“I'm gonna fuck it up, Pigeon. You're gonna get sick of my shit."I laughed. "I'm sick of your shit now. I still married you.”

“I'm gonna fuck up. I'm gonna fuck up a lot, Pidge, but you have to forgive me.”

“Pigeon?”“Yeah?”A few moments passed, and then he sighed. “Nothing.”Travis hesitated. “I can’t shake this feeling,” he said under his breath.“What do you mean? Like a bad feeling?” I said, suddenly nervous.He turned to me with concern in his eyes, “I have this crazy feeling that once we get home, I’m going to wake up. Like none of this was real.”I slid my arms around his waist, running my hands up the lean muscles of his back. “Is that what you’re worried about?”He looked down to his wrist, and then glanced to the thick silver band on his left finger. “I just can’t shake the feeling that the bubble’s going to burst, and I’m going to be lying in my bed alone, wishing you were there with me.”“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Trav! I’ve dumped someone for you—twice—I’ve picked up and went to Vegas with you—twice—I’ve literally gone through hell and back, married you and branded myself with your name. I’m running out of ideas to prove to you that I’m yours.”A small smile graced his lips. “I love it when you say that.”“That I’m yours?” I asked. I leaned up on the balls of my feet, pressing my lips against his. “I. Am. Yours. Mrs. Travis Maddox, forever and always.”His small smile faded as he looked at the boarding gate and then down to me. “I’m gonna fuck it up, Pigeon. You’re gonna get sick of my shit.”I laughed. “I’m sick of your shit, now. I still married you.”“I thought once we got married, that I’d feel a little more reassured about losing you. But I feel like if I get on that plane….”“Travis? I love you. Let’s go home.”His eyebrows pulled in. “You won’t leave me, right? Even when I’m a pain in the ass?”“I vowed in front of God…and Elvis…that I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”His frown lightened a bit. “This is forever?”One corner of my mouth turned up. “Would it make you feel better if we made a wager?”“What kind of husband would I be if I bet against my own marriage?”I smiled. “The stupid kind. Didn’t you listen to your dad when he told you not to bet against me?”He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re that sure, huh? You’d bet on it?”I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled against his lips. “I’d bet my first born. That’s how sure I am.”And then the peace returned.“You can’t be that sure,” he said, the anxiousness absent from his voice.I raised an eyebrow, and my mouth pulled to one side. “Wanna bet?”

“No, sitting up with you when you were sick, and you falling asleep in my lap, was one of my best nights. It wasn’t comfortable, I didn’t sleep worth a shit, but I brought in your nineteenth birthday with you, and you’re actually pretty sweet when you’re drunk.”

“I wish you and Travis would just get your shit together! You're a goddamn tornado! When you're happy, it's love and peace and butterflies. When you're pissed, you take the whole fucking world down with you!”

“Do your worst, Pidge. I’m tired of your shit.”I released his skin and jerked my arms, struggling against his grip. “My shit? Let me out of this fucking car!”He pulled my wrists close to his face. “I love you, dammit! You’re not going anywhere until you sober up and we figure this out!”

“Don't even think about it, Travis. She's like my sister," America warned."Baby," Shepley said, "you just told him no. He's never gonna stop, now.""You're not her type," she hedged. Travis feigned offense. "I'm everyone's type!"I peeked over at him and smiled. "Ah! A smile. I'm not a rotten bastard after all.”