My throat tightens. “Beckett?—”
“I didn’t want you to worry. I never meant…” He turns his head, avoiding my gaze. “But I need you to know that you and the boys will always be taken care of. No matter what.”
I cannot ignore the chill that slides down my spine.
Does he think I’m giving up?
All along, I’ve been thinking the choice was mine, but what if…?
“I didn’t mean it.” I never should have said those words… “That night,” I whisper. “When I said I didn’t love you anymore. I didn’t mean it. Of course I didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” he says. “Even though it hurt like hell to hear you say it.” His voice is low, rough. “I never stopped loving you. Not for one damn second.”
My breath hitches. “I know that,” I manage, my voice catching.
“Five years!” the DJ calls. “If you’ve been married less than five years, step off the floor!”
More couples leave, laughing, clapping for the ones who stay. The circle shrinks around us.
Beckett’s hand presses more firmly into my back, like he’s trying to anchor us both. “Ash,” he murmurs, “when we get home… some stuff’s going to come out. About work.”
My stomach tightens. “What kind of stuff?” The air shifts. My breath sticks in my throat. “Are you in trouble, Beckett?”
His jaw tics. “I can’t talk about it. Not yet.” He swallows. “But if something happens… go to Nick.”
“Nick?” My voice is barely audible. “Nick Watson? Why would I need to go to him?” I have vague memories of sitting in the attorney’s office, signing dozens of papers, estate planning, living wills…
Before he can answer, the DJ’s voice booms across the speakers again. “Ten years! If you’ve been married less than ten years, give it up for the couples staying on!”
We stay. Almost twelve years. A lifetime. A blink.
Cheers erupt around us. Beckett’s mouth is near mine, and the courtyard spins gently as we turn. The music feels too soft for the way my heart is pounding.
I step back, just enough to see his face. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He opens his mouth—then stops.
“Fifteen years!” the DJ announces. “If you’ve been married less than fifteen years, step off and cheer for the couples still out there!”
That’s our cue.
We gently break apart and start edging toward the side of the dance floor as people clap and hoot for the older couples who remain. Beckett doesn’t let go of my hand. He leans in, voice low.
“Just in case,” he says. “It’s probably nothing. I just… needed you to know.”
My fingers tighten around his. He’s trying to sound casual, but the look on his face isn’t.
My heart skips a beat and then starts racing.
Before either of us can say anything else, two small comets slam into us.
“Mom!” Max bounces in place, a little whine creeping into his voice. “When do we get to dance?”
“Soon,” I say, glancing toward the dance floor. The anniversary dance is winding down. Only a few couples remain now, slow-stepping in soft circles as the DJ calls out the years. One more beat, and he announces the winners—Roger and Helen, still swaying in each other’s arms, beaming.
“Now, Mom?” Blakey presses, eyes wide with hope. “They’re done with the mooshy stuff.” His voice drops low, serious as a heart attack. “We’ve been practicing.”
Max nods furiously. “We have moves!”
