Page 95 of Nash
“Forest, you are my whole damn miracle. You make my days loud and bright and worth every second.” His voice didn’t waver—he’d drilled for this, I’d bet my soul—but the hand in mine squeezed a little harder. “Sweetheart, you have always been the bravest person I’ve ever known. You hold your ground when the rest of us run, and you laugh at things that would make most people fold. When the world gave you a raw deal, you fought back. When I gave you my mess, you took it in stride. When you needed me, you let me show up, which is the hardest thing of all. You taught me how to be brave. How to stand in the wind and not flinch. How to be soft in a world that wants you hard. I promise to keep you safe. To back you up, always, no matter what. To never stop trying to earn the life we get together. To let you carry some of my burdens, even if I suck at that. I love you, and I will cherish you forever.”
The officiant said something, but we didn’t hear her because we were already moving, Nash’s strong hands tenderly cupping my face. And then we kissed, soft as a thousand butterflies yet stronger than a hurricane. Together, we could be both.
I leaned into him, into his strength, and let myself sink wholly into that kiss.
There was laughter, a snuffle or two, and then the catcalls of Nash’s brothers, who had become my brothers too. Instead of one big brother, I now had four. Five, if you counted Dayton. It all contributed to the wonderful chaos that was our life, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
We must have stood there for several beats, foreheads together, hands interlaced, neither of us caring about the officiant’s next line or the camera shutter, or my brother, whomuttered—loud enough for everyone to hear—“You gonna come up for air, Forest?”
“Never,” I shot back, and Nash grinned, and we kissed again, softer but deeper, until the others hooted like drunken pirates.
Then Nash’s arms slid around my waist, steadying me, and I had this sense of having been returned to myself after years of being a little off-kilter. The best part was, we’d both earned that balance. We’d each taken the crumbling scaffolding of our lives and built new floors, one foot at a time, gingerly at first, then with more confidence. I owed as much to Nash as I did to myself, and something in his smile said he felt the same.
I didn’t even notice when the ceremony was officially “over.” Before I knew it, Nash had swept me off my feet with a showy, dramatic dip. My squeal must have sent a flock of gulls scattering, but I didn’t care. He held me there, gazes locked, and leaned in for another kiss. “I love you, husband.”
He did. And I loved him.
Like Nash had said, it was a miracle.
