I Fell in Love in the Back of a Cop Car Chapter 10: You Were Stealing My Heart, a glee fanfic

A/N: So I finally finished this story. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review, favorite, or follow. You are so very much appreciated. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

A/N 2: Special shout out to Ayofluff for your review asking for the final chapter. That review notification brought me back to this story and got me thinking about how I should end it. I hope this meets your expectations. Thanks for giving me that little push.

July 30, 2042

It's a muggy summer night, the kind that everyone else hates but I secretly enjoy. It's the ideal weather to enjoy an icy alcoholic beverage on our back deck with my favorite person. I put the top on the blender and brave the obnoxious sound as the ice is crushed up, producing a perfect batch of margaritas. I'm pouring tall glasses when I hear a voice behind me.

"Ummm…I only see two glasses, and there are three people here."

I snort at the mock seriousness and turn to my daughter. "I think there's some milk in the fridge, baby girl. Feel free to help yourself."

She scoffs at the suggestion, then rolls her eyes with a grin when I pass by and give her a wink. My smooth exit is hampered by my inability to open the backdoor, and I have to turn back in seek of help. Maya has anticipated my predicament and is already reaching for the door handle, her eyebrow cocked in a manner so reminiscent of Quinn that you'd think they were biologically related.

"Don't be a smart ass," I tease as I slide out the door.

"Me? Never!" she responds as if completely offended before following me out and closing the door behind her.

We join my wife on the deck, where she is stretched out on a lounge chair reading a book. I'm rewarded with a stunning smile when I hand her a glass and bend down for a chaste kiss. It's barely second, but I still catch Maya cringing at the PDA. I stick my tongue out at her as I lean back to sit in my chair and she laughs quietly.

"What did I miss?" Quinn asks, turning towards our daughter.

"Oh nothing, just the stunning maturity of your wife," Maya responds flippantly, flashing me a winning smile.

I stick my tongue out at her again, but this time Quinn turns and catches me. She bursts out laughing and leans forward, inviting me to give her another quick kiss. I oblige and then give Maya a smug look.

Our rapport hasn't always been this easy, but has steadily improved over the past year and a half. We hit a bump in the road around the time that she turned 16 when she became sullen and withdrawn seemingly overnight. Quinn and I were perplexed until Max confessed that she had asked him to reach out to their sperm donor since he was already 18 and legally allowed to do so. Admittedly, I took this revelation badly. I thought I was prepared for the possibility my children would want to know their father, but the reality was something else entirely. I tried to present a supportive front, carefully monitoring my tone to avoid allowing the pain I felt to slip into my voice, but my discomfort was obvious. Maya withdrew further, avoiding me in particular at all costs. Feeling wounded, I turned to my work, spending long hours at the office and in the studio while Quinn dealt with our children. The dynamics in our family changed drastically, and I had no idea how to fix it.

Then one night, Max showed up at the studio unannounced. He found me alone, with a drink in my hand, editing a song I never intended to release. It must have been painfully obvious that I had no reason to still be at work, but he pretended not to notice, even apologizing for interrupting me before asking if he could play me a song. Surprised but thrilled, I grabbed the nearest guitar and handed it to him. I could see his anxiousness, the battle against his lifelong stage fright, but he swallowed it down and started to play, singing softly at first but gaining strength with each word. I was crying after two lines, as my tall, handsome, grown up little boy sang a song about the incomparable love of a mother. When he finished, I mouthed the words "thank you" through my tears and he enveloped me in a sturdy hug. Towering over me, he cleared his throat and whispered, "Maya wrote it." That song healed my wounded heart and became the turning point in our miniature family Cold War.

Looking at my now 18 year old daughter, it's easier to see why she would be curious about her father. She certainly resembles me; her mocha skin, full lips, and narrow nose make us look unmistakably alike. But in combination, her features are distinctly different from mine. In fact, when they are together, she looks remarkably similar to her brother despite the 50% difference in DNA.

Maya's honey brown eyes catch the light from the fading sun as she turns her face towards its warmth. The effect makes her look younger and once again I can't believe our baby girl is starting college this fall. "Have you almost finished packing?" Quinn asks our daughter, as if she can hear my thoughts.

"More or less. I'm sure there are a few things I'll want to take with me at the last minute, but everything that's definitely coming is pretty much packed." There is a tenor of both excitement and nerves in her voice. In just a few weeks she'll be moving to the City to attend NYU and Quinn and I will officially be empty nesters. I encouraged her to look at schools all over the country, but secretly hoped she would stay close to home, unlike her brother.

"Well you know we'll come down and bring you anything you need, so don't worry too much if you forget something," I say, and then wish I hadn't. My wife has been reminding me to think as if Maya won't be less than 45 minutes away so that she has the opportunity to be on her own and take care of herself.

I feel better when I see Quinn nod in agreement. "And of course you can always come home and pick things up or stay the weekend, too," she adds encouragingly. I guess my better half is starting to feel the same despondency I have about seeing our youngest child off into the world.

Maya smiles warmly at us and I suspect she can hear the slight anxiety in our voices. "Don't worry, I'll be okay. And I will definitely come home every now and then, I promise," she says in a knowing tone. Quinn and I act nonchalant, but I can see my wife's face relax and I know she's as relieved as I am.

I like to think we've raised our kids to be independent and given them plenty of room to grow, but it's still hard to send them completely off on their own. When Max left for USC it was a different kind of anxiety, since he was the first and was going so far away. We weren't especially thrilled he chose a school across the country, but then again weren't altogether pleased when he suddenly decided to take a year off and move to New York City with his band.

I sigh at the thought of Max working as a waiter and trying to gain a foothold in the music industry without the assistance of his well-known last name or favors from my friends. I've been producing music for a long time, based out of the very city he lives and performs in. There aren't many people in the industry that don't at least know my name, and many of them have known Max since he was just a little boy. I respect his desire to earn his place, but based on the number of calls I've gotten from friends who have seen him play, it won't be easy for him to find a path that doesn't intersect with mine even a little bit. The good news is that he's talented and his band is decent. I've heard encouraging things from various sources, but they haven't wowed anyone yet. Biting back my advice is…challenging. Okay, it's downright maddening. I want to be his biggest fan without also being a producer, but it's like trying to turn off my ears.

I swat a mosquito on my arm just as Quinn does the same to her leg. "Ugh, the bugs are getting gross," my wife says, standing up.

Maya and I follow her back inside and get comfortable in the living room to peruse movie options. Quinn refills my glass and then picks up my legs to join me on the couch. "Did you pick something?" she asks as she absentmindedly runs her fingertips along my skin. I smile internally at the familiarity of our positions, and her subconscious need to be touching me when we're close, even after all these years.

"Not yet. There are too many choices," Maya complains, flipping through the listings too quickly for me to read.

I roll my eyes in the direction of Quinn. Kids these days, my eyes plainly convey. She looks down and shakes her head with a smile, in the exact same manner she always has. It's adorable.

"Oh wait! Didn't Aunt Rachel's new movie come out?" my daughter suddenly asks, completely unaware of the exchange we just had.

I look to Quinn in alarm. We never fail to send flowers, or a note, or at least call when big things happen for our oldest friends. "No, it comes out in a couple of weeks," she answers Maya, then to me, "and I've already arranged for flowers to be sent to her before the LA premiere on Friday, don't worry."

Relief washes over me, but really I should have known. More often than not, it is Quinn who remembers to send notes on birthdays and anniversaries or reminds me to call so and so. She's my counterbalance; I'd be lost without her.

Maya picks some silly romantic comedy and we turn our attention to the screen. I find my eyes wandering back to my wife every few minutes, though, and soon she catches me. We hold each other's gaze for a long moment before she puts down her empty glass and grabs a blanket. In a moment we're repositioned and cuddled closely together, and I feel as if I'm falling in love with her all over again.

One Week Later

"No! Seriously, Rachel, you cannot buy us a car for our anniversary," I emphasize into my phone, exasperated.

"But it's silver! And it's your silver anniversary! Please?"

"Absolutely not."

I hear a long sigh and a moment of silence, and then, "fiiiine." I can practically hear her pouting through the phone.

"Thank you, really, but it's too much," I say in a gentler tone.

"Well, I thought you might say no to that, but can you please do me a favor and accept my next request? There are only so many 'no' answers I can accept in one day and still maintain full-diva status."

I can tell she's joking, but on the other hand I know my friend. She went with an outrageous request to make this next one seem more palatable. Which means she knows that my first instinct would be to say no to whatever she's about to ask. And she made a self-deprecating joke to make me smile, therefore encouraging a more positive response. I pause for a long second to consider the possibilities before answering.

"That depends…" I allow suspiciously.

"I would like to formally request that you and Quinn and the kids attend a gala I'm throwing next week in the City. I'm only staying in New York for about 48 hours before I have to return to LA for press events, and I'd really like to see you all. It's no big deal, just a formal dinner event Friday night, no red carpet or anything."

I'm surprised and not really sure what to say. Truthfully, I thought she'd ask for something much more ridiculous, but I've also been wanting to spend as much time as possible with the kids before Maya starts school. Max is even staying at the house for the next couple of weeks. "Oh wow, Rach, I…I guess we can go…we'd need to get dresses and find out what the kids are up to."

"Oh actually, I already handled the dress issue. And we have a tux for Max. Kurt helped. We have shoes picked out, too. And hair and makeup is booked. All you have to do is say yes. And come to the hotel to get ready."

This is less surprising. This is the Rachel I've always known, taking away all possibilities she won't get what she wants. It used to annoy me so much, but now I catch myself smiling. "I should probably ask Quinn," I offer lamely, sure I already know the response.

"She's already on board. So I'll see you next Friday?"

4 Days Later

Maya squeals with delight when I tell her about Rachel's request. Since Quinn's sister in Ohio is their only blood-related aunt, our kids have really grown up close to Rachel, Kurt, Brittany, Mercedes, and to a lesser degree, Noah. They've been surrounded by friends who became family their entire lives, but we've also made an effort to bring them home to Ohio to see their grandparents whenever possible.

I smile as my daughter whips out her phone and fires off a text. I presume she's telling her friends about her upcoming star-studded night. My attention turns to Max, who chews on his lip the same way his mother does when she's anxious. His eyebrows are knitted together, his gaze on his hands. My stomach drops a little bit.

"What's wrong?" I ask in as even a tone as I can manage. My son is sensitive in a way that I can't relate to, but admire in him. He's hyper aware of how his actions affect people, but also very affected by the words and actions of others. It's one of the things that worry me most about him being a musician.

Max has a slightly lighter complexion than Maya, but the same thick head of hair that hovers somewhere between black and dark brown depending on the season. He most resembles his mom when he smiles, with his high cheek bones and slight hint of a cleft chin even more evident. His most remarkable feature is the sea glass color of his eyes, lighter than Quinn's, and even more striking when contrasted against his tan skin.

He drags his beautiful eyes up to mine reluctantly. He looks miserable. "I have a gig that night, mom. It's a big deal. I can't miss it."

"Well, it's okay, I don't think anyone would understand that more than Aunt Rachel," I tell him honestly, even though I am disappointed. I was really hoping we'd get to have a family night.

"I know," he murmurs quietly, "It's just that…it's your anniversary that night, too. I feel bad missing it."

"No, honey, it's not," I respond reassuringly, "Our anniversary is on Thursday."

Max is surprised by my assertion at first, then looks incredibly contrite as he corrects me. "Mom, today is the 10th," he explains simply.

My eyes widen as I do the math in my head. He's right. Shit.

I quickly turn and head upstairs in search of my wife and human calendar, who somehow consented to Rachel's invitation before I did. I find her folding towels in the bedroom.

"Our anniversary is this Friday," I announce unceremoniously.

She looks up at me like I'm crazy. "No, babe, it's Thursday. And I'm going to pretend that you didn't just admit you still don't know our anniversary after nearly 25 years," she jokes as she continues folding.

"I'm serious Q, today is Sunday the 10th. Friday is the 15th. We both got it wrong."

Her hands keep folding, but move slower and slower as she mulls this over. I can tell she's convinced when she freezes and bites her lip.

"That can't be," she practically whispers, almost to herself. Hazel-green eyes meet mine with a disconcerted expression. "It's on the calendar," she declares, as if this changes the concrete fact that Thursday is not August 15th, and therefore not our anniversary.

Quinn marches out of our bedroom on a mission to somehow alter time and make the dates line up. I follow her back down to the kitchen, because while I am notoriously bad at checking our family calendar, my wife is not, and I'm genuinely astounded that an error of this magnitude could slip past her.

Sure as shit, our anniversary is written in on Thursday and the date in the corner says "15." Quinn writes out the calendar at least two months in advance, and I knew I had checked this date at the end of last month to make sure I planned properly. My wife looks redeemed for a moment, but then shakes her head.

"But today is the 10th, right?" she asks, utterly perplexed.

I pull out my phone and confirm the date. "Yup," I verify.

Quinn flips back to July, then to August again, then to September. She does this three times before groaning in frustration.

"Look, August 1st is on Thursday. On the July calendar, the 31st is also on Thursday. And there's a gap between August 31st and September 1st. This whole month is off by a day. I can't believe I missed this!"

My wife is still flipping back and forth like maybe she's mistaken, but it's the only explanation that makes sense. I watch the pages changing in rapid succession, various pictures of family and friends at the top of each.

Wait.

A thought is forming in some corner of my mind. At first I can't put my finger on what my brain is trying to tell me, until suddenly it's fully formed. I reach out and grab Quinn's wrist, stopping her movements.

"Quinn, Rachel gave us this calendar. For Christmas, remember?" My tone could not be any clearer.

Rachel did this.

My wife's eyes grow wide with understanding. I've shared suspicions of Rachel's clever manipulations with Quinn before, but she usually gives our tiny friend the benefit of the doubt. This time, she doesn't seem to question my implied allegation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Mom. And Mom. You guys can't be serious," Max interjects unexpectedly, having watched our little exchange while sitting at the island counter top in the kitchen.

"What can't they be serious about?" Maya inquires as she wanders into the room as well.

"Get this," our son tells her with laughter in his voice, "they have apparently deduced that Aunt Rachel altered a calendar she gave them for Christmas, over 8 months ago, just so she could somehow trick them into attending this gala on their anniversary."

Max's tone is so incredulous that the idea suddenly sounds completely outlandish, even to me. I open my mouth to defend the possibility, but close it when Maya starts laughing in disbelief. She stops abruptly when she notices her mothers' very serious expressions.

"That's genuinely crazy," she tells me and Quinn, in a voice that emotes both concern and a hint of sarcasm.

I've never been the type to back down easily, but I have also been a parent long enough to know that trying to convince my children will only make me look crazier in their eyes. Plus, my initial certainty has all but disappeared. The more I think about it, the less likely it seems. I look at my wife and can see the same doubts that I am feeling etched into her expression.

Quinn and I study each other, trying to read if the other has abandoned the theory. Small embarrassed smiles play at both of our lips, turning into full on smiles, then laughter. Q puts the calendar back up on the wall, shaking her head. From the corner of my eye, I catch Max raising his eyebrows at Maya and they both crack up, laughing hysterically. I watch them affectionately, quickly distracted from the Berry sabotage theory by the happiness I feel at having both of our kids back home.

Our children are good looking, smart people, with incredibly different personalities. Max is poised and observant, calmly taking in his surroundings. He possesses a sweet kind of shyness that he's quick to overcome when he senses he's in good company. At home and with friends, he is gregarious and funny, even downright silly. It is at these times that my children seem to blend into one entity, their laughter weaving together effortlessly, like right now. Maya brings out the goofiest side in not only her brother, but in me and Quinn also. She is a classic extrovert, sunny and charismatic. Sometimes I think she's a less devious version of high school me; she's a natural leader but seems to intuitively understand the responsibilities that go along with that. It took me much longer to recognize that being a natural leader was not the same as being a good leader.

My wife moves away from the calendar and lightly drops her hands down on the marble top of the island, grabbing our attention.

"So what do we want to have for dinner?" she queries, putting the crazy conspiracy theory behind us.

August 15, 2042

Hairspray is being applied (a little overzealously, in my opinion) to my elaborate up-do as the finishing touch to a seemingly very long afternoon of being fussed over.

To the surprise of many, I've never particularly enjoyed the hair and make-up routine that always precedes events like these. There's just something about people hovering in my personal space that gets on my nerves, particularly when they are touching me. I tolerated this far more frequently when I was younger and enjoyed the thrill of walking red carpets with Quinn and publicity in general, but my infatuation with fame had begun fading before I even experienced my first real taste of it. I wanted to settle down, have kids, live relatively normally. I had no desire to dodge paparazzi on a day to day basis, doing it with Rachel was irritating enough. I wanted to stay behind the scenes more and more with each humiliating rumor I read about my famous friend, so I did. I turned down the opportunity to record my own album (over Quinn's initial objections) and stuck with producing and songwriting instead. And it's moments like this, watching my wife tear up when our daughter presents herself with a cheesy "ta-daaa," that I know I made the right choice.

Maya looks stunning. Her long hair is down and swept to one side, her make-up draws attention to her eyes without being heavy handed, and her red dress accentuates her tan skin. A wave of familiarity washes over me as we fawn over how gorgeous she looks.

Devil in a red dress.

My gaze shifts to Kurt, who handpicked that dress for my daughter. He meets my eyes and winks, acknowledging what I suspected. He has imitated my senior prom (or was it junior prom?) look for Maya tonight. I have to admit, she wears it much better than I did, which is saying something, honestly.

It's Quinn's turn to change into her dress, and when she emerges my heart swells in conjunction with my stomach doing a flip. She's equal parts the girl I've always loved and the woman I can't help but desire in a stunning green dress that changes the color of her eyes. I'd been relieved we wouldn't be doing a red carpet tonight, but now it seems a pity she won't get to show off that dress to the world.

Rachel sweeps in from the adjoining room to check on our progress, and is clearly very excited when she sees that we are just about ready to go. "I have something for you two before we head down, I'll be back in one second, I left it next door," she says, leaving as quickly as she came in.

I stand up and put on my jacket. Kurt brought me several options, but clearly favored a very feminine tux that seems to be perfectly tailored for me. I'm handed flashy silver pumps that I would never think to pair with this outfit, but not surprisingly, accent it perfectly. I should let Kurt dress me more often. I catch Quinn's appreciative gaze in the mirror and smirk when she realizes I've caught her. I'll wear anything that gets her attention like that.

Our tiny friend returns and hands us each a box, clapping her hands together with excitement as we start to open them. Inside we each find a simple solid silver bracelet with an inscription inside:

Quinn and Santana August 15, 2042 Still Flawless

I'm touched beyond words, and re-read the inscription while I try to swallow the lump in my throat. Finally I give up and just reach out for Rachel, knowing she'll understand what I'm trying to say. She grins and hugs me, whispering, "You're welcome," in my ear.

My wife manages to voice her appreciation, thanking Rachel for us both as they embrace. We slide our bracelets on our wrists even though they don't necessarily work with our evening wear.

"Okay, is everyone ready? Let's go," Rach directs with enthusiasm, not waiting for an answer to her question.

I find it difficult to pull my eyes away from my wife as our entourage makes its way to the hotel ballroom on the second floor. She smiles shyly when we make eye contact, just like she did when we first started dating. I adore her and the faint blush that reaches her cheeks, even after all these years

Suddenly we're at a side door to the ballroom and I look around inquisitively. Why are we coming in this way instead of the main entrance? What the hell is this gala for anyway? Why can't I hear the usual buzzing of cocktail hour conversations?

Just as I'm opening my mouth to ask Rachel, she and Kurt each grab a handle and pull open the double doors in front of us. The room is packed. Quinn and I start walking in like we own the place, but recognition hits us both at the same time and we freeze.

The crowd has erupted in applause, but that's not what stops us. It's the people in the crowd. Old friends, new friends, our families, our work colleagues. Quinn elbows me and juts her head in the direction of a screen at the front of the room above a low stage. Projected onto it is a picture of us on our wedding day. Above it a sign congratulates us on our 25th wedding anniversary. The puzzle is complete.

Rachel and Kurt flank us and each links an arm with us. They guide us through the continuing applause and whistles to a table near the front of the room. I'm still kind of dumbfounded, but hug my scheming friends anyway as we sit down and the crowd follows suit.

"Good evening, family and friends," Maya's voice rings out through speakers. I look up to see her standing at a simple podium. "I am so excited, and honestly extremely relieved, to finally have you all gathered here to celebrate my beautiful, incredible, amazing moms on their 25th anniversary."

The crowd applauds politely, with a few whistles coming from a table I can almost guarantee Noah Puckerman is sitting at.

"I would like to thank you all for not only being here, but also helping us keep this monumental secret. It certainly wasn't easy. Nearly 7 months of planning and coordination were almost for naught with 5 days to go."

Maya pauses dramatically and looks at me. "Mom, your insane calendar espionage theory was almost 100% correct," she confesses, "except that Aunt Rachel did not originally give you an altered calendar. I had another one made and did some minor surgery to include the incorrect dates for August. Sorry I'm not sorry."

She gets a good laugh from the crowd and smiles with them. My wife and I grin broadly as we shake our heads. I knew something was up, but I'm kind of glad I didn't ruin the surprise.

"For those of you who have known my moms for a while, the story of how they fell in love has become legend. It's been told and re-told for decades, and yet for me, it still retains its magic. Theirs was a hard-earned love that did not come without a cost, and did not emerge without a struggle. I so admire their tremendous courage."

I am deeply moved by Maya's words and dab at my eyes with a napkin. Quinn squeezes my hand to get my attention and then leans in to kiss me, drawing some hoots and hollers. Her eyes shine with gathered tears, as mine do. We blow kisses to our daughter, who is positively beaming at us.

"For those of you who maybe aren't so familiar with the story, here are the Cliff's Notes. After an eventful night out one summer, my mom Santana wrote a song about her experience and feelings for her best friend, Quinn. A few years later, that song would be recorded and released, prompting Quinn to find out Santana wrote it about her. They fell in love and lived happily ever after…and since I know you're all dying to hear the song, Mom, will you come up and…I'm just kidding. I'm kidding Mom, calm down."

Everyone laughs at my wide eyed expression and vehement head shake.

"But really no anniversary party for my moms would be complete without this amazing song, so please welcome my exceptionally talented, handsome, single brother, Max, to the stage to sing it for you tonight."

Heavy applause greets our son as he emerges with a guitar around his neck and a grin in our direction. He adjusts something on his guitar and then speaks into the mic directly to me and Quinn, "Real quick I'd just like to say that being your son makes me more proud than I could ever tell you. Thank you for fighting to be together, thank you for always putting me and Maya first, thank you for proving time and time again that love makes a family. I love you guys...Oh and Maya, get your ass up here and sing with me. That was the deal."

Maya laughs and joins her brother on stage behind a mic. Max looks behind him, and I notice his band mates for the first time. They count off, then start to play the best song I've ever written. On the screen above them, pictures and soundless videos play, displaying younger versions of me and Quinn slowly getting older.

We drove right past
That no trespassing sign
We sat on the tailgate
And watched the planes take off

We thought we had all night
There was no need to rush
That's when those cops
Came pulling up
And I thought
Man, ain't this some shhhh

Your daddy's gonna kill me
But if I survive tonight
I wouldn't change one thing
Baby, yeah
I know it sounds crazy

But there was somethin' bout the way
The blue lights were shinin'
Bringing out the freedom in your eyes
I was too busy watching you
Going wild child
To be worried about going to jail
You were thinking that
Running for it
Would make a good story
I was thinking you were crazy as hell
And you were so
Innocent
But you were stealing my heart
I fell in love in the back of a cop car

Man, they weren't playin'
They sure threw those cuffs on quick
You tried to sweet talk 'em
They didn't fall for it
But I did
You were on the left
I was on the right
I knew you didn't smoke
When you asked him for a light
And I laughed
He got mad and slammed the door

Swear your daddy's gonna kill me
But if I survive tonight
I wouldn't change one thing
Baby, yeah
I know it sounds crazy

Side by side
And locked in tight
They were taking their time
But we didn't mind
We talked
And we laughed
We sat real close
By the time they let us go
I was already gone

But there was somethin' bout the way
The blue lights were shinin'
Bringing out the freedom in your eyes
I was too busy watching you
Going wild child
To be worried about going to jail
You were thinking that
Running for it
Would make a good story
I was thinking you were CRAZY as hell
And you were so
Innocent
But you were stealing my heart
I fell in love in the back of a cop car

I fell in love in the back of a cop car

I was already gone, baby

I fell in love in the back of a cop car

The room fills with cheers again as Max and Maya take a slight bow. A band mate, Jeremy, I think, takes the guitar and heads off the stage with it. Our children make their way to our table. Maya reaches us first and Quinn and I wrap her in our arms. A second later, Max envelops us with his huge wingspan, and we huddle together, our little foursome nearly oblivious to our cheering friends and family.

A spark is lit inside my heart and it feels as if it might explode from the sheer joy I feel. This is the life I chose, these are my people. I turn my face to Quinn and she knows from just the look in my eyes what I'm seeking. She kisses me gently, a slight smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

"Ugh, c'mon!" our kids cry out, pulling away from our group hug.

Quinn laughs and I swear I'm 16 years old again, falling for her once more. I catch the subtlest of winks from my mischievous, amazing, wonderful wife. Her smile lights up her whole face as she leans in for another kiss.

I was already gone, baby.

I fell in love in the back of a cop car.