"He's right, you know," I say softly, my voice barely disturbing the quiet. "That challenge really did save Christmas."
Lane laughs under her breath, a small sound that carries years of understanding. When she turns, her eyes glisten in the low light.
"It saved more than that."
Five simple words that crack something open inside my chest. All these years of regret, of missed opportunities, suddenly they don't seem wasted. They were just the long road that led us here.
My pinky finger brushes against hers, tentative. Her hand opens slightly, an invitation. Our fingers weave together, hesitant but sure.
We don't need to name this thing between us tonight. We don't need promises or declarations. This isn't some dramatic conclusion. It's just the quiet middle where everything begins again.
The hard part, earning back trust,proving change, building something new, that still lies ahead. But tonight, in the snow-muffled silence, I know it's possible.
Lane leans her head against my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck.
"Merry Christmas, Woody," she whispers. "I love you."
I turn just enough to press my lips to her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.
"Merry Christmas, my love. Thank you for letting me back in."
Behind us, the lights on the tree glow steady, simple, warm, whole. Like us.
TWENTY-FIVE
Epilogue
Six Months Later
The ballroom overlooksthe Atlantic like a shimmering blue canvas beneath a perfectly pink sunset. I adjust my cuff links as we step through the double doors, my wife at my side.
My wife. Even a month after our re-marriage, the words still fill me with quiet wonder. It was a small, intimate service on the beach, with only Sanders, Lane, and the priest, and it couldn't have been more perfect.
"Dr. and Mrs. Beamer!" Dr. Mitchell waves from across the room, champagne flute raised in greeting.
Lane's arm tightens around mine as we navigate through Cape Fear Regional's finest in their formal wear. The satin of her navy dress catches the light with every step, the fabric flowing gracefully over her rounded belly.
Six months pregnant, and she's never looked more beautiful.
We pause beside a table draped in stars and stripes, andI grab two glasses of sparkling water. My fingers brush against Lane's as I hand her the drink, and I can't help tracing slow circles on her palm with my thumb.
"He would love all of the pomp and circumstance of this, wouldn't he?" I murmur, thinking of Sanders.
Lane laughs, the sound still my favorite melody after all these years. "He would, but you know he and Luke are in hog heaven playing video games all night. Carly lets them stay up much later than we do."
"Luke's family has been so good for him."
"For all of us," Lane corrects me, her eyes soft with memories of Christmas and everything that has happened since.
We found out we were pregnant in late January. It was unexpected, of course, because Lane has been on the pill for years. But it was welcomed all the same. Lane was already five weeks along when she had a hunch and took three at-home pregnancy tests.
Luke is doing great, getting stronger every day. They were back in Wilmington by the beginning of February, and the GoFundMe raised enough to allow Carly to care for him full-time since. She's planning to go back to work once school starts next month.
Across the room, I spot Nate Peck's tall frame moving toward us, his trademark flannel replaced with a tux, grinning like he's got secrets to tell.
Nate strides over and claps me hard on the shoulder, sending a splash of sparkling water over my knuckles.
"Still can't believe you turned down the chief offer," he says, shaking his head with good-natured disbelief. His five o'clock shadow looks almost deliberate with the tux. Somehow, he makes formal wear look rugged. "But I guess it makes sense now."
