The stage manager whispers, “Places.”
I step back, my heart full enough to burst.
The performance is electric.
Every turn, every extension, every breath feels like dancing not just for the audience, but for him. For the man who fought for me. For the man I chose. For the family that welcomed me like I was theirs long before I knew I wanted them.
And when the curtain falls, and the applause roars through the theater?
I bow to it. I let myself feel all of it. All the fear, the triumph, the love.
But it’s when I straighten, when the curtain rises again for the final bow—Scottie is on his feet.
He’s not clapping… he’s cheering like he’s behind glass on the bench at the Hawkeyes arena yelling, “That’s my wife,” as he tries to brand it permanently into the rafters.
The entire front row laughs, hollers, and joins him.
My cheeks burn. My heart does something dangerous in my chest.
And right there in the spotlight, I mouth: I love you. To all of them, for having been here, accepting me, bringing me into their unconventional family, and loving me from the first moment I stepped off that jet.
He taps his chest twice, points at me, and mouths back: Forever.
After the show backstage, it’s all chatter, flowers, champagne, and congratulations, but everything stills when his arms wrap around my waist from behind. I know immediately that I’m safe, tucked in my husband's arms. The safest place I could ever be.
He buries his face in my neck. “You were perfect.”
I smile, leaning back into him. “You and the Hawkeyes nearly got thrown out.”
“We bought and paid for those seats,” he whispers. “Therefore, we owned the right to embarrass you. Plus, trying to get us kicked out with Grandma Popovich in the crowd… good luck. No one will cross her… I’m untouchable,” he teases, knowing that, in fact, my grandmother would immediately go to his defense.
She’s become a regular as well at the Hawkeyes arena, not missing a single home game as long as it doesn’t interfere with my schedule. She is an official season ticket box holder. The one right next to the owner’s suite, and she stocks the best treats tobribe all the Hawkeyes kids and WAGS to come hang out at her box during the games.
I turn in his arms, cupping his face. “Thank you for coming.”
He kisses my palm. “As long as I am able, I will also be at your shows. I’m so proud of you.”
“Even the matinees?”
“Even the weird modern ones where everyone’s in beige bodysuits.”
“Even tech rehearsals?”
He groans. “Don’t push it, KitKat.”
I laugh, rising onto my toes to kiss him, slowly and softly.
My future tastes like him.
My home feels like his arms.
And our next chapter begins here, in this city, with this family, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about the impossible road that got us here.
“Ready to head to the cast party?” he asks, brushing hair from my cheek.
I shake my head, smiling. “No, let’s take our family to Oakley’s. I’ve been meaning to kick your butt on our pool table.”
The pool table where it all started. The pool table that Luka beat him at, and thankfully, sealed our fate together.
