Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
FLETCH
T he truck rumbles to a stop outside the house, and the second I kill the engine, the silence hits me like a cymbal crash mid-ballad. Sharp. Jarring. Full of anticipation.
“Okay, boys,” I mutter, turning to the backseat where two tiny faces greet me from matching car seats, snug in their fleece-lined onesies. “This is it. Big moment. I need you to be cool. Chill. Don’t throw up, don’t scream, and if you could just—y’know—not poop your pants for the next twenty minutes, I’d really appreciate it.”
Kingston blinks, half-asleep. Kody sneezes in his sleep.
I chuckle, nerves buzzing through my bloodstream like a rogue amp plugged into the wrong socket. “I’m gonna take that as agreement.”
The house is quiet now that the crew’s gone. The front porch light glows like a beacon, soft and warm against the deepening evening. There’s still sawdust clinging to the entryway, but it smells like fresh paint and promise. The place is almost ready—four weeks, maybe less—and every room echoes with the future I didn’t see coming but wouldn’t trade for anything.
My future with her.
With them.
I shift both car seats into the foyer, careful not to wake the twins, and triple-check that the little velvet box is still tucked inside my jacket pocket. Still there. Still heavy. Like a promise waiting to become a vow.
The house is all her favorite shades—warm creams, soft sage, exposed brick and bleached wood—and even though we haven’t moved in yet, it already feels like home. Because home? Home isn’t where you live.
It’s who you live for.
The text I sent her a few minutes ago buzzes “delivered” on my phone. Meet me at the house.
No other context. No pressure.
Just… us.
I breathe through the storm that’s building in my chest. This isn’t stage fright. It’s not the pre-show jitters before a sold-out arena or the crackle of adrenaline before a festival drop.
It’s bigger.
It’s real.
The band’s been busy—Carson and Benji are flying all over the damn country scouting talent, and so far they’ve already signed two up-and-coming acts. Alex is officially on board in a partner capacity, and Penelope’s stepped up so hard we had to give her a title. She’s basically the glue holding our creative chaos together.
And me?
I’ve been here. With the boys. With the blueprints. With a ring burning a hole in my back pocket for weeks.
Because even after everything—after heartbreak, after bad timing and second chances—I’ve never been more certain.
I crouch in front of the car seats and press a kiss to each sleepy forehead. “Wish me luck, little dudes.”
A low crunch of gravel reaches my ears—soft at first, then sharper as tires roll to a stop. A car door thuds closed, firm but unhurried. My breath catches mid-chest, suspended like the second before a song drops.
Then I hear her footsteps.
Light. Certain. Mine.
The front door creaks open, and there she is, framed in the soft glow of the porch light like some fever dream made real. She walks through the open doorway, hair still wind-tousled from the flight, cheeks pink from the chill. Her eyes land on me, then the twins.
Her whole face softens.
“Hey,” she says, breath catching.
“Hey,” I answer, suddenly feeling like a teenage boy trying to ask out the hottest girl in school instead of the mother of my sons and the woman I’ve been in love with since the moment I let myself fall.
“I thought you’d be at the ranch.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Figured this was a better place for what I had in mind.”
She smiles. Slow. Curious.
Hopeful.
I stand, close the distance between us in two strides, and reach for her hand. “Mya?”
Her gaze flicks to mine.
I drop to one knee.
Right there in the middle of our unfinished home. The drywall still smells like a fresh start, and the floors haven’t been sealed yet, but none of that matters.
Because she’s here.
And so am I.
And the boys are sleeping behind me like the little soul-sized reminders of everything we almost lost.
Mya’s breath catches. Her hands fly to her mouth, eyes wide, lips parted like she’s halfway between laughing and crying. And suddenly I don’t care that my palms are sweating, or that my voice is caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
I take a deep breath and say the only thing that matters.
“Mya Sequera,” I begin, and God, her name tastes holy on my tongue. “You were never the easy choice. You were the impossible one. The complicated, chaotic, completely terrifying one… and I loved you anyway. I still love you. I think I always will.”
Her eyes glisten. A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just listens.
“You were the girl who broke open every wall I built. The one who made me want more when I didn’t think I deserved anything. You gave me the kind of love that doesn’t fade. It burns. Bright and messy and real. And when I thought I’d lost you—when I thought the sky had actually fallen?—”
I pause. My throat closes around the words, but I push through, because she needs to hear this.
“When the sky falls… you find out what’s worth holding onto. And baby, I’m still holding onto you.”
Her whole body trembles. She sways toward me like gravity doesn’t know what else to do but pull her into me.
“I don’t want perfect. I want us. The sleepless nights and sticky counters and tiny baby socks everywhere. I want every version of you. The tired, brilliant, infuriating, breathtaking version who made me a dad. Who made me whole.”
I open the box.
The ring isn’t flashy. It’s not trendy or overdesigned or loud.
It’s her.
A princess-cut diamond—square, sharp, unapologetically bold—just over a carat-and-a-half, set in platinum that catches the light like it’s holding its breath. The edges are clean. The shape’s got structure. It’s not soft or round or delicate.
It’s strong.
Like her.
Like the way she looks at me when she’s pissed and fighting sleep and still somehow managing to hold both of our sons and the world on her shoulders.
The band’s simple. Thin, but not fragile. I didn’t want fragile. I wanted something that felt real. Like us. There’s a trail of tiny pavé diamonds wrapping halfway around it, like a secret—something only you’d notice if you were close enough to deserve the view.
It sparkles in this quiet, steady way.
Not blinding. Not boastful.
Just certain.
I spent weeks looking for it. Weeks of holding up rings and thinking too much or not enough. But this one? The second I saw it, I just… knew.
It looks like her.
Beautiful and sharp. Soft in the places that matter. Loud only when it counts.
It’s not just a ring.
It’s a promise.
Her gasp is quiet, but her hand flies to her heart.
“You, me, the twins… this home. It’s ours. And I want to make it official.”
I swallow hard, staring straight into the storm of her, steady and sure.
“So—what do you say? Will you marry me?”
Time stands still.
Not metaphorically.
I mean literally. Like the air holds its breath, the house leans in, and even the twins—miracle of miracles—don’t make a sound.
Mya just stares at me.
Eyes glassy. Lips trembling. One hand over her heart like she’s holding it in place because it might shatter from the inside out. And I think—I think—she’s about to cry. Or laugh. Or both. Which is a very Mya thing to do.
I feel like I’m holding the world in one hand and the ring in the other, just waiting for her to say something before my heart decides it’s done pretending I’m cool and collected.
She drops to her knees in front of me. Doesn’t care that her jeans are catching on the unfinished floor or that her mascara is already halfway down her cheek. She just crashes into me like I’m the only thing holding her up. Arms wrapped tight around my neck, forehead pressed to mine, and I can feel her shaking.
“I will only ever stop loving you,” she whispers, her voice a breath against my mouth, “when the sky falls.”
My heart slams into my ribs.
She leans back just enough to meet my eyes, her own swimming. “And even then, I’ll still love you in the dark.”
I don’t realize I’m crying until she lifts a hand to my cheek and catches the tear with her thumb.
“Mya,” I croak, and it’s not enough. It’s not even close to everything she is to me, everything she’s given me, but it’s all I can say before I kiss her.
Because words are too small for this moment.
I kiss her like a promise. Like a vow. Like every chord we ever wrote was just a prelude to this.
She kisses me back like she already belongs to me.
When we finally pull apart, she laughs—a watery, radiant, wreck-me kind of sound—and looks down at the ring still in my hand.
“Well?” she says, voice shaky but sure. “You gonna put that on me or what?”
My hands aren’t exactly steady, but I slide the ring onto her finger like I’ve done it a thousand times in my dreams.
And maybe I have.
Because this?
This is what forever looks like.
Me. Her. The twins behind us like our own tiny audience. The smell of paint and drywall and dust and home. Her hand in mine. A future I never saw coming and wouldn’t trade for anything.
“When the sky falls,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her ring finger, “I’ll still be here. Loving you through the wreckage.”
And this time, when she kisses me?
It tastes like every version of always.
She stares at her ring like she can’t believe it’s real.
Truth is, neither can I.
But then her gaze flicks up to mine, and the way she smiles—slow, stunned, sure—it settles something in my chest I didn’t know was still rattling loose. Like the last piece of the storm finally went still.
We’re nose to nose. Her forehead brushes mine. My hand’s still curled around hers like I’ll forget how to breathe if I let go.
And then the first wail pierces the quiet.
Followed a half-second later by another, like a matching stereo system of chaos and need.
I glance over my shoulder, suppressing a laugh. “Well. So much for our cinematic moment.”
Mya groans, collapsing into my chest. “Seriously?”
“Guess they weren’t feeling the romance,” I tease, brushing my lips against her temple. “Tough crowd.”
She laughs into my hoodie, the sound muffled but golden. “Okay, Romeo. I think your audience is demanding an encore.”
I stand, offering her a hand, and we both make our way to the car seats like it’s some sacred pilgrimage—her with one shoe half off, me trying to wrestle the ring box back into my jacket pocket while a baby screams like I personally offended him.
Kody’s the louder of the two, cheeks flushed and fists balled like he’s ready to throw hands with the universe. Kingston’s more of a slow burn—whimpering, hiccupping, already reaching for Mya with those wide, watery eyes.
“Oh, my dramatic little kings,” she coos, lifting Kingston into her arms and bouncing him gently. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I feel like this is karma,” I say, unbuckling Kody and lifting him to my chest. He immediately grabs a fistful of my hoodie and tries to climb my face. “We kissed too long. Universe was like: You’re parents now—wrap it up.”
Mya smirks. “Bet it still beat their diaper blowout timing from last week.”
“Oh yeah. Romance is alive and well, baby.”
We shuffle into the living room together, the unfinished floors creaking under our feet, the echo of our boys’ cries slowly melting into contented little snuffles.
Mya settles into the worn couch cushion we brought from the ranch for tonight, twin in her arms, hair falling over her face like a halo gone soft. I sit beside her, Kody already dozing against my shoulder.
She glances over at me, and everything slows again.
The house is a mess. The walls need paint. There’s a stack of baby supplies in the corner and a half-assembled crib propped against the wall.
But I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
Not the stage. Not the spotlight. Not the platinum plaques or screaming fans.
Just this.
Her.
Them.
Us.
“When the sky falls,” I whisper, brushing a kiss to the top of Kody’s head, “this is what I’m holding onto.”
And for the first time in my life, everything feels like it’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.
* * *
We haven’t even cut the engine before Reese comes barreling out the front door like she’s got a sixth sense for ring boxes and emotional whiplash.
“Mya!” she shrieks, all but tripping over her own feet as she jogs down the steps in her fuzzy socks and leggings like the human embodiment of a rom-com best friend. “Well? Did she say yes?!” Her arms are flailing. She looks half delirious with excitement and caffeine.
I’m still unbuckling the twins’ car seats, but my lips are already curling. Mya climbs out next, and she doesn’t even get a chance to shut the door before Reese is on her like glitter on a bachelorette sash.
“Did you say yes?!” she repeats, practically vibrating with glee. “Wait—don’t answer. I want the full breakdown. What did he say? Did he cry? Oh my God, you cried, didn’t you?”
Mya turns to shoot me a look over the hood of the truck. A look that says, you better back me up, Malone. I hold up my hands in mock innocence. “She said yes,” I confirm, setting Kody’s seat on the ground next to the truck, and then Kingston’s. “Eventually.”
“Eventually?” Reese gasps, spinning toward Mya like she’s been personally betrayed. “You hesitated?”
“I didn’t hesitate,” Mya huffs, cheeks pink. “I was just…processing!”
Reese throws her hands up, eyes sparkling. “You love a dramatic pause. Honestly, I respect it.”
“Can we get the babies inside before we freeze off our newly engaged asses?” Mya grumbles, snatching the diaper bag from the back seat with a muttered, “Not all of us run on emotional caffeine and chaos.”
Reese gasps. “That’s a brand, thank you very much.”
She bounds ahead, holding the door like she’s ushering us into the next phase of our lives. And maybe she is. Because this feels different now. Like everything’s cracked open in the best way. Like we’re not just surviving anymore—we’re building something.
By the time I carry the twins inside and toe off my boots, Reese is already snapping photos of Mya’s hand like she’s paparazzi on a mission. “Look at that ring,” she gushes. “Princess cut, perfect clarity, platinum setting—did you pick this out or did Fletch grow taste overnight?”
I smirk. “Excuse you. I have impeccable taste. I just usually save it for guitars and baby wipes.”
Reese snorts. “Well, congrats, Daddy Diamond. You nailed this one.”
Mya’s eyes meet mine over the chaos—twins stirring, Reese bouncing, sunlight pooling across the floor like a promise—and suddenly I can’t stop smiling.
Because she said yes.
“Y’ALL CAN COME OUT NOW!” Reese shrieks at the top of her lungs, practically vibrating with glee from our open doorway. “SHE SAID YES!”
I groan, dragging a hand down my face while trying not to laugh. “Reese,” I say under my breath as she spins on her heel and bolts back into the cottage like she’s just announced a national emergency. “You weren’t supposed to tell them.”
She throws me a mischievous look over her shoulder like oops, did I do that? Then she disappears inside with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
Less than a minute later, the front door flies open again—this time like someone drop-kicked it off its hinges—and the band floods into the cottage like we just won Album of the Year and they’re the ones giving the acceptance speech.
Thorin’s first through the door, scooping Mya into a one-armed hug that lifts her right off her feet and earns a breathless laugh. Benji’s whooping like a kid hopped up on birthday cake and chaos, and Carson barrels in behind him, shouting “CONGRATULATIONS!” so loud one of the twins startles in his car seat and lets out a squawk of protest.
“Volume, bro,” I mutter, reaching down to pop Kody’s pacifier back in.
And just like that, the cottage transforms—buzzing with noise, heat, and that brand of messy love you only get with people who’ve seen you at your worst and stayed anyway. Cheers and chest bumps. Bear hugs and happy tears. Teasing and toasts with sparkling water and juice boxes, because we’re all either parenting, recovering, or just trying to keep our shit together.
It’s loud. It’s chaotic. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.
Reese is already mid-spiral, talking a mile a minute as she paces across the kitchen barefoot and glowing like a woman possessed. She’s tossing out ideas like she’s had them saved in a secret folder since I first hinted at the proposal.
“Rustic meets romantic,” she says, spinning toward Mya like she’s pitching a client. “I’m thinking long farm tables under a canopy of twinkle lights. Gauze runners. A floral arch. Ooh—the twins in suspenders and little leather booties!”
Mya blinks, half-laughing, half-terrified. “You okay there, Pinterest?”
“She’s been planning this since I told her I bought the ring,” I mutter to Mya, earning a swat to the shoulder from Reese as she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling.
“Breathe, baby,” Thorin cuts in gently, crossing the room with that calm, anchoring energy only he can pull off in a room full of chaos. He slides an arm around Reese’s waist and tugs her back down to earth. “Let’s slow down before you start booking a dove release and custom calligraphy menus.”
Reese makes a sound that’s part gasp, part scoff. “I was thinking signature cocktails.”
“Of course you were,” he says, kissing the side of her head. “But how about we keep it simple tonight? The kids are already winding down. We put them to bed, then light up the pit, toss some steaks on the grill, and celebrate with our people.”
She opens her mouth like she might protest, then exhales, her expression softening. “Okay. But I’m making s’mores. And I want at least one string of fairy lights.”
“Deal,” Thorin says.
The tension bleeds from the room like someone opened a window and let in something better. Easier. Real.
I glance over at Mya.
She’s standing by the couch, rocking Kody in her arms, his cheek smushed to her shoulder. One hand cradles his head. The other, her left, catches the low glow of the setting sun just right—diamond flashing on her finger like it knows it’s finally home.
She looks up and catches me watching.
And I swear time just… stills.
No big speeches. No confetti.
Just a look.
And everything in me settles.
“Bonfire sounds perfect,” I say, voice low, honest.
She nods once, eyes shining. “Yeah. It really does.”