Epilogue
ISA- TEN MONTHS LATER…
“Are we still doing this?” Drew asked.
I looked at him across the back seat of the limo, under purple neon light, with a plastic vampire fang in my purse and a bouquet of black roses on my lap.
He wore a black suit with purple velvet lining.
No tie.
White shirt open at the throat.
The ring I’d given him in Colorado sat on his right ring finger, soon to be moved to his left.
He looked ridiculous.
He looked gorgeous.
He looked like every bad decision I had ever been lucky enough to make.
“We are in Vegas on Halloween,” I said. “At this point, not doing it would be rude. Besides, we both hate our parents. So… eloping makes more sense.”
Drew grinned. “That’s my wife.”
“Not yet.”
“Technicality.”
“You’re very confident for a man who cried when I showed him the chapel confirmation.”
His mouth opened.
I lifted one finger. “Don’t lie. I saw moisture.”
“I had allergies.”
“To commitment?”
“To your face. It overwhelms me.”
I laughed and looked out the window.
Vegas rolled past in a blur of neon, fake castles, fake pyramids, giant screens, drunk brides, superheroes, demons, showgirls, and one man dressed as a taco arguing with Elvis outside a casino.
Who else went to Vegas and got married on Halloween?
Us.
Obviously us.
Because after Colorado, we tried to be reasonable.
For about five minutes.
We went back to school. We survived spring.
Drew chose his senior season instead of declaring late-round because he said if he was going to go, he wanted to go on his terms, not Richard’s timeline.
I got back on the field in controlled minutes and cried in the locker room after my first scrimmage because healing was ugly and beautiful and humiliating and mine.
We fought.
We made up.
We learned how to tell the truth before it became a weapon. I mad my own money through NIL deals, sports tape and workout gear promotions.
I still wore the bracelet he gave me every day.
Drew wore the ring.
The Calloways and Montgomerys had opinions.
Jace had a group chat.
The internet had theories, mostly because Jace’s family Ring camera had captured in HD my snowstorm almost-proposal from three separate angles and he had absolutely no respect for privacy, romance, or emotional copyright.
And Drew and I had each other.
Messy.
Loud.
Real.
The limo slowed in front of the chapel.
A neon sign blinked above the entrance.
TILL DEATH OR brUNCH.
I stared at it.
“Classy.”
“You picked it,” Drew said.
“I picked it ironically.”
“You booked the vampire Elvis package.”
“Again. Ironically.”
“You added fog machine.”
“For ambiance.”
“You are the love of my life.”
I turned to him.
He said it easily now.
Like breathing.
Like truth had become muscle memory.
It still knocked me sideways every time.
I leaned closer, bouquet between us.
“Should I tell everyone I’m pregnant?”
Drew froze.
I held my face still for three glorious seconds.
Then he narrowed his eyes.
“Texas.”
“What?”
“No fake babies.”
“We could do a fake baby announcement. Very full circle. Very brand consistent.”
“I have created a monster.”
“You love the monster.”
“I am legally about to bind myself to the monster.”
“Romantic.”
He reached across the seat, slid one hand behind my neck, and pulled me close.
“You want my honest answer?”
“Always.”
His thumb brushed under my jaw.
“I would marry you in a chapel. At city hall. On a football field. In a grocery store. In my kitchen. In the snow. At midnight. At noon. Doesn’t matter.” His voice went softer. “I just want the part where you choose me.”
My heart did the same stupid thing it always did around him.
Opened.
All the way.
“I choose you,” I whispered.
His smile was small now.
“Good.”
He kissed me once, soft and slow enough to make me forget there was a driver four feet away pretending not to exist.
The driver cleared his throat from the front. “Chapel’s ready.”
Drew pulled back, eyes dark and bright.
“Ready, Mrs. Almost-Travers-Montgomery?”
I lifted my chin.
“Mrs. Calloway-Travers. No Montgomery.”
His grin flashed.
“Hot.”
“And you’re Mr. Calloway-Travers if you’re brave.”
He opened the door and stepped out, then held his hand back for me.
“Baby,” he said, “I wore a black suit with purple lining to marry a Texas menace in a haunted Elvis chapel. I fear nothing.”
I took his hand.
Neon washed over us.
Somewhere inside, vampire Elvis started singing.
Drew looked at me like I was every miracle and every bad idea he had ever wanted.
And then we walked in.
The chapel was worse inside.
Which meant it was perfect.
Purple uplighting. Black velvet curtains. A fog machine hissing gently in the corner like a haunted appliance. Plastic bats hanging from the ceiling. A fake cemetery arch wrapped in white roses and orange lights. Somewhere near the altar, a skeleton in a veil held a sign that read:
LAST CHANCE TO RUN.
I stopped under it.
Drew looked at the sign.
Then at me.
“Don’t get ideas.”
“I was admiring the decor.”
“You were considering comedy.”
“I’m always considering comedy.”
Vampire Elvis appeared from a side door in a rhinestone cape, white jumpsuit, black pompadour, and little plastic fangs.
“Evening, lovers,” he said, voice deep and dramatic. “Who’s ready to join eternal souls under the neon moon?”
Drew leaned close to my ear. “This is the best thing I’ve ever paid for.”
“You’re welcome.”
Vampire Elvis looked down at the clipboard. “Drew Travers and Isa Calloway?”
“Calloway-Travers,” I corrected.
Drew grinned beside me. “She’s been hyphenating aggressively since the limo.”
“And you’re taking my name too,” I said.
“I said I was brave.”
“You did.”
Vampire Elvis glanced between us. “I can tell this one’s going to be fun.”
Behind us, the chapel doors opened.
I turned.
Jace walked in first wearing a black suit, a cowboy hat, and vampire fangs.
My mouth fell open.
Behind him came Lana in a short black dress and red lipstick, holding her phone up like a professional videographer.
Then Dante. Then Stella and Tristan, because apparently peace treaties could evolve into wedding guest lists.
Then two of Drew’s teammates, one of my soccer girls, and Jace’s mother, who had absolutely no business being there and was already crying.
I stared at Drew.
He stared at me.
“Did you know?” I whispered.
“No.”
Jace spread his arms. “Surprise.”
“Jace,” Drew said slowly.
“Before you threaten me, your bride deserves witnesses. Also, the group chat funded the flights.”
Lana waved. “And I brought emergency lashes.”
“I already have lashes,” I said.
“I know. I’m emotionally prepared anyway.”
Stella lifted one hand. “For the record, this is insane.”
Tristan stood beside her, looking amused and resigned. “But on brand.”
Drew pointed at Jace. “I’m killing you after I get married.”
“Beautiful,” Jace said, wiping an imaginary tear. “His last words as a single man are about murdering me. Brotherhood.”
Vampire Elvis clapped his hands. “All right, bloodsuckers and beloveds, places.”
And somehow, that was how I ended up standing beneath a fake gothic arch in a Vegas chapel on Halloween, holding black roses, wearing a short white dress with cowboy boots, while Drew Travers looked at me like I had personally rewritten his entire life in neon.
The music started.
Not a wedding march.
No.
Of course not.
An organ version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
Drew’s eyes widened.
I leaned toward him. “Did you request this?”
“No.”
We both looked at Jace.
He gave us a thumbs-up.
I mouthed, ‘I hate you.’
He mouthed, ‘You’re welcome.’
Vampire Elvis began the ceremony with several lines about eternal love, midnight vows, and not biting unless invited. I honestly heard none of it. Drew’s hand was wrapped around mine, his thumb moving slowly over my bracelet, his ring warm against my skin.
No midnight.
You don’t need luck.
The whole story of us, sitting between our hands.
Then Vampire Elvis looked at us over the top of his sunglasses.
“I’m told the couple prepared their own vows.”
I looked at Drew.
“You wrote vows?”
He looked offended. “Baby, I’m a romantic.”
“You once told me carbs and God’s favor maintain your body.”
“Romantic and scientifically accurate.”
Vampire Elvis nodded solemnly. “The groom may proceed.”
Drew turned fully toward me.
For one dangerous second, all the jokes dropped away.
He held my hands in his, and suddenly the chapel, the fog machine, Jace filming, Lana sniffling, Vampire Elvis waiting with rhinestone patience—everything blurred except him.
“I saw you first,” Drew said.
I laughed through instant tears. “You’re really starting there?”
“Absolutely.”
“Of course you are.”
His smile softened.
“On a beach in a white dress and cowboy boots,” he said, “looking at the wrong guy like he was the whole story. I remember thinking, no. That girl is trouble. That girl is mean. That girl is going to ruin someone.” His thumb brushed mine. “Then you ruined me.”
My chest broke open.
“In the best way,” he added quickly. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“You’re bossy.”
“You love bossy.”
“I do.” His voice went rough. “I love you bossy. I love you scared. I love you brave. I love you in my jersey, in my hoodies, in grocery stores, in snowstorms, in airport terminals, on soccer fields, on my couch, in my kitchen, and apparently in haunted Elvis chapels.”
Someone behind us sniffed.
Probably Jace.
Possibly me.
“I promise to feed you before you bite.”
A laugh moved through the chapel.
“I promise to provide electrolytes, protein, Thai food at midnight, and coffee before all major emotional confrontations.”
I wiped under one eye.
“I promise to take care of your hamstring even when you pretend you’re fine.”
“No athlete says that and means anything but catastrophic denial,” I whispered.
His smile flickered.
“I promise to never let anyone make you feel like a prize when you’re the whole damn point. I promise to fight for you, but also to let you fight for yourself, because you’re terrifying and frankly better at it.”
His hands tightened around mine.
“And I promise, Texas, that when midnight comes—any midnight—I’m staying.”
My tears fell then.
No stopping them.
No pretending.