It’s May again. Thirty-four years since we started playing. Thirty-four years of running, hiding, disguising, and failing. Jerry Pierce hasn’t been tagged once. Not once.

And now he says he’s retiring. Getting married. Leaving the game.

I didn’t tell the others the real reason I called them back. It wasn’t just about tagging Jerry one last time. It was about seeing them—really seeing them—before I might not get another chance. The tumor on my liver doesn’t care about our rules.

We’re back in our hometown, chasing shadows. We tracked Jerry to his AA meeting—of all places—and almost got him. But he vanished into the church’s wine cellar like a ghost.

Hours passed. Then Susan showed up, screaming about a miscarriage. Jerry came out. We thought it was a trick.

Turns out, it wasn’t.

Now the wedding’s back on. A bridesmaid posted a photo. They lied.

Callahan’s gripping the wheel. Chilli’s muttering about betrayal. Sable’s already planning how to breach the chapel.

Anna puts a hand on my arm: 'Hoagie… are you sure about this?'

I look at my friends. My brothers.

'No,' I say. 'But we’re doing it anyway.'

We’re crashing the wedding.