Page 124 of Reach Around

He chuckles, tightening his hold on me. “I think it’s supposed to be exactly like this. Minus the broken bones, maybe.”

I tilt my head up, catching his eyes—soft, sincere, wrecked and rebuilt all at once. “I love you,” I say again, just to see the way it lands.

Brogan’s whole face lights up, and he leans in to kiss me, slow and deep. “I love you, Jojo. And I’m never letting you go.”

He sits up a little, propping himself on one elbow so he can check my ankle. “You’re not in pain, are you?” He’s fussing again, the way only Brogan can—rearranging pillows, smoothing my hair, running a thumb over the bridge of my nose like he’s mapping out constellations.

“I’m fine,” I reassure him, catching his hand in mine. “You’d know if I wasn’t. You always know.”

For a second, he just stares at me—like he can’t quite believe this is real, like he’s afraid he’ll wake up and it’ll all disappear. I feel that, too. But the way he’s looking at me, the way his hands keep finding me, tells me this isn’t a dream. It’s ours.

My phone vibrates against the nightstand. Once. Twice. Then about a dozen times in rapid fire.

Brogan groans. “If that’s Lynsie and Gisele demanding a group FaceTime, I swear I’ll fake an outage.”

I snort. “It’s probably just their code for ‘did he make you see stars or nah?’”

He laughs, that wild, easy sound that always makes me want to kiss him again. “You going to answer them?”

“Not a chance.” I wiggle closer, letting his body absorb all the leftover nerves and adrenaline. “Let them wait. I want to stay right here. At least, until I have to pee again.”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Bathroom escort, at your service.”

“And after that?”

He grins, wicked and soft all at once. “Round two. Or at least some victory snacks.”

I close my eyes, content in a way I never thought possible. I’m sore. I’m loved. I’m probably about to be roasted in the group chat for eternity. But none of that matters.

Because this—Brogan, me, my weird, wonderful life—is finally enough.

Epilogue

Brogan

There are nights when the lake is glass and the world goes soft around the edges—nights when I pretend to be a quiet place, all hush and moonlight. But not tonight. Not with the Foster boys running wild on the beach, not with Shep cracking flares and birds losing their damn minds. Tonight, the air buzzes with something different. The kind of magic that only comes when I hold my breath—waiting for a ring, a promise, and the kind of yes that changes everything. Here, nothing is ever simple, but some nights, the all of us root for love to win, even if it has to dodge a little bird shit to get there.

Playlist Song: Fire and Dynamite by Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors

Six months later…

I’ve been pacing this same fifty-foot stretch of sand for the past hour, and if Bennett calls me a lunatic one more time, I’m throwing him into Lake Superior. Not that it would help. He’s built like a freight train and about as easy to budge.

“She’s not due for another twenty minutes,” my brother grunts from where he’s sitting on the cooler, arms crossed like he’s the one getting engaged. “You’re going to wear a trench in the beach.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, adjusting the collar of my button-down for the tenth time. It’s too hot. Or maybe I’m just sweating through it. Can’t tell anymore.

“You look great, bro,” Shep chimes in, popping the tab on his third energy drink. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re about to propose or something.”

I glare at him. “That was confidential.”

Bennett grins like the human embodiment of chaos. “Tell that to Shep. He brought flares.”

I snap my head toward my friend, who pulls a small backpack out from behind the log and unzips it with zero shame. “One backpack. Eight flares. Forambiance.”

“Ambiance? This isn’t the Fourth of July!”

“You invitedShep,” Bennett says. “This is what happens when you outsource romance to your idiot best friend and your emotionally stunted brother.”

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