Page 188

Because even after everything—after heartbreak, after bad timing and second chances—I’ve never been more certain.

I crouch in front of the car seats and press a kiss to each sleepy forehead. “Wish me luck, little dudes.”

A low crunch of gravel reaches my ears—soft at first, then sharper as tires roll to a stop. A car door thuds closed, firm but unhurried. My breath catches mid-chest, suspended like the second before a song drops.

Then I hear her footsteps.

Light. Certain. Mine.

The front door creaks open, and there she is, framed in the soft glow of the porch light like some fever dream made real. She walks through the open doorway, hair still wind-tousled from the flight, cheeks pink from the chill. Her eyes land on me, then the twins.

Her whole face softens.

“Hey,” she says, breath catching.

“Hey,” I answer, suddenly feeling like a teenage boy trying to ask out the hottest girl in school instead of the mother of my sons and the woman I’ve been in love with since the moment I let myself fall.

“I thought you’d be at the ranch.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Figured this was a better place for what I had in mind.”

She smiles. Slow. Curious.

Hopeful.

I stand, close the distance between us in two strides, and reach for her hand. “Mya?”

Her gaze flicks to mine.

I drop to one knee.

Right there in the middle of our unfinished home. The drywall still smells like a fresh start, and the floors haven’t been sealed yet, but none of that matters.

Because she’s here.

And so am I.

And the boys are sleeping behind me like the little soul-sized reminders of everything we almost lost.

Mya’s breath catches. Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes wide, lips parted like she’s halfway between laughing and crying. And suddenly I don’t care that my palms are sweating, or that my voice is caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat.

I take a deep breath and say the only thing that matters.

“Mya Sequera,” I begin, and God, her name tastes holy on my tongue. “You were never the easy choice. You were the impossible one. The complicated, chaotic, completely terrifying one… and I loved you anyway. I still love you. I think I always will.”

Her eyes glisten. A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just listens.

“You were the girl who broke open every wall I built. The one who made me want more when I didn’t think I deserved anything. You gave me the kind of love that doesn’t fade. It burns. Bright and messy and real. And when I thought I’d lost you—when I thought the sky had actually fallen⁠—”

I pause. My throat closes around the words, but I push through, because she needs to hear this.

“When the sky falls… you find out what’s worth holding onto. And baby, I’m still holding onto you.”

Her whole body trembles. She sways toward me like gravity doesn’t know what else to do but pull her into me.

“I don’t want perfect. I want us. The sleepless nights and sticky counters and tiny baby socks everywhere. I want every version of you. The tired, brilliant, infuriating, breathtaking version who made me a dad. Who made me whole.”

I open the box.