She rushes on, words tumbling now, honest and raw. “It’s not that I don’t want to be pregnant. God, knowing our baby could be growing inside me is everything. I want it so badly.”
Her voice wobbles just a little, but she doesn’t look away.
“I just needed to get back to me first,” she says. “Before I could be more.”
Something cracks open in my chest at that. Not pain. Recognition.
I reach for her, slow, careful, like I’m handling something sacred. My thumb brushes her knuckles where they grip the box.
“You did,” I say. My voice comes out rough, but steady. “You got back to you.”
She exhales, like she’s been holding that breath for weeks.
“And if that test says yes,” I add, meeting her eyes, no hesitation, “then we’ll handle it. Together. Doctor appointments. Late nights. All of it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her smile is small at first. Then it grows. Bright. Certain.
She leans over and presses her forehead to mine, breath warm, familiar. Safe.
“For the record,” she murmurs, like she can’t help herself, “the hockey players were very inspiring.”
I snort. “Jesus.”
She laughs, soft and wicked, and kisses me again. Three weeks. And somehow, it already feels like forever in the best way.
Before the timer goes off, I turn to her.
She’s watching the phone like it might explode, fingers twisting in her lap, breath a little uneven. I study her for a second longer than I should, because this woman has already changed every part of my life.
“Bri,” I say.
She looks up at me, eyes soft, questioning.
“Before the results come back,” I tell her, voice steady even though my chest feels too full, “no matter what they are… I want to get married.”
Her lips part in surprise.
“I want you to be mine in every way that matters,” I continue. “I want a wedding with your sisters and girls there. With my friends. With the club. I know you’re already my old lady, but Iwant my patch inked into your skin. I want it to be permanent in every way that it can be.”
I don’t rush it. I don’t take it back. I let every word land. I reach up and cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks like I need to feel her real under my hands.
“There isn’t a version of my future that doesn’t have you in it,” I say quietly. “Ring. Vows. Ink. All of it. I want my name on your skin, you already have my heart carved into yours.”
She stares at me like I just rewrote the world. And I don’t look away. Because this time, I’m not asking. I’m choosing.
Her smile breaks slow and brilliant, like sunrise.
And right then, before the timer ever goes off, I know one thing for sure.
Whatever that test says, we’re already forever.
The timer goes off and Bri doesn’t move. She just sits there, eyes locked on the phone like it betrayed her by doing exactly what it was supposed to do. She doesn’t make a move to get up.
I watch her chest rise and fall, fast and shallow, and I know she’s scared. Not of the answer. Of how much it might change everything.
“Want me to check it?” I ask gently.
She shakes her head. Then she turns to me, cups my face in her hands, and kisses me. Slow. Deep. Like she’s anchoring herself to something solid before stepping off a ledge.
