Page 57 of Double Play
“Jackson Michael Baker,” I say, voice low and clear, “you’ve been my best friend, my home, my favorite person, and my biggest fear because I didn’t know if the world would ever let us have this.”
Jackson’s tears spill silently down his cheeks. I keep going anyway.
“I watched you spend years trying to make yourself smaller. Trying to be easy. Trying not to need.” My throat tightens, but I don’t look away. “And I want you to know you never have to do that again. Not with me.”
Jackson shakes his head, eyes shining. “Dre…”
I lift the ring box slightly, as if he needs proof.
“I don’t care about headlines,” I say. “I don’t care about strangers. I don’t care what anyone thinks about who a man is supposed to love or how he’s supposed to show it. I care about you. About your laughter, your stubbornness, your soft heart, your scary-brave moments, and the way you still try even when you’re exhausted.”
Jackson is crying openly now, chest heaving like he’s trying to breathe through too much emotion.
My voice drops even lower.
“I love you more than anything I’ve ever known. And I don’t want a life where I have to pretend you’re not mine.”
I swallow, then give him the only honest, dangerous truth I have.
“I want to be your husband,” I say. “For real. In paperwork and rings and vows. In hospitals and airports, away games and quiet nights on the couch. In every version of our life that exists.”
Jackson’s hands tremble and he whispers, “Andres…”
I smile, soft and wrecked.
“So,” I say, and my voice breaks just a little, “will you marry me?”
For a second, Jackson doesn’t speak; he just stares at me like I hung the moon and then dared him to believe it was his. Then he laughs through a sob and drops to his knees in the sand in front of me, grabbing my face with both hands.
“Yes,” he chokes out. “Yes, you asshole. Yes.”
Something in my chest detonates, and I stand up fast enough to stumble, and Jackson throws himself into me, arms around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist like he’s never letting go. I spin us once, laughing into his shoulder like I’m nineteen and fearless and the whole world is ours. Then I set him down carefully because I’m not trying to propose and then immediately break my ankle.
Jackson wipes at his face, sniffing hard. “You… you did it with a ring.”
“Of course I did,” I say, and I open the box again. “Give me your hand,mi sol.”
Jackson holds his left hand out like it’s sacred. His fingers tremble as I slide the ring on slowly, watching it settle into place like it belongs there.
He stares at it, breath hitching, then he looks up at me and his smile is so bright it hurts.
“I’m going to be your husband,” he whispers, like he’s testing the words on his tongue.
“Yes,” I say, kissing his wet cheeks. “You are.”
Jackson laughs, then kisses me hard, mouth warm and salty, the ocean roaring approval behind us. When we pull back, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You did it publicly,” he whispers. “People have their phones out.”
“Go big or go home.”
“I love you.”
“I love you more,” I murmur automatically.
He snorts. “Liar.”
We walk the rest of the beach with our hands linked, the ring glinting every time he lifts his hand like he can’t stop checking if it’s real. At some point, Jackson glances up at me, eyes shining again. “So… when?”
