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“Hades is ours, baby girl. If you’ll have him.”
I peel back enough to meet his eyes, and the sight of his tears sends me into another fit of sobs. He cups my cheeks and presses our foreheads together, rolling them back and forth.
“He’s ours? You adopted him?”
“We did. There’s no better family out there for him than ours. You and me.”
I sniffle, overwhelmed but so, so happy. “I don’t even know what to say other than thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I love you so much,” he breathes.
“I love you too, Dox. Forever.”
“And always,” he finishes, finally closing the distance and kissing me.
EPILOGUE 1
MADDOX
TWO MONTHS LATER
There aremoments in your life that you never forget. I have a bucketload of those memories, and most of them feature my best friend.
From our first meeting outside of a busy kindergarten to the time I found her struggling to paint the nails on her right hand in the yard at recess and offered to help regardless of how it might damage my badass, eleven-year-old reputation, Braxton is a living entity in my mind. She’s in my past, present, and sure as hell my future. Everything that I am today, she’s played a part in moulding.
And as I watch that short, frizzy-haired little girl with the electric-blue eyes from my memories become my wife fifteen years later, I know that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Every wrong path I took, every mistake along the way, all led me right back here. To my other half.
To my soulmate.
I dreamed of seeing her in a white dress and veil someday, but Braxton is beyond dreaming. She’s a goddess, and somehow, I’m lucky enough to call her mine. My wife.
A white silk dress hugs her curves and spills at her feet. It trails behind her on the deep blue carpet in the aisle of the chairs and over the grass in my parents’ backyard. Sparkling, sheer sleeves cover her arms, and the material carries over to the dipped neckline, hiding the swell of her breasts. Her waist is cinched, and I want nothing more than to place my hands on her hips and pull her the rest of the way.
A veil is clipped to the back of an intricate-looking updo, and it shines the way her sleeves and chest do. There are daisies in her hair, matching the bouquets tied to the backs of the guests’ chairs and hung by the aisles and from the tree house behind me. I swallow when my eyes finally reach hers, and I find them waiting, so warm and familiar.
Her eyelashes are long and thick and make the blue in her eyes sharper, more defined. With each step she takes, the sheen across them becomes clearer, and I know she can tell the same about mine because I can feel the tears on my cheeks, and I don’t care to wipe them away just yet.
She’s so beautiful it hurts, and when she smiles at me, my heart skips a beat—or five. My lungs fold in on themselves, and I force a breath out, grinning at her and fighting back the urge to steal her from my dad and pull her close.
Speaking of the old man, I watch as he places a hand over the arm she has threaded through his and gives it a squeeze. It’s a touch that says a million words, and when he looks at me and dips his chin, I know what he’s trying to say.
I love you both. I’m so proud of you.
A ball lodges in my throat as I nod back, swiping a hand across my cheeks.
When Braxton reaches me, the minister says a few words that I don’t register before Dad is placing her hand in mine and patting me on the shoulder before moving to his seat beside Mom.
My next inhale is shaky as I bring our joined hands to my lips and grab her other one, moving it to rest against my chest and the thundering beat inside of it. I want to kiss her already, want to sweep her up and take her away from here, but I focus on the zaps where we touch and remind myself that she’s not going anywhere. There isn’t any need to rush.
“You are breathtaking,” I whisper, lowering our hands to rest between us while gliding my thumbs over her knuckles.
“So are you.”
And I believe her, because when she trails her eyes over my face and down the front of my suit, she looks as taken by me as I imagine I do as I stare at her.
The minister starts to welcome everyone, but his voice is nothing more than a whisper as I stare at Braxton. At her wobbly chin, the loose curls left out of her updo to frame her face, and the frantic fluttering of her eyelashes as she tries not to cry. The crowd fades, and she becomes my focus, like she has been for my entire life.
Time moves fast, the ceremony speeding by, and I don’t take my eyes off my bride once. Not as I recite my vows and not as she speaks hers. Even as Noah hands me our rings and I slide the band onto her finger, my eyes don’t waver. It’s not until she pushes a silver band up my finger and over my knuckle that I drop my gaze to our hands.
