Page 185 of His Surrender

I don’t have to surrender my future.

I only have to surrender the illusion that I was ever in control.

I tighten my fingers around Aubrey’s hand as we step into the living room together.

This isn’t my defeat, and it isn’t giving up.

It’s my surrender … and I’ve never been happier to lose.

EPILOGUE

DEAN

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“I'm still convinced you copied me.”

I look across the kitchen island at Walker, who has been nursing the same glass of bourbon for the last twenty minutes while somehow managing to eat half the food Aubrey put out before everyone arrived.

“I copied you?” I ask.

“Obviously,” he replies quickly.

He gestures toward Liana, who is currently sitting on the floor a few feet away surrounded by enough toys to entertain an entire daycare.

“Baby unexpectedly enters your life. You have absolutely no idea what the hell you're doing. Beautiful woman comes along and saves your ass. You fall in love with her.”

Sawyer lifts his glass from where he's leaning against the opposite side of the island. “He's got a point.”

“I hired a nanny,” I point out.

Walker nods thoughtfully. “Right. You outsourced the part where I had to beg for help.”

A laugh escapes me as I shake my head. He is unbelievable.

“You two should've paid more attention in sex ed,” Roman mutters.

“Thank you.” Sawyer points at him. “I've been saying this for months.”

“I didn't miss sex ed,” I argue.

Colton raises an eyebrow. “I'm a doctor, and even I'm struggling to figure out what part of your situation you're trying to defend right now.”

That earns another round of laughter.

I lean back against the counter and look around my kitchen at the five men who have somehow taken over the space despite the fact that there are twice as many people scattered throughout the rest of the penthouse.

Lincoln is standing near the windows with his drink, watching the conversation with the amused expression of someone who has learned that contributing only encourages the rest of us.

Roman is beside Sawyer, half-listening while checking something Eva sent him on his phone. Walker has made himself entirely too comfortable with my food. And Colton is still wearing the sweater Melissa apparently picked out for him, despite the amount of shit Sawyer gave him about it when they arrived.

There was a time when getting all six of us in the same room meant business. We would talk money, investments, and deals.

Or the occasional poker game that somehow became more competitive than any corporate negotiation I'd ever been part of.

Now my place is filled with kids and women's laughter coming from somewhere down the hallway, and Sawyer just spent ten minutes showing Roman pictures Kayla took because apparently the dog did something particularly interesting this morning.

I don't know when the hell this became our lives.