Page 49 of Tainted Wings of Failure

"Well, thanks to you, that almost became a reality."

"Stop you two." Evelyn sighs. "I thought we were past this."

"Yeah, sorry," I say, planting a kiss on the top of her head before turning my attention back to Kyle. "There's something else I wanted to ask you."

"Of course, what is it?"

"Will you be my best man?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course!" Kyle says, getting up and swinging his hand in my direction, slapping me on the shoulder before raising his beer. "Here's to you two and your future."

I nod and clink my beer with Kyle before we both take a big gulp, then I offer my drink to Evelyn, and she takes a sip of the beer as well.

Watching her reaction, a smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Her nose wrinkles and deep lines form on her forehead as she squeezes her eyes shut as the bitter taste hits her tongue. She looks so cute, her face scrunched up as if she's trying to force herself to like it. She hates beer, hates the bitter taste, the way it bubbles in her mouth. But it's not just beer. She hates a lot of things. But there are so many more things she loves, and she loves them all with all her heart, including me.

How did I get so damn lucky? I can't believe I'm actually marrying her—my Little Dove, my guardian angel. I never thought I'd find someone like her, someone who loves me with her whole being and isn’t afraid to show it. She looks past every scar, inside and out, and not only accepts them but embraces them, soothing my wounds that will never fully fade. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m truly home. She’s my safe place, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure she stays right where she belongs—by my side.

Epilogue

Evelyn

Six months later

As another deafening, explosive gunshot echoes through the otherwise quiet, somewhat chilly summer morning air, I look up from my bridal magazine and turn my attention to the dock that belongs to our property, where Noah is standing, lowering his steaming hunting rifle. He is finally getting back to his old self; his body is almost completely healed. The only challenge we face is his immune system, which is still compromised and struggling to regenerate after all the stress it has been through. It's manageable with medication, but I know he would prefer it to be the way it used to be.

A smile spreads across my face when Noah goes to his knees and just mere seconds later, Whiskey climbs out of the water and jumps back onto the dock, carrying a duck in his mouth as he excitedly waddles around Noah, wagging his tail so hard that his little butt swings from left to right.

Adding Whiskey to our family was a challenge for the first few weeks, as Noah is not the biggest fan of dogs. But now they are inseparable. Just like any other man, he was completely against getting a dog, but is now best friends with the little guy. The only line we haven't crossed is letting him sleep in our bed. But Noah's walls are crumbling with every night Whiskey sits at the foot of our bed, whining to be let in, and I'm sure in a few weeks, we'll all be sleeping together. The strong bond they have will be helpful in the future, for sure. While Whiskey is a natural at retrieving for Noah, he is also a very intuitive dog. We haven't even started service dog training yet, but there have been a few incidences when Noah has gotten anxious and Whiskey has picked up on it and stayed with him, trying to distract him.

I push off the thin blanket covering my legs and stand up from our outdoor sofa, the fresh air tickling against my warm skin. I straighten the skirt of my long white summer dress before slipping into my cozy outdoor slippers and making my way down the porch toward the dock. The moment I step off the soft grass onto the wooden planks, both Noah's and Whiskey's attention shifts to me. Whiskey immediately comes running toward me, still carrying the duck, and begins to circle me excitedly as he presents his trophy to me. "Good boy." I chuckle and pat his head.

He stays by my side as I walk up to Noah who sets the rifle down, leaning it against one of the pillars of the dock and welcomes me with open arms. Not hesitating, I wrap my arms around his stomach and press myself flush against him as he wraps his around me.

"How many ducks did you shoot this morning?" I ask, my words muffled as I bury my face in the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

"About four." He chuckles, his chest vibrating against my face.

"So many?" I tilt my head up, resting my chin on his chest to look at him. "We don't eat duck that much, baby, it's too high in fat…"

"I know, I thought we'd keep one for us in the freezer and feed the other to Whiskey. I'm sure he'll love it."

"That sounds like a good plan." I smile and he leans down to plant a kiss on my lips.

"Are you done yet?" I ask and he nods.

"Yes, I will wrap up." He lets go of me and turns back to his rifle and the bucket of ducks. Meanwhile I turn to face the lake and walk to the edge of the dock, looking down at the clear water.

"Want to go swimming?" he asks from behind me, and I shake my head.

"Not now, it's still a little chilly, maybe later today." I chuckle and turn to face him again. My eyebrows shoot up as he flashes me a smirk. "Don't you dare." I raise my finger at him. Ever since he opened up to me about his childhood and let me help him embrace his inner child over the past few months, he has been much more playful, as if he is actually letting that side of him take over and enjoying those little moments. Which I love because he seems so much happier and more content than before when he was more reserved, closed up and didn't really allow himself to have fun. "Noah Philip Holman," I warn him as he takes a step toward me, leaving me no room to escape.

The moment his long arms wrap around my waist and my feet leave the safety of the ground, I scream. Within seconds, the air is knocked out of my lungs as the cold water completely surrounds us. Holding on to him, I wrap my arms and legs around him. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath as we go under, only to come up again, my mouth falling open as I gasp for air.

Pulling an arm from around his shoulders and pushing away the hair that clings to my face, I open my eyes to find him shaking his head like a dog before looking at me with a stupid grin. "I hate you." I playfully slam my fist into his shoulder. The water is up to Noah's chest, and if he were to let me go, I could barely stand on my toes. I steal a glance at Whiskey, who has settled down with the duck and is pulling the feathers out of the dead bird.

"You don't. You love me," he says and catches my lips in a hungry kiss, distracting me. My eyes fall shut and I answer in the same starving rhythm, clinging to him and running my fingers through the wet strands of his hair. His hands trace the curve of my back until he stops at the zipper of my dress and pulls it down. The heavy wet fabric clinging to my skin falls away and I break the kiss, furrowing my eyebrows.

"What are you doing?"

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