I want to be with Keaton.
I don’t want to wait for someday.
I want all the days I can have.
Withdrawing my cell, I send him a quick text, knowing he may not see it for a while since he’s got a full day of conditioning, going over the playbook, studying films, and meetings to prepare for the chaos that training camp will bring.
Me: Still want to get married?
Tight End: I’ve got time.
I laugh, surprised at how right this feels, while trying to formulate my next message. Before I can, he sends another.
Tight End: Michigan has a three-day waiting period after applying for a license. However, they’ll waive it for a fee.
Me: I think that’s called a bribe.
Tight End: Not that I’d be opposed to that if it meant making you my wife sooner, but they actually accept a fee. It’s only twenty-five dollars.
Me: You aren’t wasting any time researching this. Worried I’ll change my mind.
Tight End: Yes.
Me: Never.
I make it through the rest of the day in a daze, thankful it’s a shorter shift and I’m able to meet Keaton at the courthouse. He asked for assistance, in the form of his boss who it seems knows everybody – and if he doesn’t, one of his brothers do – and found an employee that would let us in a different entrance. All it cost was four tickets to the first home game.
We quickly apply for the license, pay the fee to skip over the waiting period, then we’re standing in front of a Justice of the Peace.
“Crap!” We need witnesses.
“Got it covered,” Keaton informs me. As if they were waiting for their cue, the door opens and in walks my mom, May, followed by a man that has to be Keaton’s dad, and Gareth. I’ haven’t met him yet, but Keaton showed me a team photo and “introduced” me to each player.
“Rings?”
My mom steps forward and presses two into my hand. I laugh when I see two that clearly came from a gumball machine. “They’ll do in a pinch,” Keaton says, thanking her for them as he takes the feminine one to put on me. I already know I’ll keep mine forever and cherish it. The gleam in Keaton’s eye lets me know he’ll do the same for his.
We repeat our vows when told to, slide the rings on each other, then share our first kiss as husband and wife.
“Mr. Wayne,” I greet him when we pull apart.
“Mrs. Wayne,” he grins.
“You’re stepping on my line,” the Justice of the Peace quips, making the group laugh. “Congratulations,” he says, shaking each of our hands. Leaning toward Keaton, he asks, “Can I introduce you now?” My husband – that will never get old – nods and our officiant clears his throat and declares, “Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.”
For such a small crowd, the applause rivals that of a stadium on game day. And the majority of it is coming from Gareth. He and Keaton share a hug and the bond between them is evident.
“Let’s eat,” Keaton suggests. “My treat.”
That has Gareth cheering even louder, which I didn’t know was possible. His enthusiasm is contagious and soon we’re all celebrating. As our guests, ourfamily, head toward the exit, Keaton squeezes my hand, stopping me from going.
When the door closes behind them, we’re alone and Keaton gives me a sweet kiss. “You’re my wife.”
“You’re my husband.”
“I will do everything in my power to make sure you never regret choosing me.”
“I never could. Everything that happened brought me to you. Next to you is where I belong.”
