Page 76 of The Boss

Zac reached for me, hesitant, as if he didn’t have the right anymore. “I think I’ve loved you from the moment you walked into my office, even if I didn’t know it yet. I just—I was a fucking coward. I let fear get in the way, and I almost lost you because of it.” He swallowed, shaking his head. “But I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I don’t care what it may cost me. The only thing I care about is you. Just tell me you’ll take me, Chris,” he begged. “Tell me I haven’t lost you forever.”

I stared at him, my throat too tight for words. The sincerity in his voice shattered something in me. I shook my head, fighting the surge of emotion rising in my chest. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said, laughing softly, my eyes misty. “You could never lose me, you absolute dolt. I love you. Always have. Always will.”

Then, without thinking, without hesitation, I surged forward and crashed into him, my lips claiming his like they belonged there—because they did.

Forever.

Zac’s arms came around me in an instant, pressing me against him. His mouth met mine in a kiss that was searing, desperate, pouring every ounce of feeling into that one hungry claim. His hands roamed over my body, fisting my shirt, yankingat my suit jacket, like he wanted to tear the clothes off me and take me right there on the altar. I pushed even tighter against him, my body molding around his as if trying to crawl under his skin and—

A discreet cough came from nearby, breaking us apart.

The priest arched a brow. “So,” he said mildly, a tinge of amusement coloring his voice, “should I still proceed with the ceremony…?”

Zac turned to me, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

I smirked, my heart pounding with a giddy certainty. “Maybe some other time,” I murmured.

But as I looked at him—at the love burning in his eyes, the promise there, steady and sure—I knew. One day, it would be us standing at the altar. And when that day came, there wouldn’t be a single doubt in either of our hearts.

34. Zac

The highway stretched ahead of us, a ribbon of asphalt unspooling beneath the golden light of an early April afternoon. I kept my hands on the wheel, while Chris lounged in the passenger seat, one leg bent up on the dash, thumbing through his phone as he texted his friend. Queen played on the stereo, Freddie Mercury’s voice drifting through the cabin, underscoring the easy silence between us. It was the kind of silence that only came with time—the kind that settled into your bones, warm and unwavering, like the steady thrum of an engine on an open road.

Four months ago, I had walked away from my own wedding, breaking free from the life I was supposed to have. But fate—or whatever twisted sense of humor the universe runs on—had other plans. Because here I was, not as a groom, but as a guest at someone else’s wedding, watching love play out in a way that actually made sense. Funny how life worked—you thought you had it all mapped out, only to realize the real plan had been written in invisible ink, waiting to reveal itself when you least expected it. And sometimes, if you were lucky, it turned out better than anything you’d dared to want.

The past months had been a lesson in how fast things could change—and how right it could feel when they did. Chris and I still worked together at Nova, but he’d made it clear that he wanted to keep our personal life separate from business. He stayed in his old position, turning down any suggestion that he report directly to me. What he didn’t know—what I hadn’t told him yet—was that I had other plans for him. A promotion was coming, one he had earned through sheer skill and dedication, not because he was sleeping in my bed.Head of SoftwareDevelopment.It was only a matter of time before I made it official. Maybe I’ll tell him next week, on our trip to Barcelona.

And speaking of beds—he lived in mine now. The house I’d bought with Chantelle had never felt like home, just a gleaming monument to the life I’d been trying to force myself into. It was too big for us, too cold, too full of expectations. Neither Chris nor I had any desire to live there, so I sold it. My condo at Waterplace Residence suited us better. It was where we built our life together, where I woke up to the sound of him padding barefoot across the hardwood floors, where we spent nights tangled in each other, our bodies molded together like they were made to fit.

As for Chantelle—mutual acquaintances had mentioned she was seeing someone new. Younger than me, but not as wealthy. I didn’t know much beyond that, and I didn’t ask. Whatever she was doing, I hoped it made her happy. Maybe she was like me, finally figuring out what she actually wanted instead of what had looked good on paper. Maybe one day she would forgive me and we could go back to being friends.

That reminded me—Chris had somehow managed to convince me to reach out to my father. We’d spoken on the phone a few times, tentative conversations that still felt strange after so many years of silence. Now, he wanted me to visit him in Virginia. I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet, but… for the first time, I could see the possibility. And a year ago, that would have seemed unthinkable.

In any case, the future looked bright—clear and open, with no script to follow, just the life we were building together, one day at a time. And as for the present…

“So,” I said, breaking the comfortable quiet. “Who are these people again?”

Chris snorted, shaking his head like I was a lost cause. “Jeff is Tyler’s dad. He’s marrying his boyfriend, uh—Daniel? Dan?Anyway, they’ve known each other forever. Daniel used to be Tyler’s childhood friend and next-door neighbor.”

I let that sink in. “Wait. So Tyler’s dad is marrying his son’s childhood friend?”

Chris shot me a look. “Yeah. Keep up, old man.”

“Right.” I took a moment to process all that. “And Tyler is…?”

“My buddy, who invited us, you dumbass. He’s a wrestler, too. You’ll like him.”

I hummed, but my mind was stuck on the part where a man in his fifties was marrying someone barely out of college. I hadn’t expected to attend a wedding with an even bigger age difference than the one between Chris and me, but what the hell—love worked in strange ways. “Age gap thing, huh?” I mused.

Chris cast me a sidelong glance, his lips curving. “You’re the one to talk.”

I smirked but let it drop. The truth was, I didn’t give a damn about the numbers. Age, race, gender—none of it mattered. Love was love. And if I’d learned anything in the past few months, it was that the heart didn’t give a fuck about rules. That’s what made it so powerful. That’s what made it worth the risk.

* * *

By the time we reached the church in Stamford, the place was already packed. A quaint little chapel, nothing flashy, but it had that warm, timeless charm—the kind of place where vows felt sacred, where love was celebrated without pretense. The scent of old wood and candle wax lingered in the air as we stepped onto the stone pathway leading to the entrance. Soft chatter and laughter spilled from the gathered crowd, guests dressed in sharp suits and elegant dresses, their breath forming faint wisps in the lingering chill of early spring.

A voice cut through the noise. “Chris! You made it.”

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