Nobody moves.
"That's all of us," Malachi says.
The judge's chambers are small. Wood paneled. Certificates on the wall. A shelf of law books gathering dust. Judge Mills is in her sixties, hair in a silver twist, glasses perched halfway down her nose.
Bikers. Tattoos. Leather. Sloane in white.
"Full house," she says.
"Big decision," James replies.
She smiles. "Fair enough."
We stand in front of her desk. Sloane's hand slides into mine, fingers cold and tight. I wrap both of mine around hers, covering as much skin as I can.
"Names?" Judge Mills asks, though she has the paperwork.
"Knox Turner," I say.
"Sloane Mercer," she says. "For now."
The judge's eyes soften. "We can fix that."
She runs through the legal script. We answer when we have to. My voice stays steady, but it costs me. Her voice wobbles once on the word "husband," and my grip tightens.
"Do you have rings?" Judge Mills asks.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the band I bought yesterday while Maggie had her. Plain gold, solid. A band that won't catch on gloves or shift work, that will still shine when she's eighty.
Frankie moves up from behind Sloane and slaps my shoulder. "Other way around, big guy. Ladies first."
Sloane turns to me, cheeks pink. "I, um… we—Maggie and Frankie kind of—"
She produces a small ring from somewhere I didn't see her hide it. Brushed metal. Darker, heavier. Subtle pattern etched into it that looks like waves or flames depending on the angle.
I look at it, then at her. My throat goes tight. "You got me a ring," I say, stupidly moved by that small, domestic fact.
A shy smile. "Of course I did."
"Okay," Judge Mills says. "Your vows."
We didn't write any. Didn't have time. This was never supposed to be romantic. I look at Sloane. At the way she's shaking. How she's holding it together anyway. Fuck it.
"Sloane," I say, throat rough. "I'm standing here by choice. Nobody pushed me into this. Nobody forced my hand. I know who and what I'm taking on. What your name comes with. I don't care. I want your bullshit and your bad days. You stealing my shirts and running at danger instead of away from it. I'm going to keep you safe the way you keep everyone else safe. I'm going to put my name on you and back it up with whatever it takes. Long as you're breathing, I'm on your side. You hear me?"
Tears spill over. She breathes out like I punched the air from her lungs.
"Yeah," she whispers. "I hear you."
Judge Mills nods, eyes warm. "Your turn," she tells Sloane.
Sloane swallows hard, unshed tears making her irises shine. "Knox," she starts. Small but clear. "I didn't plan on any of this. I didn't plan on running. On asking for help. On… ending up in your bed and in your kitchen and in your house. I definitely didn't plan on you putting a ring on my finger after three days. But I've spent my whole life cleaning up messes for men who never cared. You're the first man who walked into the mess and said, 'This is mine now, I've got it.' I don't…" She laughs once, wet and shaky. "I have no idea how to be anyone's anything. But I'm going to try to be yours. I'm going to try to remember this is a choice, not a debt. When I forget, you're allowed to remind me."
My vision blurs. Shit.
"Okay," Judge Mills says softly. "Rings."
Sloane's hands shake as she slides the dark band onto my finger. It settles. Cool metal going warm against my skin. "Knox Turner," she says, "I give you this ring as a sign that you're insane."
