Extended Epilogue
REED
One year later
The wind off the Oregon coast whips my shirt against my chest, cool and salt-sharp, but I barely feel it. All I see is Rue.
She stands between Roman and me, barefoot in the sand, wearing a simple white dress that clings to her swollen belly—six months along with our second child.
Her wild espresso curls tumble over her shoulders, catching the late afternoon sun, and those amber eyes shine bright with tears she's fighting to hold back.
Kurt stands facing us, healthy color in his cheeks, no more hollow shadows or gaunt angles.
Thirteen now, lean and strong, wearing a button-down rolled to his elbows and an easy grin that makes him look younger.
He shifts his weight, glancing down at the notes in his hand, then back up at the three of us.
"So," he starts, voice carrying over the crash of waves behind us, "I'm supposed to say something profound here. Something about love and commitment and all that."
A few scattered laughs from the small crowd seated in folding chairs on the sand. I catch a glimpse of Jasmine in her nanny's arms, our four-month-old daughter bundled in soft pink, sleeping through the whole damn thing.
Kurt clears his throat, jaw working like he's wrestling with emotion.
"But honestly? I think we all know what this is.
" His hazel eyes meet mine, then Roman's, then settle on Rue with such fierce gratitude it damn near breaks something in my chest. "These two men saved my life.
Saved my sister. Gave us a family when we had nothing. "
Rue's breath hitches. Roman's hand finds the small of her back, steadying her.
"And Rue," Kurt continues, voice rougher now, "you've been my whole world since I was born. You sacrificed everything for me. So if anyone deserves this—deserves them—it's you."
He looks at me and Roman again. "Take care of her. Keep her safe. Love her the way she's always loved everyone else."
"Always," I say, low and certain.
Roman nods, jaw tight. "Forever."
Kurt grins, swiping at his eyes before glancing back at his notes. "Right. So. Do you, Reed Carson, take Rue Marlowe as your wife? To protect, cherish, and—" He pauses, smirking. "—keep perpetually knocked up, apparently?"
More laughter. Rue's face flushes pink, but she's smiling through her tears.
"I do," I say, sliding my thumb along her delicate wrist. "Every damn day."
"And you, Roman Carson, same question. You taking this woman as your wife?"
Roman's dark eyes burn into Rue's face, possessive and tender all at once. "Yes. She's ours. Always has been."
Kurt looks at Rue now, voice softening. "And you, Rue Marlowe. Do you take these two stubborn, overbearing, ridiculously protective men as your husbands?"
Rue's lower lip trembles. She twists a curl around her finger, that nervous tell she's never lost, before whispering, "Yes. I do."
"Then by the power vested in me by some website I found last week," Kurt announces, grin widening, "I now pronounce you married. Kiss your bride. Both of you."
I cup the back of Rue's neck, tilting her face up as Roman's hand spans her rounded belly. Our lips meet hers at the same time—mine claiming her mouth while Roman presses a kiss to her temple, then her cheek, then finally her lips when I pull back.
She's ours.
Finally, completely, forever ours.