Page 150 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

We’re telling them tonight. I had this whole elaborate plan of what I wanted to say, but nervousness jumbles up the words in my head. Vin will take care of it for me.

The little boy growing in my belly will have three thoughtful, attentive fathers to teach him the ways of the world.

Vin’s already ordered a Cannon onesie with “Wyatt Pack” across the back. Our pack-labeled merch is some of the team’s best-selling items.

Do I need a baby to be happy? Absolutely not. We’ve been enjoying our time together these last few years.

After the dustup with Brad, Mason was made a permanent member of the team. He’d already more than risen to the occasion with his performance in the first part of the season, and sealing the pack bonds clinched it.

Probably helped that Mason did not punch Brad at the end there. Coach admitted later he was expecting it and that Mason earned some respect by resisting.

And Brad. Oh, Brad. After having his contract with the Cannons voided under the misconduct clause, the Airmen retracted their bid. Turns out, he didn’t even have a signed contract with the other team when he bragged about leaving the Cannons.

The Cannons’ former captain was left high and dry. No team would touch him at the pro level. Last I’d heard, he was trying and failing to get onto one of the local minor teams.

Livvy and her Livettes lost interest in him after that.

Kenna, the girl who drugged my drink and helped vandalize my car, was sentenced to 60 months at the Addevale Correctional Facility.

As it turns out, drugging someone without their knowledge is considered assault, and assaulting an omega carries an aggravated sentence with or without knowledge of my designation. They gave her the maximum because she triggered a heat.

She’s been up for parole twice, but they always ask if she’s repentant and then she whines and complains about how I deserved it.

And so there she stays.

Livvy fell for a beta who owns a chain of clubs and hasn’t set foot in the stadium in years. Good riddance. That scar never faded though. My bestie’s a bad ass.

Our dinner table is almost set. The steaks have been resting, but I hesitate to move them to the guys’ plates. I’m making them the same dinner we had my first week at the house.

Another message pings through, and I expect it to be a confirmation from Vin that they’re in the elevator, but instead it’s a video of my goddaughter.

Jolie and I got our double-wedding after all, albeit with a few unexpected additional grooms.

Her little girl laughs as she jumps a stuffed bunny up and down in front of her.

“Op, op, op!” she sings.

“Now they’re sleeping,” Jolie adds, and Merri lays the bunny down like it’s asleep.

“Bun bun eepy,” Merri says.

They sing the sleeping bunny song a few more times. I’m so focused on the video that the sound of the door clicking open startles me.

Shit.

I rush around to finish moving everything onto the table in our rented condo.

“Izzy?” Trick asks.

“Where are you, my sexy bunny?” Mase adds.

“I made dinner,” I call back.

Trick, Mason, and Vin find the dining room, and their faces light up when they see me.

Their smiles are obscured by playoff beards—except for the half-moon where Vin’s bond mark proudly stands out—but it does nothing to dampen their reaction.

It never gets old.

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