I nod, a small dip of my chin, and even though I can’t see his mouth, some of the tightness around his eyes relaxes, like maybe he’s smiling under that bear-like contraption.
There’s aching-ching-chingof metal on glass, and turning, I find Jansen standing on a table, a goblet of something light colored in one hand and an absurdly large knife in the other. “Hello, and welcome to RJ’s twenty-third birthday party! Here’s the plan: first, a photo; second, food; third, gifts; fourth, cake; and after that, dancing, drinking, games, whatever. So, everybody, over here. I’ve got my phone set on a delay. We’re going to do an official portrait, and then we’re going to get really close for a selfie. After that, you can take off your masks if you want. Except Trips. He should keep his muzzle on. Safety first!”
Laughter surrounds me, and our resident thief leaps from the table and crushes us together, then sets his phone up on a chair perched on the table, hits the button and dives at us. Literally.
By the time the flash goes off, four people are either laughing or cursing, while Jansen poses horizontally in our arms. He does a few normal ones too, including his promised selfie, but his silliness starts the party with the right vibes. A little wacky, a whole lot of fun, all of us working together to make it a good night.
We browse on the obscene amount of food, and I open a collection of thoughtful gifts I wasn’t expecting nor particularly needed. It’s perfect.
When it comes time for the cake, Jansen makes another announcement, and this one I’m expecting. It’s one we’ve planned for, both separately and together.
“So,” he starts, standing on a chair this time, even though we aren’t a crowd and he has no need to climb on top of things to get our attention. “Because our legal system is what it is, we can’t all marry you, Clara. Which sucks. Majorly. I’m putting in a petition that we take it in five-year chunks, so we can each have a turn. Then if you want to be single for a while, well, sorry. No can do.”
I can’t help laughing, and I’m not alone. Clara looks up at him like he’s crazy but also like she wants to fly up there and hug him, even as she shakes her head at him.
“Because of that, I got each of us a cake to cut with you. And we each got you something to go along with it. Except Trips. He got to marry you, so he’s good there. I did get him a treat, though. I didn’t want him to feel left out. Anyway, we’ll sing for RJ, but then it’s all romance for a minute. It’ll make sense. Kind of.”
Clara looks at me, bewildered. “It’s your birthday. Why am I still getting presents?”
“Because you deserve all the good things, princess,” Walker says, tugging her close to him. “And RJ was on board with this. None of us wanted to wait any longer than we had to. You’re too important to each of us.” He presses his nose to the side of her head, and it’s clear in his posture—having her back makes everything better. Even the shit we wish we didn’t have to deal with.
She turns in his hold, seeing his truth as clearly as I do, then twists to look at me. I smile and nod, so she knows I’m okay with this.
“Alright then,” she says, her voice softer than it usually is.
Jansen plops some candles in a cake, and they sing for me, Clara’s voice charmingly off-key, and when I blow out the blaze of twenty-three candles, I make a wish. It’s a simple one, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it more than anything.
More nights like tonight. A lifetime’s worth of them. We’ve more than earned it.
Chapter 73
Clara
Idon’t know what to expect when the guys gather without me, all of them sneaking glances my way as they figure out the plan for this gift-giving situation. With a frustrated huff, Trips approaches, the other three still whispering. But then Jansen sprints forward and leaps on Trips’ back like a koala as RJ skirts around them, carefully twining my fingers with his.
He tugs me to one of the many cakes Jansen got, and I decide to ignore whatever is going on with the other guys right now.
RJ’s taking the lead, and I’m curious to know where this is heading.
The one he stops in front of has rough tan frosting scraped on it like tree bark and no extra decorations. I’m trying to figure out what we’re doing next when RJ gets down on one knee in front of me. And all my brain can say is, ‘Oh.’
He swallows, then swallows again, before pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. I wait, knowing he takes a minute to get his words out. And it’s not uncomfortable but charged with anticipation and tremulous joy.
Gold-tinged eyes hold my gaze, and all I want to do is drop to his level. To be this man’s equal in every way that matters.
So I do.
“Of course,” I whisper, squeezing his hands.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Yes. To you and me. To all the quiet moments and the wonderful conversations. To your support, your laughter, your love. Yes, to all of it.”
His chuckle soothes my anxious ramble, and he kisses me, jamming the paper back into his pocket. And the kiss says everything he struggles to get out with his words. Soft lips, tender touches, care and passion and so much love that it aches between us. When we finally come up for air, our panting breaths mingling, he chokes out, “Will you be mine?”
“Forever and ever.”
He pulls out a necklace from a different pocket—purple stones, the color of the slip he bought me a year ago, pool in his hand surrounded by a white gold chain. There are three of them, two ovals in a line leading to a single teardrop-shaped stone at the bottom. I lean forward as he clasps the necklace, his hands resting on the back of my neck for a moment before he traces the chain to the gems. “Tears don’t make us weak. They make us strong. All the things we’ve overcome brought us to this point. And from here on out, we don’t suffer alone. We’re in this together.”
