“I almost lost you.” His hand covers mine, firm and certain.
My pulse kicks.
He leans in, resting his forehead against mine, and for the first time since I woke up back in his home…ourhome…he lets himself breathe me in.
“I don’t ever want to feel that again.”
Neither do I.
The words settle between us, fragile and heavy all at once. Colter’s grip tightens slightly, like he is anchoring himself to the sound of my heartbeat.
“There’s something I need to say,” he murmurs.
I lift my head enough to look at him. His expression is stripped bare—no control, no strategy. Only truth.
“Okay.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. Months. Maybe longer.
“I’ve built my life around contingencies,” he says. “Around making sure nothing touches what’s mine unless I allow it.” His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse. “And then you came along and ruined every plan I ever had.”
I smile faintly. “I’m good at that.”
“That not what I mean.” His voice roughens. “You didn’t change my life. You became it.”
My chest tightens.
“I thought loving you would make me weak,” he continues. “Turn out, it’s the only thing that’s ever made me honest.”
He shifts off the bed and drops to one knee.
The world tilts.
My breath leaves me in a rush as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. His hands are steady. His eyes are not.
“I don’t want a life where I have to imagine losing you again,” he says quietly. “I don’t want a future where you’re anything other than my wife.”
The box opens.
The ring is simple and perfect. No excess. Only certainty.
“Marry me, Peyton,” he says. “Not because of what happened. Not because I’m afraid. But because I choose you, ever version of you, for the rest of my life.”
Tears blur my vision.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word breaking as it leaves me. “Yes, Colter.”
Relief crashes through him like a wave. He’s on his feet in an instant, pulling me into his arms with careful urgency, like hestill doesn’t quite trust that I won’t disappear. His lips press to my temple, my cheek, my mouth—each kiss reverent, unhurried, full of promise.
He slides the ring onto my finger, his thumb lingering like he’s memorizing the sight.
“My wife,” he murmurs, awe threading through the word.
I bite my lower lip, lashes lowering as he pushes open my thighs with his hands, placing himself on both knees. When his tongue licks the inside of my thigh, I let out a groan of appreciation. He works his way up until his tongue runs across my clit and then all the way back, flickering along the sensitive areas as he goes.
I watch him, my hands in his hair. He lifts his eyes to look up at me as his finger slides inside me. I bite down harder on my bottom lip and rock my hips against his hand.
“Please,” I plead, needing more.
