16. Damon

Today was the day, the one that George had been waiting for. Nicholas and I were getting married. None of us could wait.

I hadn't planned on ever getting married. Not before I had George, and certainly not after. He took top priority, always. And really, I thought that I had my chance and I blew it. Being single was pretty much all I could expect for my life.

Fate disagreed.

Even now that I had Nicholas, I wasn't someone who needed the ring. Nicholas wore my mark, and after today, I was going to wear his. That was all that mattered. At least to me. To the rest of society, they needed more proof. Did I care what they wanted? Of course not. But George was still in school and was already different enough. He didn't need to be extra different by having his dad living with someone not his spouse. And to my son, this marriage meant that Nicholas was his, too.

I understood why society thought that marriages were somehow more real than what Nicholas and I had. Once upon a time, I might have too. They didn't know about matings or that shifters existed. They equated not being married with couples living together. It wasn't the same.

It was a decision we hemmed and hawed about because doing something for optics wasn't how we wanted to live our lives, but also, our job was to protect George. In the end, George was the reason we decided to move forward with an official, very human wedding.

One night at dinner he asked if he could carry our rings at the wedding. It caught me off guard. I hadn't planned on a wedding at that point, but he apparently had. And when I asked him what he meant, he ran and got a picture he'd drawn of the three of us in the backyard, "Becoming a real family."

That wasn't what it took to be a family, but Nicholas and I both agreed that it was what George thought he needed, and we went ahead with the planning.

I didn't love that he hadn't met Nicholas's dragon yet. It was another thing we were hemming and hawing over. I'd worked really hard over the years to teach him that we didn't keep secrets, and any grown-up who told you to keep a secret was a grown-up you shouldn't trust. Surprises were fine, but not secrets. I hadn't quite figured out how to frame the dragon as a surprise. I'd figure it out. We'd figure it out. But not just yet.

The wedding was going to be small. Beyond small. Tiny.

My parents and brother were here, along with a couple of people from work. Nicholas had about the same number of people there for him, but that was it. And it wasn't just size that we limited, we also limited extravagance.

Our cake wasn't some big, fancy, three-tiered wonder that you saw on television. We bought it from the big box warehouse store. It wasn't even a true wedding cake but simply a sheet cake. It would be delicious, but nothing worth taking a thousand pictures of. It was also interchangeable. Instead of saying "Congratulations on your wedding," it could have easily said "Happy Birthday," "Happy Mother's Day," "Happy Father's Day," or "Happy Fourth of July."

It was generic. But this wasn't about being fancy or showing off. This was about the two of us being in love and wanting to get married.

We'd had it catered from our favorite barbecue place and had everything set up in the backyard, including borrowing a couple of tents—renting, I guess—from the home store. Everything was perfect. All that was left to do was for us to get married.

"Can I talk to you?" George came over to me, his face very serious. I squatted down.

"Sure, little guy, what's up?"

"Do you know how you and Nicholas are getting married?"

I nodded.

"I don't want to call him Nicholas anymore, but I don't have a name figured out yet." This wasn't the first time it had been brought up, but through his eyes, this must've felt like a deadline. It wasn't.

"That's okay. You don't need to know everything today or even tomorrow." I gave him a hug. "No rush."

"Nope." He shook his head. "I want to say it at the wedding. I want to make it special."

"And you being there and carrying our rings will make it special. I promise."

"I'm going to be the best ring carrier there ever was." He squared his shoulders. He meant business.

I still hadn't quite figured out how the ring and shifting thing was going to work. I had a feeling the symbolic piece of jewelry would only be worn on special occasions by my mate, and that was fine. After tonight, I was going to wear his mark, and that was all that mattered.

We talked a couple more minutes while we finished getting ready.

A pair of slacks and a button-down shirt not even tucked in was as fancy as I was gonna get. George wanted a full-on suit, and it was the epitome of adorable.

George and I worked our way outside. Everybody was already there, mingling, drinking with their very "fancy" cans of soda. I mean, we did spring for name-brand, but this was hardly a champagne kind of event. It was perfect.

Nicholas whistled, and everybody turned to his direction. "Looks like we're doing this."

I nearly cracked up when we asked George what he thought was important to be at the wedding. He gave us a very specific list, and we made sure every single thing was there. And one of them included not clinking glasses to get attention, because it was "rude" and whistling instead like his PE teacher did.

Challenge accepted and conquered.

Everybody sat down.

We weren't in rows, just random lawn chairs all over the place. They were all facing the chaplain who was going to do this, but aside from that, there was no organization whatsoever.

George and I walked up to stand by my mate, and the officiant, who was there with a black leather legal binder in his hands, began.

"Are we ready?" he whispered softly for only our ears.

All three of us nodded. George held the rings, not on a fluffy little silly pillow, but in a little wooden box that he'd painted himself. The officiant announced that they were here for the wedding, and we went through our vows, promising to be always and forever until death do us part. Then it was time for the rings, or as George called it in rehearsal, "go time."

"Will you be exchanging rings today?" the chaplin asked.

I wasn't sure why it was always a question. This was all pre-arranged and practiced, but even then he asked. I chalked it up to tradition. We, of course, answered in the affirmative.

George came around and stood between us, flipping open the box. It wasn't a ring box, the two metal circles sitting on the wood, nothing holding them in place. It was going to take a second to figure out whose was whose since we chose identical bands.

"Here are your rings, Dad. Here are your rings, Other Dad."

No one who was watching us understood the full impact of that one single moment, but Nicholas did. George was saying, with his full chest, that even though he didn't have an official name to call my mate, he had the emotions in his heart. Nicholas was his father. Full stop.

Nicholas's eyes glistened. Our son might not have chosen his name, but he chose the position and place in his life, and that was all that mattered.

He took the rings out of the box and handed them both to Nicholas.

"Thank you."

The vision before me was blurry, my eyes covered in unshed tears of joy, ones I had to blink away as we exchanged our rings.

We were announced as husbands a few minutes later and were told we could kiss. We weren't skipping that opportunity. Our friends and family clapped, and then as our kiss broke, we were greeted with hugs—so many hugs.

It was the most beautiful wedding. It might not have had all of the "must haves" of the season, but it didn't have to. It had true love. I loved every minute of the event, but I was equally happy when everyone went home and George went to sleep. As great as the day had been, it was only half over. At least for my mate and me.

"It's time, my love." I shut our bedroom door. "Tonight, show the world that I am yours. Mark me."

"There's nothing I want more, omega mine."

I'd expected it to hurt or at least feel discomfort, but it didn't. The moment his teeth sank into me, the only thing I felt was a sense of completion, a sense of being loved.

And above all of that, a sense of being home.