The ridged metal floor of the truck bed was cool and hard through the thin air mattress. Ryan lay on his back, one arm behind his head, the other around Riley. The air had a faint tang of gasoline, and their own clean sweat from a day of dancing. Alabama’s “Love in the First Degree” drifted from the nice wireless speaker perched near the cab.

“Your mom has good taste in gifts,” Riley said, her head on his shoulder.

“Better than her taste in music,” Ryan mumbled, his words slightly slurred. He was drunk, a warm, loose feeling he rarely allowed himself.

She laughed, the vibration traveling through his chest. “You’re a snob.”

“I’m right.” He squeezed her closer. The plastic promise ring on her finger pressed against his ribs. Beyond the truck, the sounds of the afterparty continued—muffled voices, a distant crack of firewood, Ben whooping at something. But here, in this little island of truck bed, it was just them.

Ryan’s 870 stood upright in the corner near the tailgate, the polished wood stock catching the last of the twilight. He’d brought it for protection.

“Three days,” Riley sighed, content. “I think my feet might never recover.”

“Good.” Ryan turned his face into her hair. It smelled like campfire and her shampoo. “Then you can’t run away.”

“I’m not the runner.”

He knew she meant it lightly, but the words landed in his drunk, tender mind. He was quiet for a long moment, listening to the song’s plea about a life sentence. “Feels like that sometimes,” he said.

“What does?”

“This. You. A life sentence.” He felt her breath catch. He rushed to clarify, the alcohol making his tongue thick. “The good kind. The only-verdict-I-want kind.”

Riley shifted, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him. Her eyes were soft in the dim light. “Ryan O’Connor. Did you just make a romantic analogy?”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“You are.” She leaned down and kissed him. It was slow, deep, tasting of wedding cake and the cheap beer he’d been drinking. When she pulled back, her expression turned playful. “You’re also really drunk.”

“I am,” he admitted, grinning. “I’m drunk and I’m married.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m drunk.”

She swatted his chest. “The other part.”

“Married.” The word felt huge and perfect in his mouth. “To you.”

From the direction of the house, they heard Lauren’s voice calling out, sharp but happy, telling someone to leave the good chairs alone. Ryan’s grin faded a little. “She’s gonna be bossing people around at our fiftieth anniversary.”

“Probably.” Riley settled back against him. “She loves you. This whole circus… it’s because she loves you.”

He knew it. The fight had gone out of him hours ago, replaced by this buoyant, unfamiliar peace. The music shifted to a slower song. He traced idle patterns on Riley’s arm with his thumb. “My dad would’ve liked today.”

“I know he would have.”

“He’d have liked you.” Ryan’s throat tightened. The alcohol made the emotion swim closer to the surface. “He’d have talked your ear off about hunting, and flying helicopters. You would’ve pretended to be interested.”

Riley smiled against his shirt. “I wouldn’t have been pretending.”

They lay in silence for a while, listening to the music and the distant party. Ryan’s eyes drifted to the shotgun again, a dark silhouette against the deep blue sky. A totem. A promise. He felt, for the first time in two years, like he was standing in the right place.

“What are you thinking about?” Riley whispered.

“Nothing,” he said. Then, “Everything.” He took a deep breath. “Mostly that I’m not scared right now.”

She laced her fingers with his. “Good.”

“It won’t last,” he said, the old habit of forecasting doom rising up.

“Maybe not,” she agreed, easy. “But it’s here now. We can just be here now.”

Ryan turned his head and kissed her temple. “Okay,” he said. And for once, he believed it.