“Marry me,” Nick said to Riley. The bag of ice fell to the floor. She looked up at him with wide-eyed shock. “I’m sorry. My ears are ringing from all the gunfire and screaming. Could you repeat that?” “Marry me,” he repeated earnestly. “Did you get hit in the head when I shot up the ceiling?” “I don’t have head trauma, and I’m not overreacting to yet another criminal fiasco. I want you as my wife. My partner. You’re it for me. And I know I should have found a better way to do this, like with champagne and flowers and maybe a fucking violin. But this is us. Messy. Complicated. Slightly injured.
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