The air around us stills. My heartbeat is so loud in my ears, I can barely hear the world anymore. I mouthI love you too, not wanting to interrupt him but wanting him to also know I feel the same.
“I’ve lived a life where I’ve had to fight for everything. Every inch of ground, every breath, every fragment of peace. But loving you… loving you doesn’t feel like a fight.”
His voice drops, roughened by restraint, every syllable striving not to splinter.
“It feels like coming up for air.”
My throat burns. My vision blurs with tears, but I don’t move to wipe them away. I want to feel every second of this.
He steps one pace back, releasing my hand, but his eyes never leave mine.
Right there on the bar floor, between the peanut shells and boot scuffs and spilled whiskey I’m sure Will is pissed about—Hex drops to one knee.
From his pocket, Hex pulls out a ring. It’s worn around the edges with an antique setting whispering of other hands, other promises, none quite like this one. The band is delicate but strong, etched with the faintest vine work that catches the light if you tilt it just right.
It’s subtle, elegant, but nothing flashy. At the center sits a bold onyx diamond, deep, dark, and perfectly cut as if carved from midnight itself. It doesn’t need to sparkle to be seen; it holds attention just by existing. A stone that says I’ve seen the fire, and I’m still here.
It’s not traditional. It’s not what anyone else would’ve chosen.
But it’sperfectfor me.
And somehow… Hex knew that. Knew exactly what I would want, even though I’d stopped letting myself picture a ring a long time ago.
My hands grip the edge of the bar. White-knuckled.
I look down at him, chest tight, heartbeat crashing against my ribs, ready to surrender itself to him completely. I never thought I’d get this moment. Not at thirty-nine. Not with everything that came before. Not after the wreckage of a decade-long relationship that blessed me with my child. The heartbreak. The fight it took to get here.
But here he is.
Hex.
He looks at me the way believers look at light breaking through stained glass. I’m his proof that hope wasn’t wasted.
“Legs,” he says, voice rough but clear. “You are mine. You are my Angel.”
Then softer, I hear the question I thought would never grace my ears: “Will you marry me?”
My throat tightens.
Tears push at the back of my eyes, but I hold them there. Not because I’m trying to be strong. Because I want to see him clearly. Every line of his face. The reverence in his expression. The way his hands hold still—not shaking, not reaching—just waiting.
I slide off the bar. My knees brush the edge of his thigh as I lower myself in front of him.
I reach down and lift his chin with two fingers, feel the rough stubble graze my skin, and suddenly all I can think is—
He looks even better on one knee than he did on two.
My heart swells until it presses against everything inside me, stretching wide enough to crowd out breath… thought… everything.
I lean in close, just enough so no one else can hear but him. “Let’s fucking do this.”
He surges up as if gravity lost its hold. His hands lock around my waist, lifting me clean off the floor into a kiss that feels like coming home. Starting over. And setting fire to every plan we ever made just to build something entirely new together.
The bar erupts.
Cheering. Glasses pounding. Someone screams “HELL YES!” from the back. ZZ Top Beard howls like a banshee. Trucker Hat throws a coaster, imitating a wedding bouquet. Biker Glitter Queen pulls a flask from her bra and toasts the ceiling.
“Hey, no outside liquor, Maryann!” Will shouts, then turns to Hex and me, “About damn time!”
