Epilogue #3
I have a baby growing inside me. A future is finally unfolding. And this man, this beautiful, infuriating, loyal man, is the center of it all. The idea of anything happening to him is too much. It’s unthinkable.
“Chase…” I reach up to grip his shirt, needing to anchor myself to something, to him. “You’re scaring me.”
He still hasn’t said anything.
And the silence is louder than any answer he could have given me.
“Man up, CJ,” his father calls out from somewhere behind us, a teasing bark that slices through the tension.
Chase’s eyes lift to meet mine.
And everything in me stills.
There’s no fear in them now. Just raw, unfiltered emotion, hope, love, and a kind of quiet reverence. That single look is a promise, a map of the life we’ve built and the future he wants for us.
He squeezes my hand, then suddenly lets go.
Before I can question it, he lowers himself to the ground, dropping to one knee.
A sharp gasp rips from my lungs as my hand flies to my chest. For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. The world spins, narrows down to this man on the ground in front of me, and the weight of what’s happening finally lands.
Oh.
Oh God.
He’s not sick.
He’s not dying.
He’s proposing.
The realization hits hard and fast, ricocheting through every nerve ending in my body. My heart pounds so violently I swear he can hear it, feel it, matching his rhythm to mine.
Chase stays there, kneeling, his chest rising with uneven breaths, as if the words are stuck somewhere between his lungs and his tongue. His fingers tremble—not from fear, but from the sheer enormity of this moment, and then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.
He doesn’t open it.
He doesn’t need to.
Emotion surges up, hot and overwhelming. My toes barely stay on the ground as I bounce in place, trembling and wide-eyed.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word bursting out before he can even speak. Then louder, firmer. “Yes, Chase. God, yes.”
Everyone laughs, but Chase doesn’t join in. His shoulders tense as he lifts a hand. “No. Wait!” he says, voice rough. “I need to say something first.” His tone slices through the air, and every part of me locks in on him.
I freeze, my bouncing stops.
My pulse stutters.
That voice, low and serious.
This isn’t part of the joke anymore. Something’s shifted. I feel it crackle in the space between us.
He drags in a breath, steadying himself, then looks me dead in the eyes. “Lyric Griffin, from the second I saw you outside Love and Lavender, I knew I was screwed. You hit me hard and fast, and I’ve never recovered.”
My breath catches. That day, it rushes back to me in full Technicolor. The curb, the heat of the sun, the moment our worlds collided for the first time. He was arrogant, intense. I was already spiralling. And yet even then, my soul recognized him.
My hands tighten on his, like they can hold the weight of this moment still.
A murmur ripples through the crowd, but Chase doesn’t flinch.
“You shake me, Lyri. You flip my world upside down just by breathing in my space. I’ve faced down arenas full of strangers, handled business deals worth millions, but nothing makes my pulse jackhammer like being around you.”
He’s really doing this.
In front of everyone.
In front of me.
My heart pounds against my ribs, frantic, wild, as if it’s trying to leap into his hands.
The vulnerability in his voice is raw and beautiful, and so very him.
The edge in his voice softens for a moment, just enough to let the weight of his following words sink in.
“And yeah, you make me feel weak sometimes. Not because I’m less, but because you matter that damn much. You hold that kind of power over me.”
Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I never imagined being told I made someone weak could feel so strong. So powerful. But this isn’t about fragility, it’s about surrender and trust.
I’ve seen him battle demons. I’ve seen him stand tall in a room full of people who underestimate him. But right now? He’s baring his heart, and it’s beating for me.
He squeezes my hands like he’s anchoring us both.
“But you? You’re a storm. Fierce. Unshakable.
You push back when life hits hard, and you never let go of the people you love.
You don’t just make me feel, you make me more.
A better man. A stronger one. You raise the bar, Lyri.
And I want to meet it. For you. For us.”
A sob catches in my throat, but I swallow it down, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of love crashing through me. I’ve fought so hard to be seen, to be known beneath all the sparkles and the chaos of rock star life.
And here he is, spelling it out in front of everyone, that I’m not just seen.
I’m cherished.
My heart’s thudding so loud I can barely hear anything else, as he stands pressing his forehead against mine for half a breath before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. “You once told me your world doesn’t spin when I’m not in it. Well, mine fucking stops without you. It flatlines.”
My tears fall, and I don’t care who sees. I’m a mess of love, gratitude, and awe. He remembers everything. Every whispered truth. Every moment, I thought he might forget. He never did.
He draws in a slow breath, then his voice drops, thick with meaning. “I need you the way a grenade needs a pin. Without you, I go off. With you? We’re unstoppable.”
A sound escapes me, part gasp, part laugh, part sob.
Only Chase could propose using war metaphors and still make it feel like poetry.
Because he’s not wrong, we’ve been chaos and combustion since the beginning. But through it all, we’ve held strong and we have burned bright.
Tears slip from my eyes as he glances down, then back up.
“I love you, Lyric. I love the life we’ve built and our little Moonbeam. I know our childhoods came from different worlds, but I swear to you, we’re going to raise our daughter with love, with presence, with the kind of security neither of us had growing up.”
My hand instinctively rests against my stomach, where she kicks, almost on cue. I smile through the blur of tears. Our baby girl. Our second chance at giving love the foundation it deserves. A family we build with intention, with fire.
With us.
He pauses, his voice deepening as he finishes, “But I want to do it as your husband. I want our little girl to grow up seeing her parents fight for each other, every damn day. I want her to know what a real home looks like. One built on loyalty, love, and something so solid it can’t be shaken.”
He drops to one knee again and opens the ring box.
My breath catches all over again, seeing the stunning ring inside.
“So, Lyric Griffin, will you marry me?”
I let out a broken laugh, wiping tears from my cheeks. My whole body is trembling, buzzing with emotion, clarity, and hope.
I see the future behind his eyes.
I see a life worth everything.
And I don’t hesitate.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Hell, fucking, yes.”
When Chase slides the ring onto my finger, it’s as though a current zips straight through my veins, a jolt of euphoria that rushes up my spine and blooms across my chest. I can barely breathe.
My fingers tremble, my knees wobble, and my vision blurs, not from nerves, but from the overwhelming surge of joy crashing over me.
The crowd erupts into cheers, wild and thunderous, and I’m vaguely aware of people clapping, someone whistling, someone else whooping loud enough to wake the neighbors, but all I can see is him.
Chase stands, then leaps down from the deck, hands outstretched, and pulls me flush against his chest, gripping me tight, grounding us both in the chaos of celebration.
“I so want to lift you up and swirl you around right now,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice husky with emotion.
“But I don’t want to hurt our Moonbeam in my excitement. ”
Our baby.
Our life.
Our future.
My heart stutters at how sweet he is, how careful and completely wrapped around this little family we’re building. A grin spreads across my face, and without hesitation, I grab both sides of his face, framing him, needing him closer, needing more.
I crash my lips to his. The world around us falls away. My tongue finds his, urgent, hungry, and full of all the things I haven’t found words big enough to say. I kiss him deep, kiss him with everything I am, trying to pour every ounce of love I have into this one moment.
He gives it right back, hands splayed across my lower back, pulling me in tighter, holding me like he’ll never let go.
And he won’t.
I know that now.
This man is mine. Forever. The father of my child. The other half of my soul. He is everything. And now, finally, we’ll be whole.
A sudden throat-clearing slices through the moment. Startled, I pull back, blinking as we turn in unison to find both our fathers standing a few feet away, their arms folded, both looking like they’ve definitely heard every last word of that little speech about parenting.
I freeze.
So does Chase.
A flush creeps up my neck as the reality of the situation hits—our declarations hadn’t exactly been whispered. In fact, judging by the look on their faces, we may as well have projected our emotional baggage across the backyard on a neon sign.
Welp.
Nothing says welcome to the family like promising to break generational trauma in front of the very people who caused it.
My dad clears his throat first. His voice is low, gravel-edged, the kind that carries the weight of years.
“Kids… Senior and I, we know we weren’t the best role models growing up.
Not even close.” His eyes shift between Chase and me, his jaw flexing.
“Neither of us showed up for you the way we should’ve.
You’re right. We were shitty parents.” His admission hangs in the air, naked and raw, a heavy truth none of us can deny.