The courthouse was cool and unusually quiet, a contrast to the fire burning in my chest. We stood in front of the clerk looking unabashed, considering we were two men in sweats, pajamas, and messy hair, holding hands tightly.
When the clerk got to the part about the names, Silas stopped, his expression turning solemn. With a single look at each other, we both spoke up at the exact same time.
“I want to change my last name.”
Stopping, each of us turned to the other with a quirked brow.
Silas blinked. “Wait, what? No. I’m taking Kincaid,” he declared, bumping his shoulder against mine.
“Like hell you are. I’m taking Reed,” I countered immediately.
Si's brow furrowed. “Why the fuck do you want to be a Reed? Nobody wants to willingly admit they’re related to Maverick or Taylor.”
“Why do you want Kincaid?!” I shot back, turning fully toward him. “Idon’t even want Kincaid!”
“‘Cause, Reed is a headache!” he argued, throwing his free hand in the air. “I don’t want that shit! I want to beyourhusband! To be Silas Kincaid!”
“Well, I want to be Cal Reed! I want to steal your family’s legacy!”
“You can’t steal it when I’m trying to give it away!”
“Excuse me.”
We both ignored the clerk.
“You’re not taking Reed, Cal,” Silas insisted, his Southern drawl thickening with his increased frustration.
“Yes, I am,” I said stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Oh, for the love of God,” the clerk sighed, the sound echoing loudly off the plexiglass partition. Her pen fell to the desk with a sharp clatter, causing Silas and me to pause and look at her. She was pinching the bridge of her nose while glaring at us. A look that told us we were possibly the two biggest idiots to ever walk into New Hanover County. “Hyphenate it. Both of you. And stop wasting my time.”
“Wait, what?” Silas asked, blinking.
She picked her pen back up and tapped it aggressively against the paperwork. “You both take Reed-Kincaid. Then you have the exact same name. There, problem solved. Now sign the damn paper so I can go on my lunch break.”
The bickering evaporated into thin air as I looked over at Silas, his frustrated expression already melting into a bright smile.
“Callum Reed-Kincaid,” Silas tested the name out, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He looked at me, his eyes shining with tears he was no longer trying to hide. “I like it.”
“Silas Reed-Kincaid,” I whispered back, a fierce, possessive warmth flooding my chest. “Yeah. Me too.”
We signed the papers and said our vows. They were short and sweet, but powerful enough to shake the foundations of the building. When the clerk finally said: “I now pronounce you husband and husband,” I didn’t just kiss him; I claimed him. It was a connection that tasted of victory, obsession, and a decade of longing.
We walked out of the courthouse into the bright morning sun, and the air finally felt like we could breathe it. Our hearts felt lighter than ever before, like the world finally made sense.
“Wait!” Josie yelled, running ahead of us. “We need a photo! The world needs to see this!”
Silas laughed, wiping his eyes. He wore his favoriteNO ONE LIKE UShoodie, the one I’d given him years ago. It was a statement, it was us. So, with his back to the camera and the white lettering of the hoodie stark against the black fabric, he pulled me into a hug with his head resting on my shoulder. My arms hooked against his back, holding him tight, but as Cadence lifted her phone, I had another thought. I looked directly into the lens, my face locked in defiance as I held up both hands and extended my middle fingers to the world. A resounding “fuck you” to the corporate office, to the critics, and to every person who told us to hide.
“Got it!” Cadence yelled.
Snatching the phone from her, I opened Instagram. For the first time in my career, I didn’t think about the PR team or how to word my caption. I started selecting every photo we’d ever hidden, from the one of us asleep on the couch inthe house to the one of Silas laughing in the kitchen. Even the one of us holding hands on the porch. I posted them all; a decade of secret love flooding the internet in a matter of seconds.
And the final shot? The courthouse photo.
Professional image: here it is. Deal with it. Meet the Reed-Kincaids.
“Tag me!” Silas laughed, his phone already starting to buzz in his pocket.
