Page 108 of Beckett
Travis had actually shown up in person, sitting awkwardly in the third row but there, present, fighting his demons to witness ours being laid to rest, the woman at his side—the one none ofus had seen coming—making all the difference in his ability to do it. Coop was up here with me, on the other side of Lachlan, that easy grin in place, probably already planning his toast for the reception. Aiden’s massive frame took up nearly two chairs, his presence a wall of protection even now, even when the danger had passed.
Hunter sat with Jada in the second row, his scarred hands clasped with hers, the man who’d mobilized his entire team without question when I’d needed them most. Piper sat nearby with the twins, who were already squirming, but she’d come prepared with quiet toys and snacks.
When Audra and Lark reached me, there was a moment where Lark held on, her eyes bright with tears she refused to let fall. She kissed Audra’s cheek, then placed Audra’s hand in mine with deliberate care.
“Take care of her,” Lark whispered, though her smile said she knew I would.
“Always,” I promised.
Lark took the bouquet—wildflowers from the property—and moved to stand as maid of honor, and Audra took both my hands. Her fingers were steady, warm, real.
“Hey,” she whispered, quiet enough that only I could hear.
“Hey yourself.”
Pastor Mills cleared his throat, beginning the ceremony, but I barely heard the words. I was too focused on her face, on the way her thumb traced circles on my palm, on the fact that we’d made it here despite everything.
“Before we begin,” Pastor Mills said, his voice carrying across the gathering, “Audra and Beckett have asked that we take a moment to honor someone who couldn’t be here today but whose presence is felt deeply.”
Audra’s fingers tightened on mine. We’d discussed this, planned it, but emotion still thickened the air.
Lachlan cleared his throat beside me, pulling out a piece of paper. “Before we continue, Audra asked me to read something her brother Todd wrote a few years back before his death. An email he sent after a particularly rough deployment, talking about family.”
He unfolded it carefully. “Todd wrote: ‘Aud, I’ve been thinking a lot about family over here. Mom and Dad are gone, and it’s just us now, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone. Family isn’t just blood—it’s the people who show up when everything falls apart. It’s the ones who see you at your worst and stay anyway. I’ve learned that the hard way out here. The thing is, you have to let them in. You can’t just be the one doing the saving. Sometimes you have to be the one who gets saved.’”
My throat closed at the simple truth of those words, at how perfectly they captured what Audra and I had found in each other.
Pastor Mills continued, “Todd also wrote: ‘I know you, little sister. You think needing help makes you weak. But the strongest thing you can do is admit you can’t do it all alone. Promise me that when you find your people—the ones who feel like home—you’ll let them be there for you. Really be there. Not just on the good days.’” He folded the paper carefully, handing it back to Audra. “I think Todd would be proud to see that promise kept today.”
Audra’s eyes shimmered with tears, but she smiled through them. “He would,” she whispered.
The rest of the ceremony blurred—vows about protecting each other, about choosing each other every day, about building something beautiful from broken pieces. When Pastor Mills finally said I could kiss my bride, I touched the spot on her neck where the scar hid beneath makeup and lace, a gentle acknowledgment of everything we’d survived.
“No more running,” I murmured against her lips.
“No more running,” she agreed, and kissed me like she meant it, like she’d never stop meaning it.
Jet chose that moment to apparently decide his job was done. He dropped the ring pillow and took off after a butterfly, sending the crowd into laughter. Some things never changed, and maybe that was perfect too.
As we walked back down the aisle as husband and wife, confetti falling around us—biodegradable, Lark had insisted—I caught sight of the reception setup near the main house. Tables under string lights, Draper’s catering van already in position, our chosen family ready to celebrate through the night.
But first, I pulled Audra aside, into the quiet space beside the barn where we could catch our breath.
“You okay?” I asked, studying her face.
She considered the question, then smiled—that real, unguarded smile that had taken months to return. “I’m better than okay. I’m free. I’m loved. I’m home.”
The party could wait another minute. I held my wife—my wife—close, feeling the weight of the past finally lift from both our shoulders. We’d found each other in darkness, two broken people convinced we were beyond saving. But here, in the golden Montana afternoon, surrounded by the family we’d chosen and the life we’d built, we’d proved that sometimes the best redemption was the kind you found in each other.
“Come on,” Audra said finally, taking my hand. “Let’s go celebrate being alive.”
As we walked toward our reception, toward our friends and our future, Jet came racing back, covered in mud but tail wagging furiously. He jumped up, leaving paw prints on Audra’s dress. She just laughed, that bright, free sound that had once seemed impossible.
This was our happy ending. Messy, imperfect, fought for and won.
Exactly as it should be.
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