I smile into Hex’s mouth and can’t help but giggle with happiness.
Demi’s full-on sobbing and fanning herself with something laminated.
I don’t even know what I’m laughing at anymore. Maybe it’s the cheering, maybe it’s the coaster in the air, maybe it’s the wayHex hasn’t let go of me, arms locked like I’m still something he’s afraid to lose. But I can’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt. My heart cracks wide open, and love floods in, filling every hollow I didn’t know sat empty.
For the first time, in a long time, I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m not thinking about the past, or the mess, or what comes next. I’m justhere. In this wild, rowdy bar, with this wild,steadyman, surrounded by people who love us in their own, chaotic way.
I look to my best friend Demi, who is still blotting her eyes with what I now recognize is a drink specials insert. It’s a proud moment for her as well, as she points her menu in the air victorious and announces:
“This will be the best fucking wedding I ever plan!”
“It’s starting to hurt,” she mutters, voice strained.
I slide closer, my thumb brushing the inside of her wrist as I catch her hand. “Tapping out already?” I murmur against her ear. “Didn’t think you’d fold before the outline was even done.”
“I’m not folding. I’m adjusting.” Her eyes flash up at me, watery but fierce. “He’s only done the outline?”
I can hear the panic, and it makes me laugh. “No, I’m kidding. He’s shading now.”
Sable grips my hand harder, nails digging in just enough to make me feel it. God, she’s gorgeous when she’s wild and stubborn and trying so damn hard not to give in.
“Don’t make me punch you with my non-tattoo arm.”
I lean in, close enough she can feel the heat off my mouth. “You try it, Legs, and I’ll make him give you a second tattoo that says crybaby across your ass cheek.”
The artist snickers behind his machine. I keep holding her hand like I’m not the biggest sucker for her in the room.
She’s doing so fucking good.
I glance over. The skin is flushed and raw but beautiful beneath the slow reveal of black and gray lines. The outline of the angel wing is already mapped out, stretching from the top of her shoulder down to just above her elbow. Completely her.
Remembering the night she said how strange it felt to never have anything permanent enough in her life to ink into her skin. It did something to me. To never feel that…
Then to have her look at me a week after proposing and say she wanted one: “The angel wing. Just one. Just the one you drew.”
So I sketched it again. Poured everything I had into it. The softness. The strength. Designed to move with her, curving so fluidly it will seem one breath away from lifting her off the ground.
Bash watched me draw it. The kid is so enamored with creative arts, just like his mama. Every time he pointed out a line gone too thick or a curve off mark, the design grew more meaningful.
Her first tattoo. She walked into the shop nervous as hell and doing her best to fake calm. But I could feel the tremble in her hand. See the way her breath shortened when the stencil hit her skin. The nervous chatter she couldn’t control.
Still, she didn’t flinch.
Not once.
“You’re doing incredible,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles.
She turns her head, eyes meeting mine through lashes that are heavy with heat and a little bit of pain. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, kissing her hand. “Tough as hell, angel.”
“Have I officially graduated into my grown-up pet name?” she asks.
The artist looks up from her arm and gives me a nod. “Almost there. Last bit of shading.”
Sable exhales, steady now. Focused.
I glance at her hand in mine, at the ring I picked that fits her like it always belonged there, then back to the ink stretched across her skin.
