The Rest of the Story

by Tal Bauer

“Morgan.” I planted my feet and twisted left and right in my chair, petulantly glaring at the

the headiness of it all. Fuck, it was terrifying. Fireworks in the veins, who-needs-sleep, I’ll-live-forever-on-these-butterflies-and-your-smile.

He reached into his pocket and fished out my ring, held it at the tip of my ring finger. It was a plain band of dark, swirling steel, patterns that looked like waves moving freeform across the surface. On the inside, two dates had been engraved: the date we met and today. “Give me your hand,” Shea whispered, “and I will give you my forever.”