Epilogue
BLADE
Three weeks. That’s how long Bri’s been back. Three weeks since she stopped feeling like something fragile I might lose if I blink wrong and started feeling like mine in a way that actually sticks.
She lives with me now. Not in a tentative, keep-your-stuff-in-a-bag way either. Her toothbrush is in my cup. Her leggings are everywhere. There’s a hoodie on the back of my chair that I pretend annoys me and absolutely does not.
I don’t tell her to stay home anymore. Don’t tell her to lock the doors and wait. I just bring her with me.
Everywhere.
Shop. Club. Runs into town. Late-night drives that don’t have a destination, just the road and her fingers laced through mine. I asked her, more than once, if she was okay with it. I needed to know. Needed to hear it from her mouth, not just assume.
She smiled at me like I was stupid in the softest way possible and said, “I like being with you.”
That was it. Decision made. End of discussion.
There are still things that sit heavy in my chest. Things I don’t say out loud until I’ve turned them over a hundred times. One of them is the calendar I keep running in my head without meaning to.
She hasn’t gotten her period yet.
I don’t love that my mind goes there. I don’t love that I have to think about timing and doctors and what-ifs when all I want is to keep her smiling like she’s been doing lately. But we need to know. She needs to see someone either way. Not because I’m scared. Not because I’m not ready.
Because I am.
That’s the part that sneaks up on me when I’m not looking. The truth of it. I’m ready for whatever this turns into. I’m ready to stand in front of anything if it means she’s safe.
I just don’t know if she is yet.
So I plan to talk to her tonight. Calm. Straight. No pressure. Just the facts and my heart laid out where she can see it.
I’m picking her up from Bella’s.
Girls’ day, apparently. Bella. Brooke. Ansley.
Movies and snacks and something about gay hockey players and a book called Heated Rivalry.
I don’t get it. I don’t try to get it. All I know is every time she comes back from watching that shit, she’s smiling like she’s got secrets and giggling under her breath.
And yeah. She comes back wet and ready for me.
I’m not above admitting patterns.
If it makes her happy, I don’t give a fuck what she watches.
I pull up outside Bella’s place and cut the engine. The porch light is on. Laughter spills through the door when it opens, bright and easy and hers. Bri steps out a second later, cheeks flushed, hair a mess, eyes lighting up when she sees me like I’m the best part of her night.
That look still hits me square in the chest.
She climbs into the truck, leans over, and kisses me like she’s been thinking about it for a while. Slow. Familiar. Promising.
“Good day?” I ask.
She grins. “Very.”
I pull back onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other finding her thigh without even thinking about it. She rests her palm over mine. Easy. Like this is exactly where we belong.
The words sit on my tongue the whole drive home. I don’t rush them. I don’t shove them out wrong. When I finally speak, my voice is steady.
“Hey, baby.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
She doesn’t tense. Doesn’t pull away. Just turns toward me, all attention, all trust.
I tell her. About the timing. About the doctor. About how this isn’t fear talking, it’s care. I tell her she doesn’t have to decide anything tonight or tomorrow or ever on anyone else’s timeline but her own.
I’m halfway through it when she goes quiet.
Not bad-quiet. Not shutting-down quiet. Just… thoughtful.
Then she reaches into her purse.
I watch her hands because I always do. Because they tell me everything before her mouth does.
She pulls out a small pink box and holds it up between us like it weighs something.
My chest tightens.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “We need to take a test and check.”
I blink at it, then at her. My brain stalls for a second, like it needs to reboot.
She rushes on, words tumbling now, honest and raw. “It’s not that I don’t want to be pregnant. God, knowing our baby could be growing inside me is everything. I want it so badly.”
Her voice wobbles just a little, but she doesn’t look away.
“I just needed to get back to me first,” she says. “Before I could be more.”
Something cracks open in my chest at that. Not pain. Recognition.
I reach for her, slow, careful, like I’m handling something sacred. My thumb brushes her knuckles where they grip the box.
“You did,” I say. My voice comes out rough, but steady. “You got back to you.”
She exhales, like she’s been holding that breath for weeks.
“And if that test says yes,” I add, meeting her eyes, no hesitation, “then we’ll handle it. Together. Doctor appointments. Late nights. All of it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her smile is small at first. Then it grows. Bright. Certain.
She leans over and presses her forehead to mine, breath warm, familiar. Safe.
“For the record,” she murmurs, like she can’t help herself, “the hockey players were very inspiring.”
I snort. “Jesus.”
She laughs, soft and wicked, and kisses me again. Three weeks. And somehow, it already feels like forever in the best way.
Before the timer goes off, I turn to her.
She’s watching the phone like it might explode, fingers twisting in her lap, breath a little uneven. I study her for a second longer than I should, because this woman has already changed every part of my life.
“Bri,” I say.
She looks up at me, eyes soft, questioning.
“Before the results come back,” I tell her, voice steady even though my chest feels too full, “no matter what they are… I want to get married.”
Her lips part in surprise.
“I want you to be mine in every way that matters,” I continue. “I want a wedding with your sisters and girls there. With my friends. With the club. I know you’re already my old lady, but I want my patch inked into your skin. I want it to be permanent in every way that it can be.”
I don’t rush it. I don’t take it back. I let every word land. I reach up and cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks like I need to feel her real under my hands.
“There isn’t a version of my future that doesn’t have you in it,” I say quietly. “Ring. Vows. Ink. All of it. I want my name on your skin, you already have my heart carved into yours.”
She stares at me like I just rewrote the world. And I don’t look away. Because this time, I’m not asking. I’m choosing.
Her smile breaks slow and brilliant, like sunrise.
And right then, before the timer ever goes off, I know one thing for sure.
Whatever that test says, we’re already forever.
The timer goes off and Bri doesn’t move. She just sits there, eyes locked on the phone like it betrayed her by doing exactly what it was supposed to do. She doesn’t make a move to get up.
I watch her chest rise and fall, fast and shallow, and I know she’s scared. Not of the answer. Of how much it might change everything.
“Want me to check it?” I ask gently.
She shakes her head. Then she turns to me, cups my face in her hands, and kisses me. Slow. Deep. Like she’s anchoring herself to something solid before stepping off a ledge.
“I’ll marry you, Blade,” she whispers against my mouth. “Because I want you forever. Not because of a test or a what-if. Because you’re my home. Because I choose you. Every version of you. Every life we could have.”
My throat tightens so hard it almost hurts.
She rests her forehead against mine, breathing me in. “I want your name. Your ring. Your last name. I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life and know I belong. That we belong. Whatever comes next, I want it with you.”
I kiss her again, reverent this time, like I’m sealing a vow we haven’t spoken yet.
Then she takes my hand. “Okay,” she says softly. “Let’s look.”
We stand together. No space between us. No room for doubt. She picks up the test. Looks at it. Freezes. Then her breath catches, sharp and broken, and her eyes fill all at once. Positive. For a split second, the world goes silent.
Then I scoop her up, arms locked around her, lifting her clean off the floor as a laugh rips out of my chest and turns into something dangerously close to a sob. I kiss her, deep and unrestrained, pouring everything I feel into it. Love. Awe. Promise.
She clings to me, laughing and crying at the same time, happy tears sliding down her cheeks as she presses her face into my neck.
“We’re having a baby,” she whispers, voice shaking.
I hold her tighter, forehead to hers, heart pounding like it’s trying to break free. “Yeah we are,” I murmur.
She nods against me, still crying, still smiling. And in that moment, with her in my arms and our future suddenly real, I know this is it. This is everything.