"His high school sweetheart? The one that . . ." I trailed off.

He glanced away for a second. "Yeah, this is hers."

My breath caught.

"My dad . . ." He held my hand upright and placed the ring on my palm. I picked it up and started to examine it. It was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. White gold with a single stone, but the stone was huge; triple the width of the band. His words broke into my thoughts, but I kept my eyes on the ring. "He gave this to me when I was sixteen. He said I'd become a man." He laughed lightly to himself. "He told me that moments, the ones I create, the ones I hold onto—they're only worth remembering if I have someone to share them with. He said that when I found someone—someone I wanted to share all of my future moments with—to give them this. And hope that every time that person looks at it, they'll know. They'll know that I wanted to share my life with them.

"And that's what I want. I want that person to be you, Amanda. And if for some reason, shit happens—again—and things don't work out for us, I need you to know that. I need you to be able to look at this, for the rest of your life, and know that you’re it for me. Because I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. And I hope that that’s what you feel when you think about this moment. Loved."

The tear fell before I realized that I was crying. Lifting my head, I tried to level my breathing. I opened my mouth, but the words didn't exist. He reached around me and gently pulled the chain over my head. After unclasping it, he slid the ring on, and secured it around my neck again. I lifted it to see both the ring and vial. I curled my fingers around them, grasping tightly. "This chain holds all my dreams," I told him.

"Yeah?" He smiled softly. "You hold all of mine."

We settled onto the rug, me lying down with my head on his shoulder and his arm around me. We gazed up at the lights above us, listening to them chime as the wind blew and they clanked against the vials. Only then did I take in the masterpiece he'd created. The lanterns all set up in the middle, the twinkling lights forming a circle around them. "Logan, do you know what it looks like?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. But it wasn't really a question. He already knew my answer.

"It looks like the universe."

Cameron

I haven't felt like this since the first time I approached her in her laundry room at her mom's wake. The sweaty palms, the blood pumping in my ears. At least they were all a distance away and couldn't see me in this pathetic state. I'm sure her brothers would've given me shit about it.

I was so fucking nervous my eye began to twitch. Twitchy, that's probably what the boys would nickname me for a year.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to get it to stop. Surely I must look crazy right now—suited up, standing under a random tree, yards away from a huge family paying respect to their lost mother and wife.

I blew out a breath. I needed to calm down. Pressing my palm against my chest, I closed my eyes and started counting in my head. It didn't seem to get better.

Then I felt a tiny hand brush against my leg and fingers wrap around mine.

I opened one eye and looked down at Lachlan. He beamed up at me, with crooked teeth on display. He'd just started getting his adult teeth through. "Daddy says it's time," he whispered. Kid was cute. He wouldn't be much longer. His older brothers had already started talking him into doing and saying some stupid shit, but I'd virtually watched him grow from a tiny baby into this boy, and soon enough, he'd be a teenager. I bet he'll be like Little Logan. That kid's a punk. His name suits him.

We walked hand in hand over to his mother's headstone. I wanted to give them all time to pay their respects as a family. She waited at the front of them, with that same sad smile I'd gotten used to over the last six years. Six years. Holy shit.

"It'll be okay," Lachlan whispered. Then he took off, running towards his dad.

And it started again. The nerves. The sweaty palms. The racing heart. The fucking eye twitch.

I stood in front of her, my ribs aching from the pounding of my heart against it. It felt like it could break bone and skin and rip through me at any second. I placed my hand in my pocket and felt around for what I needed.

"Are you okay, Cam?" Her voice dripped with concern. "You look kind of pale."

I gazed up at her dad. He just nodded, and tried to smile. He failed, but I got it. I couldn't even imagine what this must've felt like for him. Maybe he felt like he was about to lose the only woman left in his life, but he knew me better than that. He knew I'd never take her away.

I eyed all her brothers, one by one, almost as if asking for permission.

No one gave me an out.

I finished on Lachlan, and his smile was unchanged. He nodded his head with as much enthusiasm as his seven-year-old body could muster.

Then I gave all my attention to the girl in front of me.

Lucy.

She must've been following my gaze. Her head slowly turned from her brothers behind her to me. Eyes narrowed, she asked, "What's going on?" Her gaze searched me from head to toe, and then back up again. But she didn't get all the way up—her eyes fixated on what I was holding. They widened. As if in slow motion, her hand came up to cover her mouth.

I sucked in a breath.

Let it out in whoosh.

And that's when it happened.

I dropped down on one knee.

"Lucy . . ."