Page 103 of Broken Stick

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.

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