Page 75 of Fired at the Heart

Understanding and forgiveness flicker in Avery’s expression, along with love. It’s still new, this fragile reconciliation between us. Still healing.

“Blow out your candles before they melt the frosting,” Jace says, as practical as ever.

I lean forward, making a silent wish, not for wealth or safety or success, but for time. Time to prove myself worthy of this second chance. Time to love Avery the way I should have from the beginning. Time to become someone new.

The candles sputter out with my breath, and the room erupts in cheers and whistles.

“Now for the good part.” Jace reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim leather wallet, handing it to me with unusual ceremony. “Your new life, courtesy of our forgery expert.”

Inside, I find a driver’s license and passport, both bearing my new photograph, with the sides of my head shaved and the top dyed black. I’m still getting used to my new appearance in the mirror, and it will get even more strange when I visit the dermatologist next week to have my tattoo lasered off.

Can’t have such an easy to identify mark on my body to link me back to the Rockfords.

About to put the ID’s away, I catch the name listed. I stare at it, blinking.

“Thorne Wilder?” I read aloud, looking up at my new family with disbelief. “What the hell?”

Rico doubles over laughing. “Oh, man, your face! Priceless.”

“Who picked this?” I hold up the ID like it’s contaminated.

Lena raises her hand, her cool blue eyes dancing. “That would be me. Because you’re such a thorn in everyone’s sides.” She pauses for effect. “And because you’re surprisingly wild in the sack, as proven by Avery.”

Heat rushes to my face as Avery chokes on his drink. “I never said?—”

“You guys fucked in the back of the SUV while everyone was listening, and two of your people were watching.” Lena shrugs, unrepentant. “Live with your shame.”

“Very funny,” I mutter, pocketing the ID.

But I have to admit it’s fitting. Thorne Wilder. A name with edges. A name untethered from family legacy and expectation.

Jace cuts the cake, serving slices on paper plates while Rico pours drinks. The conversation flows, punctuated by laughter and the occasional crude joke at my expense. I watch them, these people who were my family through blood and fire, who will hopefully be again through their forgiveness, and peace settles over me.

Avery finishes his cake and stands, his hand finding mine. “I need to borrow the dead man for a minute.”

No one bothers to protest as he leads me toward our bedroom.

The door closes behind us, muffling the sounds of celebration, and Avery turns to face me, his expression unreadable in the soft light filtering through the curtains. For a moment, we stand in silence, and I wonder if he’s seeing the same thing I am, all the parallel lives we might have lived, collapsing into this single moment of possibility.

“I have something for you,” he says, moving to the dresser.

He opens the top drawer and retrieves a small black box, the kind that usually holds cufflinks or collar stays.

My heart stutters in my chest as he returns to stand before me. “Avery?—”

“Wait.” A finger covers my lips. “Let me say this while I still have the nerve.”

He opens the box, revealing two simple platinum bands nestled within the black velvet. Plain, unadorned, practical. Perfect.

“These are symbolic, obviously,” he explains, his pheromones betraying his nervousness. “Wearing a wedding ring is stupid in our line of work. They’re a liability.”

Breath held, I wait as he continues.

“But I want to get married. To you.” He looks up with fierce determination. “Not because I think we need a piece of paper to validate what we have. Not because I want to play house. But because I want to stand in front of those assholes in the other room and vow that this time, we choose each other. No matter what.”

My throat closes around any words I might say, so I pull him into my arms, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other on the small of his back, still careful of his wound. Always careful with him now. I never want to risk losing him like that again.

I pour years of regret and gratitude and a lifetime of love into the kiss I give him, and when we separate, we both breathe hard.

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