"Can we go home now?" he asks.
"Yes," I say.
Gabe bends and lifts him easily, like it's nothing. Jace rests his head on Gabe's shoulder without thinking, already half asleep.
My chest tightens, not from fear this time, but gratitude. From the fact that this is real.
We drive to our fancy hotel, quiet and content. When we get inside, Gabe carries Jace to bed and tucks him in. Jace mumbles, "Night."
Gabe says, "Night, buddy," like he's done it a thousand times.
Then Gabe comes back to me.
I stand in our room in my dress, hair coming loose, feet sore, makeup smudged from crying.
He walks up close and cups my face again, and this time there's no audience. No pressure. No performance.
"Hi, Wife," he says.
I laugh. "Hi, Husband."
He kisses me, slow and warm, and when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine.
"We did it," he says.
"We did," I whisper.
He studies my face like he's making sure I'm still here. "You and me. And Jace."
"And Jace," I confirm.
He takes my left hand and looks at the ring again, then looks back at me. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel alone again."
I blink, because I'm already emotional and I don't need extra fuel, but it's too late.
"I'm going to hold you to that," I say.
"Good," he answers. "You should."
I lean into him, and he wraps his arms around me, steady and sure, like this is where we were always meant to end up.
And for once, my mind doesn't run ahead looking for the next problem to solve.
For once, I let myself have the ending.
I let myself have the man.
I let myself have the life.
EPILOGUE: GABE
I'm sprawled out on the plush hotel couch in our suite, the faint glow of the town's lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My phone's screen lights up my face as I stare at the latest message from Lena. My wife. Still can't believe that word fits her now, after today's chaos of vows and tears and that damn near perfect first dance. The wedding's over, the guests are gone, and our little man Jace is fast asleep in the other room of this fancy-ass suite. It's just us now, but we're not face-to-face. Not yet. We're playing this little game of ours, keeping the heat up with texts while she's in the bedroom and I'm out here pretending I've got any patience left.
Her last text reads,
Miss me yet, Husband?
My thumb hovers over the screen, a grin tugging at my lips. Oh, she's good. Real good. I type back quickly, not even thinking too hard about it.
