He was mine, I was his, he wanted this.

And I wanted him to have everything he wanted.

So I could let go of this one last thing and give it to him.

At the same time, having it myself.

When I had it together, I lifted up again and locked eyes with my man.

“I want to be your wife. I want your name. I want the name our son is going to have. I want to get married.”

His face got dark, his eyes hot, but his lips curved before he corrected, “Daughter.”

“Son.”

He shook his head then I watched him dip his face between my legs.

Yes.

My heels dug into his back.

Hop slid his hands under my behind and he pulled me deeper into his mouth.

Keep hold of happy.

I was.

Every second.

Even if I had to do it with just my legs.

* * *

The next night…

“We need to have dinner as soon as possible,” I told Tyra, my phone to my ear, my cheek to Hop’s chest, my na**d body entwined with his in our bed at the Flamingo in Vegas.

We’d been married by a fake Liberace.

We both wore jeans.

We found Hop’s wedding band in an outpost on the way (though we did this shopping while I was under fake duress). It was wide, silver, with a thick ebony band in the middle. It didn’t look like a traditional wedding ring but it did look like a biker one.

Perfect for Hop.

He bought me a bouquet of red roses at fake Liberace’s wedding chapel.

And when Liberace told Hop he could kiss the bride, Hop dipped me in an arched-back make-out session to end all make-out sessions. When he was done, he pulled me straight, crouched in front of me, wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifted me up and roared, “This is my woman!”

I burst out laughing at the same time I burst into tears. It was the happiest moment of my life.

Bar none.

I’d done the right thing, marrying Hop.

And evidence was suggesting it was the same for my man.

Liberace told us no one had ever shouted like that after a ceremony. He did this making it clear he wished everyone did.

Liberace with his purple pompadour was also in some of our wedding photos. He was grinning like a lunatic. It was hilarious. But there was no doubt he genuinely loved his job.

Hop was right.

The dress, ring, flowers, all of it terrified me because that was what had led me and Elliott to Kansas City.

But jeans, roses, and Liberace were perfect.

“Is everything okay?” Tyra asked.

“Yes,” I answered in a massive understatement. “Just, can you call Tabby and Shy and ask them to watch the boys so you and Tack can go out to dinner with us?”

“Sure, honey.”

“I gotta go,” I told her and I did. I had to call my assistant at home on a Sunday and tell her I wouldn’t be back in the office until Tuesday.

But first, I had to cuddle a little bit more with my husband.

“Okay. See you soon.”

“Right. ’Bye, sweetie.”

“ ’Bye, Lanie.”

I tossed my phone on the bed then moved my fingers to Hop’s forearm and traced the pattern of fire. After I did that a while, I moved my finger to trace my shield.

“My name is Lanie Kincaid,” I told his chest.

“Sure the f**k is,” Hop replied on a growl and I lifted my head to look at him.

His handsome face was set hard, determined much like he looked when he talked about what he did to get Chaos out of the bad place they were in to a good place of family.

Family.

“Are you genuinely happy, Hopper Kincaid?” I asked softly.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, Lanie Kincaid,” he stated firmly.

Wow.

That sounded beautiful.

I lifted a hand to his face and traced the side of his mustache with my thumb, watching it go before I lifted my eyes to him.

“For the first time since I was eleven and for the first time in my whole life, it being totally honest and completely real, I am too.”

He knifed up, his arms going around me, and he rolled us so he was on top then he kissed me.

“I think I have a clue how much you love me now, Hop,” I told him when he broke the kiss.

“Good to know, baby,” he said through a grin.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“So far from a hardship, it isn’t funny, lady, but you’re welcome.”

I lifted my head, sifting my fingers in his overlong hair, smelling his spicy scent, feeling his ’tache tickle my skin and I kissed my husband.

It was the best kiss of my life.

Up until then.

I would find that Hop, as ever, would keep making them better.

Epilogue

Waffles

Hop

One week later…

His phone rang and Hop opened his eyes feeling his wife’s weight pressed to his side, their legs tangled, and her cheek on his pec.

She shifted sleepily as he reached out a hand to the nightstand to grab his phone, seeing from the alarm clock it was early morning. As in way early morning. He looked at his display and saw it was Tack calling. They’d had dinner with him and Cherry the night before, where they shared their good news.

All of it. Tack and Tyra had been happy for them, Tyra over the moon. So much so Hop didn’t know if she was happier about the baby than the marriage.

It didn’t matter.

His woman had beamed through dinner, showing off her ring, touching her hand to her stomach, and Hop again didn’t know if Lanie was happier about their baby or their marriage.

That was what mattered.

All was good in the family.

But a middle-of-the-night phone call was never good news.

Ever.

He put the phone to his ear and muttered, “You got me.”

“Callout, brother,” Tack replied. “Benito.”

Fuck, he thought

“Be there in fifteen,” he said.

“Later.”

“Later.”

He tossed his phone to the nightstand as he felt Lanie stretch, pressing into him.

“Is everything okay?” she murmured, her voice drowsy and sweet.

“Yeah,” he lied.

His woman was good in all the ways she could be. The short-term therapy counselor had suggested long-term therapy and Lanie had found someone she liked working with. They were winding things up seeing as his woman… no, his wife… had moved beyond the heavy shit and had been given the tools to deal with how her thoughts and memories twisted themselves and tortured her.