Epilogue
Logan
6 months later
I didn’t think a room full of people could feel this quiet.
Not with the soft music drifting through the air. The low murmur of voices settling into their seats. And the sunlight pouring through the tall windows and casting everything in gold. But somehow, as I stand here at the altar, none of that reaches me the way it should
Because my focus is fixed on one thing.
The doors.
My hands rest loosely in front of me, but there’s a tension in my chest I can’t quite shake.
Tight and restless, and it has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with anticipation.
I’ve faced boardrooms, negotiations, and crises that would have broken most people, and none of it compares to this moment.
A lifetime. With her.
I exhale slowly, my gaze flicking briefly to my father where he sits in the front row. His posture is stronger than it has been in years. His expression is calm but proud in a way that settles something deep in my chest.
Six months ago, I sat in a consultant’s office in Boston and listened to a man carefully explain, without promising anything, that there was a trial with eleven places left in it and that my father met the criteria for nine of the eleven.
I spent two weeks and a considerable amount of money on the other two.
He got in. The infusions started in February, and by April, his numbers had stopped sliding. By June, a cardiologist used the word responding in a tone that suggested he didn’t use it often.
Kiera believes it was me coming home that did it. That he found something to hold on to and held on.
I don’t know. I’ve read the literature, and there’s nothing in it about wanting to live. What I know is that a man who could not cross a room in November walked my wife down an aisle this morning. Both explanations are probably true, and I’m not required to pick one.
We fought for this. Both of us.
The music shifts.
Everything in me stills.
The doors open.
And she walks in.
Kiera steps into view, and for a second, everything else disappears completely. The room, the people, the noise—all of it fading into nothing as my world narrows down to her alone. I have seen her a hundred times, in a thousand different ways, and none of it prepared me for this.
She looks unreal. Like something out of a dream I didn’t know I had.
The dress falls perfectly around her, soft and elegant, catching the light with every step she takes. Her hair swept up, a few strands loose at her temple. It makes her look both delicate and strong at the same time. And when those eyes lift and meet mine...
That’s it. I’m done.
Emotion hits hard, fast, closing my throat in a way I don’t even try to fight. Because this is her, this is the woman who changed everything without trying. The woman who walked into my life and turned it into something I never planned for but now can’t imagine living without.
And she’s walking toward me. With my father, who had left his seat to walk at her side. His way of showing up for us both.
That alone almost breaks me.
His hand rests over hers, steady, protective. And when they finally reach me, when he places her hand in mine, his gaze meets mine for a brief second.
Take care of her.
He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have to.
“I will,” I murmur anyway.
His expression softens. Then he steps back.
She’s here. I can’t look away. My hand tightens around hers instinctively. My thumb brushes lightly against her skin as if I need to confirm she’s real, that this is actually happening.
“You look…” I start, then stop, because there aren’t enough words for this, “…breathtaking.”
She smiles softly. “I know.”
I huff out a quiet breath, shaking my head slightly. “Yeah,” I admit. “You do.”
The ceremony begins, the officiant speaking words I barely register, because I’m still caught somewhere between disbelief and certainty. Between the memory of where we started and the reality of where we are now.
When it’s time for vows, I don’t hesitate.
“I wasn’t looking for you,” I say, my voice steady but lower than usual, meant only for her even though everyone can hear it. “I wasn’t planning for this. But the moment you walked back into my life, everything changed. I fought it at first. I tried to keep things the way they were. Simple.”
A faint smile touches her lips.
“I failed,” I continue. “Because you’re not one to fit into a plan. You rewrite it completely, and I don’t want a version of my life that doesn’t have you in it.”
Her eyes glisten slightly.
“I choose you,” I finish. “Every time. Every version. Every future.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. And when she speaks, her voice is softer, but no less steady.
“I spent so long wanting something I wasn’t sure I would ever have,” she says. “A family. A place where I belong. I didn’t realize I had found it until you. Until us. Until everything fell apart, and we chose to rebuild it anyway.”
My chest tightens.
“You are my home,” she adds quietly. “And I will choose you too. Every time.”
That’s it. Nothing else matters after that.
When we’re pronounced husband and wife, I don’t wait.
I pull her closer and kiss her, and it’s everything. Every moment we’ve had, every fight, every touch, every promise wrapped into one. The room fades into applause that feels distant compared to what’s happening right here, right now.
She’s mine. And I’m hers.
And it feels exactly right.
???
Kiera
The quiet after everything feels almost surreal.
The ceremony. The reception. The laughter. The endless stream of congratulations and warm embraces. All of it fades into something softer, more intimate as the door to the suite closes behind us, sealing us into a space that finally feels like ours.
Our first night as husband and wife.
The thought sends a soft wave of warmth through me, settling deep in my chest as I turn slowly and take in the room. The familiar comfort of Garth’s home now layered with something new, something that belongs to us just as much as it does to him.
I smile faintly, my fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of my dress as I finally let myself breathe. We decided to stay in the huge mansion with Garth. For him. For us. For the family we’ve built.
“You’re quiet,” Logan says behind me, his voice low.
I turn to find him watching me with that same look he’s had all day, like he still can’t quite believe this is real.
“I’m happy,” I admit.
His expression warms. “Good,” he murmurs, stepping closer.
My heart picks up slightly as he reaches me. He brushes his hand gently along my arm, and I lean into it without thinking.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say softly.
He studies me for a second. “You sound serious.”
“I am.”
His brows pull together slightly, concern flickering briefly before I take his hand and guide it down gently. I place it against my stomach, my pulse quickening as I hold it there.
Understanding doesn’t hit him immediately. Then it does. And his expression changes.
“Kiera…” he breathes.
I nod, a small, emotional smile forming. My eyes sting. “We’re having a baby.”
Silence
Then he laughs softly. Not out of disbelief. But relief. Joy. Awe. His hand tightens around mine, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to mine. His eyes go softer than I have ever seen them.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
He pulls me into him, holding me tightly. He presses his face briefly into my hair as he exhales deeply, like the weight of everything we’ve been through has finally settled into something beautiful.
“This is everything,” he murmurs.
Tears threaten to spill. Because it is. It really is.
He pulls back just enough to look at me again, his hand still resting where I placed it. His blue eyes hold mine in a way that makes my heart swell.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
The kiss that follows is deep and unhurried.
He lifts me without breaking the kiss, his hands strong and sure beneath my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist, my wedding dress bunched between us, the fabric rustling as he carries me toward the bed.
He lowers me slowly, his mouth still on mine. I reach for him, my fingers finding the buttons of his shirt, but he catches my wrists.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark, intense.
“Hands above your head.”
I hesitate, my pulse jumping, and he raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his gaze that sends heat pooling.
“Now, wife.”
The word hits me like a physical touch, possessive and final and exactly what I want.
I lift my arms slowly, crossing my wrists above my head on the pillows, and he makes a sound of approval, low and guttural. He doesn't reach for anything to bind me. He doesn’t need to. He simply wraps one large hand around both my wrists, pinning them there, his grip firm and unyielding.
“Keep them there,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding down my body, over the beaded bodice of my wedding dress, lower, his palm pressing against the heat between my thighs through the fabric. “Good girl.”
I whimper, arching into his touch, my hips rolling involuntarily. “Logan…”
“You’re my wife now,” he says, his mouth trailing down my neck, his teeth grazing my collarbone with just enough pressure to make me gasp. “Mine. In every way. And I’m going to spend all night reminding you what that means.”
He finds the zipper of my dress, dragging it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room. The bodice loosens, and he pushes it down all the way, exposing my breasts, my stomach, leaving me in nothing but my lace underwear.
He pauses, looking down at me, his hand still gripping my wrists, his eyes roaming over my body with a hunger that makes me feel beautiful, powerful, completely his.
“Fuck,” he breathes, reverent and filthy at once. “Look at you. My wife. Carrying my child.”
His free hand slides down to rest against my stomach, his palm warm and possessive. “I should be gentle with you.”
“Don’t,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Please, Logan. I need you.”
“Tell me,” he murmurs, his fingers hooking into my underwear and dragging them down my legs.
“I want you,” I gasp, my hips lifting as his fingers find me, wet and aching. “I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me. Please.”
He groans, the sound torn from his chest. He frees himself.
“So desperate,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on my wrists, his other hand guiding himself, rubbing against my clit, making me see stars. “So wet for me. Is this how you’re going to be every night? Begging for my cock?”
“Yes,” I choke out, my head falling back, my body trembling. “Every night. Every morning. Please, Logan.”
He thrusts into me in one deep stroke, filling me completely. I cry out, my back arching off the bed, my wrists straining against his hold. He stills for a moment, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath ragged against my lips.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “You feel so good.”
He pulls back slightly and thrusts again, harder, and I moan, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.
“This is mine now,” he growls, his rhythm building, steady and relentless. “This body. This pussy. You. All mine.”
“Yours,” I gasp, meeting his thrusts, the pressure building fast and sharp. “Only yours, Logan. Always.”
He shifts his angle, grinding against my clit with every stroke. My orgasm crashes through me, and I scream his name. My body dissolves around him, my wrists pulling against his grip.
He doesn’t let go.
He works me through it, slower now, drawing it out until I’m shaking. And then his hand releases my wrists—deliberately, for the first time all night—and he laces his fingers through mine and presses them into the pillow beside my head.
“Come back,” he says.
And I do, the second one rolling up out of the first with my hand in his, and it’s nothing like being held down. It’s worse. It’s so much worse, because I can’t hide anywhere at all.
“Fuck, Kiera,” he chants, his forehead pressed to mine, his eyes on me. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
He collapses sideways on the mattress, our fingers still laced. We stay like that for long moments, his breath hot against my neck.
He shifts until we are facing each other. “My wife,” he whispers against my lips, and I can hear the wonder in his voice, the possession, the love.
“Your wife,” I agree, my fingers tracing his jaw, my heart full to bursting. “Forever.”
He pulls back the covers and guides me beneath them, climbing in beside me, gathering me in his arms.
“Rest,” he murmurs, his hand resting against my stomach again, possessive and protective. “We have the rest of our lives for round two.”
I smile against his chest, sated and safe and completely his. “I like that,” I say.
My heart is brimming, full of love. Full of promise. Full of everything I’ve ever wanted.
And now, everything I finally have.
~The End