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The sun is up, the birds are chirping—I assume, since the windowpanes in this place are thick and block out most of the noise outside—and I have one hell of a brutal hangover.

How much fucking whiskey did I drink last night?

Only God, and maybe the server, knows the answer to that.

It’s my wedding day, and my dad asked if we could start the day with eighteen holes at my favorite course. As I force myself into the shower, feeling like I’m carrying my pounding head separately from the rest of my body, I have regrets about the six-thirty tee time.

I didn’t drink enough to black out. I remember every detail of my night, including the run-in with Brandi before I took the elevator up. Maybe it’s a good thing I drank as much as I did since otherwise, I would’ve tossed and turned all night trying to figure out what the fuck she was talking about.

I’ll find out soon. That’s what she told me.

I don’t know what she has planned, but I just pray it doesn’t interfere with the wedding.

I have a sinking feeling it will, though.

I meet my dad in the hotel lobby at six, and he laughs when he sees me.

“Feeling a little rough this morning, kid?” he asks. He’s holding two coffees and a bag, and he hands me a coffee.

“Thanks,” I say with a shrug. “I’m all right.”

He hands me a small package, and it’s warm and feels like food. “This should help.”

I unwrap it and chuckle when I see what’s inside. A breakfast burrito filled with greasy bacon, sausage, eggs, and fried potatoes.

“This is perfect, Dad. How did you know?”

“I know you well enough to guess you stayed out late with your buddy and you two probably drank way too much. Nothing cures a hangover quite like greasy food and coffee.”

I think of Ben’s concoction at the Big D Bash and wish I had a pitcher of that dog shit right now, but my dad’s solution will work, too.

“Oh,” he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a little packet of ibuprofen. “Your mom said to give you this, too.”

I laugh as I sling an arm around my dad. “You two are the best.”

And then I unsling my arm and take the pills.

Since my car is back in Iowa, we grab a Lyft to the course. It’s the same course we played last time, and as we wait for our turn on the second tee after I kicked my dad’s ass on the first hole, I glance over at him, and he’s staring at me thoughtfully.

“I know it’s coming…so is this where you tell me that the key to a good marriage is communication?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Nah,” he says. “It is, but that’s not what I want to say to you today.”

“Then what?”

“Look at how you took that first hole. You caught a birdie while I bogeyed. Sports have always come easy for you. You hit homeruns in baseball. You slam dunked in basketball. You nearly always scored under par in golf. And you made it all the way to the NFL, where you’re seeing your dreams come to life before you. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I manage around the emotion clogging my throat. I feel oddly choked up at his speech. I swallow thickly as I wait for him to get to the inevitable but .

“And now you’re taking on a wife and a baby. It’s a lot. Kids are hard work.” He elbows me. “Believe me.”

I laugh.

“But absolutely and totally worth it. Believe me on that one, too.”

It’s our turn to tee off, so he doesn’t get to the but . Yet.

I hit right down the center of the course, and he slices right. “I don’t know where you get your athleticism from,” he mutters as we both slide back into the cart to find our balls.

I laugh, and we finish the hole before we meet back up in the cart to wait for the third tee.

“I’m waiting for you to drop the hammer,” I say.

His brows draw together. “The hammer?”

“The but . You’re feeding me the good stuff, and it’s nice to hear, but I feel like it’s coming with a warning.”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head wryly as he looks out over the course ahead of us. He glances back at me. “Athletic, good-looking, and smart as a whip, too. Lucky kid.”

I settle back into the driver’s seat to prepare for his words. “Well, let’s get on with it.”

“Did you ever find out what happened when she left the first time?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Did you tell her about Tiffany Gable?”

I nod as I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and chew a little nervously.

“So you’ve given her your honesty, but she hasn’t returned that?”

I blow out a breath. “I told her the past didn’t matter, and I’m choosing to believe the story she and her family told is the truth,” I finally say.

He holds up his hands. “And that’s certainly a fine choice, son. Like I said, athletics have always come easy for you. But not everything in life is quite that easy, as you found out when you married that ex-wife of yours. I just want you to be happy, and I want you to be fully sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I appreciate the concern, Dad, but I know. I’ve known since I was twelve.” My voice is blunt.

He squeezes my knee. “I know you have. But don’t you think you’re rushing this?”

I lift a shoulder. “Maybe, but we both want this. I want to do it before the season starts. She wants to do it before the baby gets here. There are other factors at play,” I say, remembering his words about me not treating him like he’s dying, which forces me to choose not to mention another reason we’re rushing this along. “We’re both so goddamn tired of these forces constantly coming at us to break us apart.”

“Marriage isn’t going to fix that. Marriage isn’t going to change who you are and suddenly make you invisible. Did it stop anyone from hitting on you when you were married to Savannah?” he asks.

“No,” I admit. “And I know it won’t fix anything, or change anything, but then we’ll both have a vow to cling to when times get tough.” I lower my voice as I stare out over the green grass. “She won’t disappear on me again because she’ll be tethered to our commitment.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re marrying her because you’re afraid she’ll walk away again if you don’t?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. I’m marrying her because I love her.” I blow out a breath, and then I turn to look at him as I decide to give him the whole truth. “I want you there, Dad. I want you standing next to me as my best man. It’s important to me you stand up as a witness when I marry the woman I will spend the rest of my life with.”

He presses his lips together again, and then he stares out over the grass, too. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he’s scared. I wonder if he’s as scared to leave me as I am to lose him.

I push the negative thought away as I focus on the positive. He’s here now, and I’ll take him for as long as I’m allowed to keep him.

He squeezes my knee. “Okay, then. I will be there at five o’clock ready to stand by your side.”