Epilogue

Cade

Four days later…

"G et the fuck up! I'm not playing anymore, Cade. Checkout was fifteen minutes ago. We need to go!"

I flip him off, earning me a hard smack on my ass that has me yelping. "God—" I push my face into the hotel pillow to stop from complaining too loudly. "Is that any way to treat your husband?" My voice is wrecked, and I don't know if it's from all of the face fucking, the alcohol, or lack of sleep. Probably a combination of all three.

"You'll be my ex-husband if you don't get dressed." His voice moves farther away as he pretends he's responsible and rushes to gather our things. "And answer your fucking phone—it's been going off for the past hour."

I sit up enough to reach for the device, see Liam's name on my screen, and then immediately decline the call. I know what he wants. We waited a few days to actually tie the knot, feeling a little wary of the impulsivity of it all— one of us anyway—but once I convinced him, we drove here. Sin City, because where else were a couple of college kids going to get married? It was either here or BYU, and this place was closer.

We even got married before our parents, something I'm kind of tickled about. I mean, they've been married for years, but we at least beat them down the aisle. Anton put his foot down when he realized my mom's petty intentions. I don't know that they'll even have a wedding at all, and my mom is not taking it well. She's also not taking the news of our relationship well. All Anton did when he found out was send a simple congrats back in the group chat I created, but I had `to temporarily block her.

He did send me a private message that he wants to talk—which is understandable. I did marry his son out of nowhere.

And Liam is probably freaking out. It's not every day that your best friend marries their asshole stepbrother in a chapel where you can pick between Elvis, Dolly Parton, and Freddy Mercury to officiate.

I got a little drunk after we said I do, and I definitely sent some crazy pictures to… everyone: my mom, Liam, Baby, and probably Logan. I think I even emailed my freshman-year English professor.

No ragrets, though.