Page 48 of Stars Like Confetti

I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly at first. I reared my head back to look at him. Tyler was none the wiser as to what was going on in front of him, but Jordan appeared and swept him away.

"I'm sorry," I shouted, sweeping Shea into my arms and hauling him into me. My hands smoothed down his back until they slid into his back pockets, cupping his ass and pressing him against my hips. "Can you say that again?"

Shea tipped his head back, meeting my eyes. The lights reflected off his contented blue irises, the lazy grin on his mouth sending my body into overdrive. I couldn't have said what day of the week it was, or what song was playing, but if I was tested on any part of Shea in that moment, I'd have passed with flying colors. "Let's get married," he called over the music. "I think we've waited long enough, don't you?"

The smile on my face then was entirely involuntary. I hauled Shea into me, giving him a kiss so passionate that I momentarily forgot that I was supposed to be the owner of this place.

Fuck it.

I created Playhouse to celebrate love in all capacities—all love, no matter what. Having to hide myself in any sense was the exact opposite of everything I stood for, everything we'd fought for for so many years. I'd spent so long not getting to love this man like he deserved, I'd be damned if I wasted another second.

This time, I was the one to whimper when Shea broke off the kiss. "You gonna answer me, Daddy?"

I furrowed my brow at him. Did he really…

"Do you really think I'd say anything other than yes?"

Shea took my jaw in both hands, claiming my mouth with his once more. Jaws dropped and tongues tangled. For just a few moments, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

For those few seconds that I kissed my new fiancé in the middle of the dance floor, under the sparkling disco ball that threw beams of light over the walls much like those stars on the first night we spent together, nothing else mattered.

I'd been right that night we saw the shooting stars. I didn't need to wish for anything. Shea was my past, my present, and my future.

And I'd happily walk myself down to the pits of Hell if it meant being this happy forever.

Epilogue One

Shea

One Month Later

I would say that our wedding day didn't turn out exactly how I expected, but I had to be honest with myself—I hadn't thought about my own wedding in a very long time. Not since my parents took me away from Theo.

So any day that I finally got to be beside them and be bound together for life, I would count as a win. It didn't matter to me that we'd hardly gotten dressed that day. Instead, Sophie got ordained online and signed as the official. We said our vows in nothing but our underwear. We didn't have rings—yet. Neither of us knew exactly what we wanted.

Cujo was the honorary best man, complete with a bow tie and even giving a speech of his own. Nobody knew what he said, but it sounded heartfelt and emotional.

Sophie rushed through all the legal stuff so she could leave us to our own devices, even taking Cujo with her.

Theo and I spent our first day of wedded bliss tangled up in each other, hardly even leaving the bed. We went nowhere, and we told no one. There would be time for that later. I wanted to soak up every moment I could with my new spouse, and no one was going to take that away from me.

I traced their body with my lips and my tongue, discovering exactly what I could do with that piercing of theirs to drive them wild. I'd bring them to the edge and back off, over and over again until I thought they'd rip out a fistful of my hair.

Then they'd do the same to me.

Hours passed, morning turning into afternoon and by the evening, Sophie had a cake delivered—that turned out to be the only food we had that day.

"I have something to show you," Theo finally said, sucking icing off their fingers. They were up and out of the bed before I could react to what that image did to me.

They opened a drawer in their dresser and returned to the bed with something in their hand. They sprawled out in front of me on their stomach and handed the object over—it was a picture. The back was yellowed and corners worn with age, and Theo handled it with extreme care.

I couldn't read the scribbles on the back, but I didn't need to. I remembered the events from that day like it was yesterday.

The photo was taken not long after Theo and I met. It must have been by their mom, who said from the beginning that we were two peas in a pod. From the first word we spoke to each other, we were inseparable.

Red cheeks and bleary eyes signaled a day in the pool, and we'd made a blanket fort in the living room, too tired and sore to get anywhere else. Chlorine-textured hair fell in waves over both our shoulders. Theo, forever the tomboy, wore athletic shorts and a cut up T-shirt. My appearance was much more feminine; the remnants of eyeliner and mascara smudged beneath my eyes. I wore Theo's borrowed clothes, more gender neutral in a way that would have given both my parents an aneurysm. Theo laid across the blankets with me between their legs, lounged back on their chest. My eyes were shut, and Theo gazed down at me, one hand combing through my tangled hair.

Although neither of us looked directly at the camera, annoyance was written across both of our faces.