obscenities directed at both Briggs and me, we had to get a restraining order.

I never restarted my social media accounts after Briggs’s publicist made me shut them down. So my sister had no way to contact me.

I was shocked the day the written letter showed up in the mail.

When I started reading it, I was so impressed with my sister’s self-reflection and remorse, that I actually believed there might be a chance to salvage our relationship.

She said she had gone into drug rehab and therapy, claiming she was clean and ready to get her life back on track.

And then she asked for money. She claimed she’d been accepted to Canadian Beauty College—, but she couldn’t get a student loan, and the cost of the program was ten grand.

I called the college and found out two things: she had lied about the tuition fees, and she was lying about being enrolled.

When she sent another letter a week later, I threw it in the trash without reading it. I never heard from her again.

“I found her!” Kyla announced, bursting onto the terrace. “Why are you hiding out here?”

“I just needed a few minutes alone.”

“Your time’s up, sister,” Bonnie chuckled.

“Time to get married,” Iona whispered, taking me by the hand.

***

My hot pink nails peeked out from beneath the hem of my wedding dress. I chose a simple gown with conservative cap sleeves and a deep V-neckline.

The open back was edged in scallop lace, proving to be a smart choice for an afternoon beach wedding in the Caribbean. It was so hot! In the middle of February!

Valentine’s Day was perfect for our wedding. We celebrated Christmas at the Muskoka house. Briggs wanted the triplets’ first Christmas to be very traditional.

We decorated a massive tree, hung stockings on the fireplace, strung popcorn and cranberries, decorated the entire house, and listened to Christmas carols. Everything that Kyla and I had missed out on during our childhood.

It was absolutely perfect.

I giggled at the sight of Vlad’s enormous feet. We had decided to get married in our bare feet and invited all of our staff and guests to do the same.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, linking his arm with mine when the wedding march started playing.

“Yes.”

Briggs was waiting for me down near the shore, his face lighting up with a broad grin when he saw me. He looked so sexy in his tuxedo, with the pant legs rolled up, revealing his bare feet.

My pussy clenched, aching with need like it always did when Briggs was around. I couldn’t wait hours to consummate our marriage.

We’d have to find a way to sneak off after the ceremony. And judging by the way he was looking at me, he was thinking the same thing.

Somehow, we managed to get through the ceremony without embarrassing ourselves. ~Almost~. Until the kiss part.

“Briggs and Layla, you came here today intending to marry.

“You joined hands and made solemn vows and exchanged rings to remind you of those vows, and you are now joined as partners in mutual love and respect.

“According to the powers vested in me and the highest power of the land and the sea, I pronounce that your wedding vows are sealed, and you may henceforth be known to all as husband and wife.

“Briggs, you may now kiss your bride.”

He pulled me into his arms, our first kiss as husband and wife starting out as a PG-rated lip-lock suitable for an audience. But the second our tongues touched, all bets were off.

His hands dropped to my ass, yanking me closer while we went at it like horny teenagers.

“Congratulations,” the minister chuckled. “Should we throw a bucket of water on them?”

Our guests clapped and cheered when we finally came up for air. Briggs took my hand and we walked back down the aisle together while everyone threw biodegradable confetti.

When we reached the path at the edge of the beach we kept going, half-walking, half-running until we reached our private cabana.

“We can’t ditch our own wedding, Briggs,” I laughed while he fumbled with the key.

“I know, baby. We’ll be back in a jiffy.” He glanced over his shoulder, grinning wickedly. “Right after I poke you with my stiffy.”

“You’re a poet, and you didn’t even know it.”

“That’s right, my little wifey.” He scooped me up, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “And I’m all yours.”

He carried me over the threshold, depositing me in the middle of the bed before stripping naked. I pulled my dress up to my waist, shimmying out of my lace thong and spreading my legs wide.

“You’re very efficient, Mrs. Westinghouse,” he murmured as he crawled between my legs, swiping his finger through my wet folds, “and very wet and ready.”

“Give it to me, big boy,” I giggled.

“Oh, I’ll give it to you, doll.”

He lined up his cock, driving deep on his first thrust. I knew this was gonna be quick by the way he was hammering into me.

He lifted one of my legs onto his shoulder, and his eyes squeezed shut while he chased his release. We came at the same time, our bodies vibrating together for the first time as husband and wife.

***

“Are you sure you don’t need some help?” I buckled Jerome into the rear seat of the stroller while Mary fussed with George’s hat.

“Absolutely not,” Mary said. “You can’t leave your own wedding, dear. It’s not polite.”

“It didn’t stop them earlier,” Bonnie announced. “Didn’t you notice they disappeared right after the ceremony?”

“I thought they were having photos taken. That’s what your mother said.”

“You’re so naive, Mary Poppins,” Kyla chuckled as she joined us. “They were indulging in some horizontal refreshments.”

“Oh, well then,” Mary sputtered. “Young lady, I don’t think that’s an appropriate topic of conversation in front of the children.”

I shook my head. Kyla was so much like Bonnie, you’d almost think they were mother and daughter.

Briggs came up behind me, pressing his lips to my neck as he slipped his arms around my waist. “The boys are partied out already?”

“Their nanny is,” Mary announced.

“I’ll help you take them back to the lodge,” Kyla offered.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks, Kyla,” Briggs said. “Good night, Mary. Thanks for all your help today.”

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Westinghouse. Go enjoy your bride. And congratulations. Don’t make me any more children though. At least not until these guys are out of diapers.”

“No promises,” Briggs chuckled. “I’ve got a young, fertile wife who I can’t seem to keep my hands off of.”

“We are all ~very~ aware of that, Dad,” Kyla sighed.

I kissed the babies good night before Briggs led me away to the dance floor, holding me tight while we swayed to the music.

“We’re not the only lovebirds on this dance floor,” I said.

“Get a room,” Briggs teased when the couple next to us engaged in a hot and heavy kiss.

“Mind your manners, Briggsy,” Sonya said. “You and Layla never stop pawing at each other. If Vlad and I wanna share a kiss under the stars, we will.”

“He’s just teasing,” I said, slapping Briggs playfully on the chest. “You guys make out all you want.”

“Just out of curiosity, how long has this been going on?” Briggs asked.

“Two years,” Vlad chuckled.

“~Two years~?”

“Good night, Briggsy.”

“Congratulations,” Vlad said, nodding before he led Sonya off the dance floor. They disappeared into the night, giggling like teenagers.

Briggs pulled me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I love you so much, Layla,” he whispered. “I hope we made a baby earlier.”

“Why are you in such a hurry to get me pregnant?”

“Because I’m old. I wanna see my kids grow up, and teach them how to play hockey. I can’t exactly do that if I need a walker to get around.”

“We don’t have to have more kids. I love the triplets like they’re my own.”

“I know you do. My lawyer is drawing up the paperwork for you to adopt them. That way, if something happens to me, there is no chance your sister can try and get custody.”

“Don’t talk that way,” I whispered, gazing up into his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not planning on it, but I need to make sure the boys are taken care of.”

“I would never let anything happen to them.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said, leaning down to kiss me softly. “It’s our wedding night. Let’s talk about happy things. Like all the happy endings we’re gonna have when I get you back to our cabana.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I’m gonna fill you with so many loads of my super sperm, there’s no way you’ll leave this island without a baby in your womb.”

“I thought we were talking about happy things, Briggs.”

“Making a baby isn’t a happy topic?”

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. It’s not going to happen that easily. If it happens at all.”

“It will happen, my dear wife. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, Briggs. Thank you for marrying me.”

He pulled me closer, our mouths joining for a long, slow kiss. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world. I love you, Mrs. Westinghouse.”

“I love you too, Mr. Westinghouse.”

BONUS

BRIGGS

I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the baseball bat, muttering away to myself while I tried to keep tabs on all three of my daughters. If they would just stay together, it would make my job a little easier.

Why did they have to invite boys to their birthday party? And it wasn’t just ~their~ male guests I had to worry about. My sons had a few buddies over as well.

Eighteen-year-old boys are way more dangerous than sixteen-year-olds.

~Sure, old man. They’re all trouble. You’re fighting a losing battle. They all want the same thing. And they’re not afraid of a fifty-six-year-old dad with a bat.~

~They know you won’t use it. Your wife won’t let you. She wears the pants in your marriage.~

“Put that bat away, Briggs.” Layla stepped into the gazebo, handing me a bottle of water. “The girls are just fine.”

“I don’t trust any of these boys.”

“Have you looked at your sons lately?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “They’re six hundred pounds of muscle and testosterone. But they’re not paying attention.”

“Every boy within a hundred miles of here knows not to mess with the Westinghouse girls.”

The boys turned eighteen last spring. Harris and George play hockey. I had all three of my boys on skates when they were barely three years old.

Jerome never took an interest. He played a few seasons of House League, but he wasn’t really into it. He was in and out of the hospital a lot, with respiratory problems.

If he wanted to pursue athletics, it would’ve been a challenge. And he had no desire anyway. He was more interested in cooking.

My mothers were thrilled about that, taking him under their wing. They were still going strong in their old age.

Jerome and Layla were close, spending hours together in the kitchen, coming up with new recipes for her cookbooks. She has three best sellers.

Jerome was heading off to a prestigious culinary school in Europe in the fall.

Harris and George are the athletes. They both played junior hockey. George had just got drafted by the Vancouver Canucks.

He’d be leaving in a few weeks for training camp. Harris was heading to the states to play college hockey. I was proud of all my boys. But it was gonna be rough when they left.

“The girls need to put some clothes on, Layla.”

“They’re fine, Briggs,” she sighed, flopping down on my lap. “Relax.”

“Why do they have to wear bikinis?”

“Because that’s what they like,” she whispered, brushing her lips across mine.

“This isn’t my idea of a sweet sixteen party,” I grumbled. “I think a girls-only gathering would’ve been better.”

“For who?” she laughed.

“Me.”

“Oh, Briggs. You’re so overprotective.”

“They’re my daughters.”

We had tried for six months to get pregnant on our own. When that didn’t work, we did go for in vitro.

After one cycle, Layla was pregnant with triplets. She named the boys, so it was only fair that I got to pick names for the girls.

I was born the year the original ~Charlie’s Angels~ went off the air. But my sisters and I were obsessed with the show. We would watch reruns for hours. Then we’d reenact the scenes.

I was Bosley, and they were the angels. ~Usually.~ Sometimes, they made me dress up as an angel. But that’s something nobody needs to know about.

Sixteen years ago today, Sabrina, Kelly, and Jill Westinghouse arrived. Layla was booked for a planned Cesarean at thirty-six weeks. A few days before her appointed date, I was playing in a charity golf tournament.

I was on the ninth hole when Kyla called me from the hospital to tell me Layla’s water had broken, and that she was on her way to the operating room.

Layla had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks on bed rest. I should’ve never left her that day. But I’d committed to the tournament before she got pregnant. And I had almost missed the birth of my daughters.

“I don’t want the boys to leave,” I said.

“I know, baby.”

“What am I gonna do all day?”

“Follow the girls around with your bat.”

“Soon, they’ll be gone too.”

“I’ll still be here.”

“You better be, Mrs. Westinghouse.”

“We have so much to look forward to, Briggs.”

“I know. It’s just weird to be retired. Hockey has been a big part of my life since I was eighteen.”

I coached minor hockey for eighteen years after I retired from the NHL. It kept me busy during the long winters in the Muskokas.

We made my summer house our primary residence. I established a charity to raise money to sponsor kids who wanted to play hockey but couldn’t afford it.

“That isn’t gonna change. George is going to the NHL. Harris might end up there too. And you have a grandson to coach.”

“He’s two months old,” I sighed. “I’ll be sixty before he’s ready to hit the ice.”

Kyla and her wife recently adopted a baby boy. My daughter owned a popular beauty salon in downtown Toronto, catering to some very high-profile celebrities.

But one day a month, she welcomed young women from the impoverished neighborhoods of the city, including homeless women, to come and have free makeovers.

I was very proud of the woman my daughter had become.

“Sixty is the new forty, babe,” she whispered.

“I don’t feel like I’m forty.”

“You sure felt like a forty-year-old stud when you were putting the balls to me last night.”

“Oh yeah?” I slipped my hand under her shirt, grabbing myself a handful of tit. At thirty-eight, my wife was as sexy as ever. I still couldn’t get enough of her pussy.

Sometimes I needed help in the form of a little blue pill, but I could still fuck her brains out. We were just as horny for each other now as we were eighteen years ago.

The kids were used to our PDAs, but they didn’t like it when we did it in front of their friends.

“Briggs!” Layla warned me as I slipped my fingers inside her bra.

“What?” I mumbled while I nuzzled her neck.

“The kids have friends over.”

“Briggsy, you heard your wife!” Sonya called out.

“Sonya!” Layla cried, jumping off my lap to go hug our former housekeeper. “I’m so glad you guys could make it.”

“Nice bat,” Vlad chuckled, taking a seat across from me. “Have you had to use it yet?”

“No. It’s just for show,” I laughed. “How’s life in Florida treating you?”

“It’s great.” Vlad and Sonya retired a few years ago.

“I’m glad to hear that, Vlad. You deserve it.”

“Are you guys gonna come down next winter?” Sonya asked.

“That’s the plan,” I said.

“Better bring your bat,” Vlad chuckled. “There’s lots of young studs down there. They’ll be swarming around your girls the second they step on the beach.”

“Great,” I muttered.

“C’mon, baby,” Sonya said, tugging on Vlad’s hand. “Let’s go wish the girls a happy birthday.”

I wrapped my arms around my wife, pressing my lips to the top of her head while we watched our kids enjoying the beautiful summer day on the lake with their friends.

Our girls were hanging out on the boat, watching the boys dive off the dock. Some of the boys swam out to a raft I had anchored in the middle of the water.

The girls were taking turns on the jet ski with Harris. I knew what that little rascal was up to every time he disappeared around the bend where there was a private inlet.

Our kids were great. I was damn proud of all of them. It was hard to imagine all the summers I spent up there alone.

I couldn’t remember what it was like to live in a quiet house or sleep in my bed alone. Layla had been next to me for eighteen years.

Hopefully, we’d have at least eighteen more together. I was in good health. There was no reason to believe I wouldn’t live a long life.

“Are you having depressing thoughts again, Briggs?” Layla asked. She knew me so well.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should go inside, and I’ll distract you,” she whispered.

“Nice try,” I laughed, grabbing my bat. “I’m not going anywhere until every horny teenage boy is off my property.”

She turned, garlanding my neck with her arms. “I love you, Briggs Westinghouse.”

“I love you too, Layla Westinghouse.”

^The End^