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“Yes, but I want to marry you soon.” She brushes her nose against mine.
“Why? Thirty-four is not actually that old, Tide. I’m not gonna die on you in a year or two.”
She swats my chest and laughs. “I just mean, I want to be Mrs. Rexroth. I want Theodore to be a Rexroth. I’m ready to change our last name to something we’ll both be proud of.”
I used to love December, but now I love September.
Because it is in September when a seahorse is kissing a tide, creating a gorgeous fucking wave, and my fiancée places my hand against her stomach. “I think I’m ready for a dynasty.”
“I think you’re crazy,” I reply, but not really. She can have it all. And she knows it.
“Why not both?” She smiles.
This is where it’s at. The thing I’ve been looking for. In those eyes. In those lips. Our story is not perfect. My daughter is still not speaking. I am still The Mute. Theo isn’t cured, and Edie is still the product of a fucking asshole.
But imperfection is where we thrive. In the dark alleyways of society where we first met. I take her face in my hands and kiss her again, our teeth clashing together. Imperfect.
“Bend over and bite your forearm for me, Edie.”
And she does. “I love it when you hurt me.”
“I love you when I do, and when I don’t,” I reply, caressing her ass cheek through the fabric of her overalls.
“Strong words, Mr. Rexroth.”
“Well, Mrs. Soon-to-Be Rexroth, if you want to be strong—be.”
