Epilogue
Rowyn
I stand before the man I love, under the warm glow of the fairy lights strung overhead, Rip officiating our wedding with that half-serious, half-sarcastic grin that only he can pull off.
The Strip outside the floor-to-ceiling windows glows like a river of stars.
Our friends are gathered in a loose circle, all cheering with eyes that shine just as much as mine.
I’m certain that if I take one more breath, my heart might burst from the sheer force of joy.
This isn’t our official wedding. There’s no cathedral-length veil, no towering floral arrangements, no string quartet.
Just a simple dress I grabbed from the boutique this afternoon—flowy, casual, something I didn’t think twice about because all I cared about was standing here with him.
Jaxon’s in a pair of tailored pants and a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone because he refused to be uncomfortable while pledging his soul to me.
He looks like everything I never dared to ask for.
Perfect.
When we get back to Snowberry Falls, where our families live, we’ll have the formal ceremony.
The big wedding, as his mother calls it.
The one with the full guest list, the white dress, the aisle, the champagne toast. The one that will make the town gossip pages explode.
We promised them that when we called earlier—our voices shaky, our hearts steady.
Of course, my dress will have to be a maternity one. That thought fills me with excitement. After testing positive, I went straight to the doctor. My IUD had shifted. It was immediately removed and fortunately for us, there were no complications, and I’m able to carry to term.
Was my mother devastated? Absolutely. She cried. Not quiet tears either—full-on, theatrical wailing like I’d just confessed I was moving to Mars. But I took a breath, steadied myself, and politely told her this was my dream. That I was in love. And that Jaxon was nothing like my father.
Silence followed. Then, something miraculous.
She exhaled, shaky, almost surrendering.
In the end, she conceded, not because she agreed with my choices, but because she finally understood.
What else could she do? If she wants to be a part of our lives and her grandbaby’s life, she has to accept that I’m stepping off the path carved for me long before I knew I could say no.
That I’m changing careers. That I’m becoming a stay-at-home mom—which, deep down, I’ve always wanted—and that I’ll write books while the sound of tiny feet runs through our home.
People will judge my choices, my timeline, my leap into love, my decision to marry quickly and unconventionally.
But I say, let them talk. None of it matters to me anymore.
Yes, I’ve done a lot of growing these last few months.
Facing fears, unpacking childhood scars, opening my heart, trusting someone fully.
Letting go of the idea that love means sacrifice.
It’s been messy and healing and beautiful.
And I owe so much of it to Jaxon. To the steady way he loves.
And to the new girlfriends who taught me what true supportive friendship feels like.
What it means to belong.
When it’s time to read our vows—the ones we scribbled on the back of an airplane napkin between turbulence and whispered laughter—I go first. My hands shake as I unfold the wrinkled paper. I think of all the versions of me who led to this one, standing at the edge of forever.
I speak. And in front of the man I love, and the family we’ve found in this perfectly imperfect group of people, I pour my entire heart out.
I talk about the girl who built walls out of fear and the woman who finally let them fall.
I talk about how Jaxon climbed my tower, with both grace and stubbornness, and how he taught me that love isn’t something you guard—it’s something you live in.
When I’m done, Jaxon’s eyes are suspiciously bright, and somewhere behind us, someone sniffles loudly. Probably Jaylynn. Or possibly Penn. You never know with hockey players.
Then it’s Jaxon’s turn. Leave it to him to start with a joke that makes everyone laugh, then somehow transition seamlessly into raw honesty that leaves the entire group speechless. He says things that make me feel seen in ways I never knew were possible. Things I’ll replay for years.
When he finishes, his voice low and he takes the ring.
Not the official one—just a simple band we grabbed from the gift shop this afternoon, nestled between novelty dice keychains and "Just Married in Vegas" coffee mugs. And yet, as he slides it onto my finger, it feels weightier than any diamond I’ve ever tried on.
I slip his ring onto his finger. His hand trembles.
Rip clears his throat, eyes sparkling. “Well,” he says, “there’s no legal documentation to be filed just yet, but by the power invested in me by group consensus and an excessive amount of tequila… I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
“About time!” someone hollers.
“Now,” Rip adds, smirking. “Kiss your bride before you hyperventilate, dude.”
Jaxon doesn’t hesitate. He grabs me, lifting me clean off the ground as his lips meet mine.
He spins me around and when he finally sets me down, I rest my head against his chest, breathing him in—the scent of him, the warmth of him, the rhythm of his heartbeat—and I feel an overwhelming, crushing kind of happiness.
“This,” I whisper. “This is everything.”
And as the neon lights from outside dance across our skin, Vegas humming around us, the world feels impossibly wide, impossibly bright, and entirely ours, I know that this is just the beginning.
The beginning of forever.
***
Thank you so much for reading, brOKEN STICK in my Boston Bucks series. I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it. Stayed tuned for more!!
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Happy Reading,
Cathryn