Saving Sparrow: Bonus Scene
Bonus Scene
Quentin
Four Years After the Epilogue
“Fuck… I…” I tried to think back, “I haven’t come that hard in—”
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“Two hours,” Elliott cut in dryly from above me. “You haven’t come that hard in two hours.”
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Miguel and I had sex in the kitchen before he left to pick up my mom from the airport. “Oh yeah, that’s right.”
“You’re such a fiend.” Elliott chuckled. The sound never failed to make my throat constrict. It downgraded to a soft smile as I stared intensely into his eyes. “What are you thinking?” he whispered.
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I brushed his sweat-damp hair off his face. “About how much I’m fucking obsessed with you.”
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Elliott blushed. “Well, who am I to get in the way of another man’s obsession?” He kissed me, and I rolled him onto his back, reaching under the pillow for the lube. “It was just supposed to be a kiss, you fiend.”
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The tip of my cock tapped against his sticky hole. “There’s no such thing as just a kiss. All forms of affection behind closed doors end in a dicking down. You know the rules,” I tsked, fucking loving the sound of his laughter.
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“We can’t—”
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“Oh yes, we can, we have permission,” I reminded him.
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“I meant we can’t because Miguel and my mother-in-law will be here soon.”
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“Fine,” I groaned. “Even though we have plenty of time. You just want to be waiting by the door when my mother walks in. You and Miguel are so transparent.” I’d had to force-fuck Miguel that morning to get some ass from him. He wouldn’t stop sprucing the place up and fussing over all the floral arrangements he’d gotten for her.
“You have a valid point,” Elliott said, then shrugged. “I miss her.”
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“I know you do,” I said softly. My mother spoiled them rotten.
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“Let’s take a hot bath, turn the jets on. I’ll massage you afterward.”
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I’d been at full mobility for years, but I would be on my feet for a while today, which sometimes aggravated my lower back. Massage therapy helped.
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“Oh, so there’s time for a massage but no time for fuck-play.”
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“There isn’t time for both, and your back comes first.”
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I rolled my eyes but grinned, loving his nurturing side. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Every second of every day.”
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“Damn straight, pretty girl.”
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We were hanging out in the living room when Miguel and my mother strolled into the house, deep in conversation. She gasped as she took in all the flowers, saying something else to him I couldn’t understand.
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“Leave the Spanish at the door,” I said wryly, pushing up from the couch. Miguel had been teaching her over the years. It was one of the ways they bonded. My mother was good at taking an interest in the things the people around her cared about.
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“It’s not my fault you’ve had this gorgeous man by your side all these years and never picked up on anything.” She patted Miguel’s cheek, then hugged an eager Elliott before complimenting him on his red dress. He returned the praise, gushing over her outfit as she spun in place. She’d picked up her love of fashion from him.
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“I know the important words. Uh, what was that one you screamed in the kitchen this morning, Guelly?” I winked when he scowled at me. I'd taken Spanish in college, but nothing stuck. I barely passed.
“Leave my son-in-law alone,” she chastised, and Miguel stuck his tongue out at me.
My mother had long black hair and deep-set dark eyes. Her smile was the only physical attribute we shared. She let it loose on me as she worked her way over with arms wide.
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“Mom, you’re getting lipstick all over me.” I chuckled.
“Today’s a big day! And I’ve got too many years of not kissing you to make up for.”
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I bent over to give her my cheek again, then wiped her tears away. “Mom, come on. I forgave you a long time ago.” Most days, she was able to live with my forgiveness, but now and then the past came back to haunt her.
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“I know, but… every time I come back after being gone for a while, it’s… It’s like I’m reminded that I left you in the first place. Again.”
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I hugged her to me, rubbing her back as Miguel and Elliott watched on, holding each other close. “Pretty soon, we won’t have to leave each other ever again.”
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“Yes, you’re moving to New York.” That was where she lived. “Are you nervous about today?” She undid the top three buttons on my shirt, looping them through the correct buttonholes.
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“I wouldn’t say nervous. A little sad, maybe. It’s… bittersweet.”
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“But it’s what you’ve spent the last three years dreaming about,” Miguel said, he and Elliott stepping in on either side of me.
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“Yeah.” I smiled like I was afraid to. “It is.”
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“Where are Kayden and Rachel?” she asked, looking around.
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“They should be here any second,” Elliott said. “We’re all riding over together.” The doorbell rang then, and we all geared up to leave.
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My mom pinched my cheeks, smiling up at me. “Let’s go make sure your boys win.”
***
Playing football at a high level would never be in the cards for me again, but I’d discovered a love for something even better. Coaching. I’d started networking a couple of years into my recovery, hoping to be lucky enough to be tapped for a QB coaching spot somewhere. That led to being offered the head coaching position at the University of Wembly—extremely rare for someone who hadn’t started off as an assistant coach.
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It was a full-circle moment for me, and the chance for us to move back to the town we loved and be closer to our friends. I’d gone on to lead the team to three consecutive championship wins since then. Saying my final goodbye would hurt. A lot.
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I cleared my throat outside the locker room, pushing quietly through the doors. I remained out of sight, listening to the flurry of activity and somber conversation happening. Kellman, the team comedian, said something funny, only pulling a half-hearted laugh from everyone. Coach Jeffers, my former assistant coach and replacement, took a shot at rallying the guys, but the energy in the locker room remained low.
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I wondered if I’d made the right decision, wondered if following my dreams made me selfish. But then I remembered the response from the team when I’d broken the news of my resignation to them.
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“You’ve got this, Coach Ramirez.”
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“You deserve the shot. Take it.”
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“Make a way for me up there, Coach Ramirez.”
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“You’ve taught me well. I’ll carry the mantle, make you proud.”
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That last one had come from Coach Jeffers. I blinked back my tears, cupping my hands over my mouth, readying for the battle cry.
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“Who’s fucking shit up toniiiiight?!” I stepped into view, everyone wide-eyed. “I said, who’s fucking shit up toniiiiight?!”
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Everyone lined up, standing at attention. “We’re fucking shit up toniiiiight!”
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“Who’s kicking ass and taking names toniiiiight?!” I asked, circling them.
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“The Hawks are kicking ass and taking names up toniiiiight!”
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“Who’s dominating the field?!”
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“We are!”
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“And who’s unstoppable?!” I stopped in front of them, hands clasped in front of me.
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“We are!”
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“Who’s got this shit in the bag?!”
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“We do!”
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“I said, who’s got this shit in the motherfucking bag?!” I cupped my ear toward them.
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“We’ve got this shit in the motherfucking bag!”
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I nodded, circling them again as they heaved with the rush of impending battle. “And if you don’t got this?!” They waited until I stood in front of them again to respond, breaking character as they smiled.
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“Then we take it.”
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“Damn straight you do.” My voice cracked, my heart overflowing with pride. “Are you ready for war?”
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“Yes!”
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“Fuck yeah, you are. Now go show ’em what it means to own the field.”
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They slipped their helmets on and filed out one by one, fist-bumping me as they went.
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“Thanks,” Jeffers said, squeezing my shoulder. “I couldn’t quite get the badass tone right. I’ll keep working on it.”
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I chuckled. “You’ll be fine. It’s their first game without me.”
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He nodded. “I’ll take care of them. Coming through the tunnel with us?” He handed me a pass.
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“Nah, I’ll go around. Sit in the stands with the family, be a true fan for once.” I planned
to be on my feet the whole game, clapping and shouting like a lunatic.
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“You were always a true fan, Q. You were just lucky enough to be one from the
sidelines.”
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He was right. Coaching wasn’t just a job to me. These men inspired me, motivated me,
and accepted me. I just hoped I’d given them even an ounce of that in return. I’d be a fan of theirs for life.
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“Keep it,” he said when I tried handing the laminated pass back. “In case you decide to come down.” He jogged off to catch up with the team, and I lowered to a bench, sighing. Minutes later, the faint sounds of an uproar bled into the locker room.
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“What the…” I got to my feet, exiting the room as the noise grew louder. I inched my way through the tunnel, struggling to make out what the crowd was chanting. It became clearer the closer I got to the opening, until the collected voices of thousands of fans screaming, “All hail The Arm!” became crystal clear.
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The team faced me from the field, down on one knee. The chanting grew in intensity once I became visible to everyone.
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“All hail The Arm!”
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“All hail The Arm!”
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“All hail The Arm!”
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They held foam fingers high, waving them wildly in the air. Only… they weren’t fingers, they were foam arms. I brought my fist to my mouth, my teary gaze landing on Miguel and Elliott standing off to the side. They held the foam arms up proudly as well, and Elliott wore my retired jersey.
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I circled in place, waving to all the students and fans in the stands, soaking up the love. It was unexpected, but I’d had enough therapy under my belt to feel deserving of it. I’d worked hard. I’d earned it.
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I scooped Miguel and Elliott up, ignoring their complaints about my back. I kissed them, then we headed into the bleachers with the rest of our family, cheering the Hawks to their game-one win. A few days later, I started my first day as an NFL assistant coach for the New York Kings.
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Life couldn’t have gotten any better—until a few years later, when baby Gabriela came kicking and screaming into the world, looking just like Miguel. My ultimate wish had come true. Elliott and Miguel were finally my baby daddies.
The End
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