Page 88 of Hero Hair
Epilogue
Teala
“Macs, you’re hurting my head. Please, for the love of everything holy, get to the point.”
He has a tie wrapped around my head. It’s his favorite thing since I forced him to watch the wildly popular BDSM movie he didn’t want to see. It’s punishment by hilarity. He also told his mom I made him watch it, and I thought I may kill him by knife fight. Luckily she saw it too and instead of a bloodbath, we talked about the movie.
“We’re almost there. I want it to be a surprise and I know how much you love to be bound and gagged.”
“I’m not gagged. My eyes are covered. Brush up on your terminology, please,” I say, trying to keep laughter out of my voice.
He was waiting for me in the hallway as I exited our bedroom.
We’re in the office that seconds as a guest room. “I refuse to learn the terminology unless we get to act it out. Then I’ll study like a demon.”
I huff. “Macs. Please.” I throw my hands down by my sides. “I’ve been gone all day. I just want to relax and see you, please.”
He removes the tie. “Ta-da!” he says, rounding to stand in front of me.
I’m not sure what I’m looking at because the whole room is finally finished so it’s a lot to take in. The shelving is dark and hung on the long wall. My books and his books mix together. They’re color coded and arranged by size and width.
“You’re not even seeing what I want you see,” he says, blowing out a breath. He has a streak of paint cutting across his cheekbone. He’s shirtless, like always, and he looks devilishly handsome.
That’s when I see the cluster of frames on the opposite wall. They’re from floor to ceiling. Literally from the bottom of the molding to the top of the floorboard, housing every single random photo we’ve ever sent each other. My mouth drops open as my feet take me closer.
Hands, clocks, the sky, the interior of my car, his dimple—my favorite one on the right hand side—an egg, a can of paint, randomness all brought together to make one huge collage of our life. Our love.
There are photos of just his chest and the back of my thighs as I’m in a yoga pose. There are photos I never remember seeing before and others that I cherish with all of my heart.
“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I exclaim. I stoop down to study the images at the very bottom.
“Photos mean more than words can, right?” Macs says.
I nod. My throat clogs with emotion. Words would fail me right now anyways.
“So, you go ahead and look at this wall for as long as you want and when you’re ready, look at me,” Macs says, voice quavering.
Slowly, I stand fully erect and turn to face him. Macs is down on one knee, the fear of God sparkling in his eye. His hands are both behind his back. He clears his throat.
“Here’s the thing,” he says as he brings his fists in front of him. “You have to pick a hand.”
I smile through happy tears. “What if I pick the wrong one?”
His nerves seem to abate a little because he chuckles. “It’s a win-win,” he replies. The sun is setting through the window to my left and the golden light shines in, highlighting him, kneeling before me.
“Left,” I say, pointing to his left hand. The vena amoris is in the left hand. It runs straight to the heart.
He opens his hand, and resting on his palm are two dimes and two pennies. I kneel in front of him so we’re face to face.
“Twenty-two cents,” I whisper.
He nods. “Twenty-two cents on forever.”
Macs brings his other hand in front of his body and opens his palm to expose a diamond ring. It shines in the falling sun like a signal from a higher power. He raises his eyebrows in question and tilts his head to the side. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I try to gain some semblance of composure.
He slides the ring on the ring finger on my left hand without letting his gaze stray from mine. I grab the change from his other hand and slide it into the pocket of my sweatpants.
His lips crash into mine in excitement of my silent acceptance. I didn’t have to say yes. Doubt isn’t in our repertoire anymore. Clarity comes when you can’t make sense of anything. You grasp what you want and forget everything else. His kiss takes over all of my senses. He only breaks to smile at me—no words are spoken, but everything is said.
Macs is my clarity. My family.
He’s my hero.