Page 144 of Van Cort

As I open the door, West barrels into me, engulfing me in a hug that threatens to suffocate me.

“He’s here. So, what’s your answer?” sounds behind us.

West lets me go but winds his hand into mine. “Seriously, Rhett? Let me in the door.”

“I nearly didn’t. I was getting engrossed in beauty.” West instantly looks back at me, and I tuck my hair behind my ear, blushing.

“Really? Screw you.”

Everett chuckles in response and pours two glasses of wine to hand one to each of us. “Patience is not my forte. It’s been a challenging year.”

“No Shit.”

I scowl at Everett. “Okay. Okay.” There’s going to be tension from all of us, and we’re going to have a lot of time to figure out the minutiae of each other.

Leading them both back into the front room, I take a seat, or more like perch, on the edge of the chair.

Neither of them sits; they stay standing.

I’ve imagined what I’d say so many times, but now that it’s here, the fear threatens. But then I think of what my mom said last year, about grabbing hold of what you want and not letting go.

I want Everett. And I want West.

“Will you ask me again?” I hand the box to West as I look to Everett.

They glance at each other, and Everett steps forward. “Will you marry me? Us?”

No elaboration, no embellishments, to the point.

And I can’t help but smile this time.

West takes the diamond and emerald ring from its case. He seems like a little starstruck by it. “I’ve never seen this,” he says quietly.

I look to Everett, a little confused.

“It was hidden from us,” he clarifies. “All things you’ll find out soon, River, but not now. West?”

His head snaps back to me, a soft smile on his lips as he comes closer and offers the ring.

“Marry us, Andie.” He waits for my hand, which I gladly give, and slips it on my ring finger.

“I will.”

EPILOGUE

TWELVE YEARS LATER

The boys tore off, racing from the music room and down onto the lawn, their bubbling laughter chasing them.

“We’ll be in the second boat. It’s not a race.”

“Yes, it is, Mom!” Preston called back.

Their mom didn’t understand. Everything was a race between them. And now, finally, they were getting to take the boat over to the island alone. It meant one of them could steer. And Preston wanted it to be him.

Marshall had been born first. It was only by ten minutes, but it might as well have been ten years with the way he treated Preston. He always boasted about being the big brother. Theywere twins, though, the same regardless of age, so Preston flung all of his might into his legs and raced harder.

“I want to steer, Marshall,” he panted, shoving him in the shoulder.