Page 172 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
Ava squeezes my hand beneath the table, her eyes shining.
Jenna raises her glass, her voice going bright with humor. “And to the boys, for teaching us all that loud love is the best kind.”
Everyone laughs and raises their glasses.
Then Greg stands up, tugging at his tie. “Ava, you’ve always been my constant. Jackson, my best friend. Seeing you two together… feels like the universe got one right.”
For a moment, no one says anything. The tent is quiet except for a few sniffles and the soft rustle of tissues.
Then the music picks up, a mellow acoustic song. My mom appears beside me, her dress a soft blue that matches the early evening sky.
“Dance with me, sweetheart,” she says, her voice gentle but sure.
I take her hand without hesitation, guiding her onto the small dance floor. We sway slowly, her head resting lightly against my shoulder for a moment.
“You know,” she murmurs, voice full of emotion, “this is everything your dad and I ever wanted for you. He would have loved her.”
My throat thickens, but I manage to nod, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I know,” I whisper.
When we step back, she cups my face and smiles through her tears.
Russo grabs the mic, grinning, then holds up a SteelClaws jersey with "WIFEY #1" across the back.
“Welcome to the team, Ava!” he yells, making her laugh so hard she nearly chokes on her sparkling water.
The boys rush to her, giggling about “baby dance moves” as they crowd around her belly.
I pause, just for a moment, taking it all in: my wife glowing, our boys laughing, our friends and family smiling, and all the messy, beautiful pieces of this life coalescing into something that feels larger than anything I ever imagined.
Warmth spreads through my chest.
Later, after the laughter and dancing and the last slices of cake disappeared, Ava and I slip away from the tent.
The fall evening is crisp. I shrug out of my jacket, draping it around her shoulders.
She smiles at me, her hair a little messy from dancing, her cheeks still flushed.
We wander a few steps into the clearing behind the venue, where fairy lights strung through the trees cast a soft, golden glow.
I step closer, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger against her cheek, and she leans into my touch without hesitation.
“How’re you holding up, Mrs. Hart?” I ask, my voice low and warm.
She looks at me, cheeks flushed, her expression soft in that happy, full way.
“Better than I ever imagined,” she murmurs. Her fingers slip into mine, steady and sure.
I rest my other hand lightly on her stomach. “I can’t wait to meet our baby,” I say softly, my thumb tracing gentle circles. “And to do all of this, every messy, beautiful day, with you.”
Her eyes shimmer in the glow of the lights. “I still can’t believe this is real,” she whispers.
“It is,” I say, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. “You. Me. The boys. This little one. It’s all ours.”
She tilts her face up, and I kiss her, slow and deep, sealing everything we’ve said and everything we haven’t.
When we finally pull back, she brushes her nose against mine, a small, private laugh catching in her throat.
“I love you,” she whispers.
