Page 407 of Faking the Goal

"Don't."

A laugh slips through my tears. "I know. I walked into that one."

He squeezes my hands.

"But you never tried to fix me. You never treated me like I was something broken that needed to be put back together. You just held me. You listened. You stayed. You accepted every messy, stubborn, terrified part of me and somehow made me feel like none of those things made me harder to love."

My throat closes for a moment, and Kentaro's thumb immediately moves over my hand.

"So today, I want to promise you something too. I promise I will never take that love for granted. I promise to show up for you the way you've always shown up for me. I promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as you've protected mine. When hockey is amazing, I'll be the loudest person screaming your name from the stands."

His grin appears.

"And when it fucking sucks, I'll be the person waiting at home to remind you that you're more than whatever happened on the ice."

His eyes close briefly again, and I know that one got him.

"I promise to keep choosing this life with you, wherever it takes us. Vegas, Japan, the middle of nowhere because I decided I absolutely need to photograph some endangered frog—"

Kentaro snorts.

"—wherever. As long as I get to come home to you, I'll be okay."

Another tear slides down his cheek.

"I promise that the family we build will know exactly what you taught me: love isn't something you have to earn. It's something you give. Freely. Completely. Every fucking day."

I squeeze his hands and smile through my tears.

"And most of all, I promise that you will never have to doubt whether you are loved either, Kentaro Azuma. Because you are. So ridiculously, overwhelmingly, disgustingly loved that you're going to be sick of me by the time we're eighty-seven."

"Impossible," he whispers.

My heart nearly fucking bursts.

"I love you, Ken-chan. I loved you when you were the grumpy asshole I couldn't stand. I loved you when you became my best friend. I love the man standing in front of me now, and I already love every version of you I haven't met yet."

For several seconds after I finish, Kentaro just stares at me.

Then he reaches for my face with both hands and wipes away the fresh tears spilling down my cheeks while I laugh because he's crying just as badly as I am now.

"You're ruining my makeup," I whisper.

"You're ruining mine too."

"You're not wearing any."

"Exactly. Look what you've done."

I laugh so hard another tear escapes, and his thumb catches that one too.

After the rings are exchanged, we add one small thing of our own before the officiant pronounces us husband and wife.

A bow.

Kentaro explained it to me when we first decided to include it—that in Japan, bowing is a gesture of respect, and generally, the deeper the bow, the greater the respect you're showing the person in front of you. We thought it would be a simple, meaningful way to honor his Japanese heritage and show the respect we have for each other as we begin our marriage.

Simple being the important word here.