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DEACON

I know better than to wipe my sister’s tears and ruin her makeup, but as they continue to fall down her cheeks, it looks like she’s about to do a pretty good job of that herself. We’re the only two remaining in the wedding suite, waiting for our cue to leave.

“These are h-happy t-tears,” she manages to sputter out. “I promise. I j-just can’t seem to m-make them stop.”

“I can see that.” Standing opposite one another, I place my hands on her shoulders and offer her a comforting squeeze. “Anything I can do to help? Do you want me to get Hayden?”

Her breath hiccups as she shakes her head, willing herself to stop. “I’ve already cried enough in front of him this weekend. The man deserves a break.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Have they been happy tears the whole time?”

“Of course,” Victoria blurts out a little too quickly. “I’m just so happy for you and Julian.”

There aren’t many people in this world that I can read as well as I can read my sister. And while I know she isn’t lying, I also know there are a million bittersweet reasons for her tears.

“You can tell me,” I say gently, trying to coax out the words I know she doesn’t want to say. “You know I feel it all too.”

When she remains silent, I release my hold on her to search for a tissue. When I finally find the box, I grab it and hold it out to her. “Here,” I say. “Wipe your tears and talk to me.”

Appeasing me, she dabs at the corners of her eyes and then her nose, but she remains silent.

“You’re not the only one who wishes he were here, you know,” I confess to a quiet room. “But I can bet you’re not selfishly torn up about what having him here would mean.”

“Deac,” Victoria whispers, immediately grabbing my hands and holding them between hers. “You know he would be happy for you.”

Guilt lodges itself in my chest, threatening to sour what is meant to be the best day of my life. It’s not about whether or not he would be happy for me, but rather the notion that my happiness is reliant on my brother’s death.

It makes me feel selfish and indulgent.

It makes me feel unworthy.

It makes me feel like a thief.

“He’s Rhett’s.”

Feeling overwhelmed, I allow myself to drop to the nearest couch and rest my head in my hands. My mother’s words often creep into my conscience at the most inopportune times, twisting me up from the inside out.

It’s been well over five years since we’ve spoken to one another, and while I have no doubt it’s hard on my father and sister, the fact that I can still feel her hand on my cheek and the disappointment in her voice, even on my wedding day, I know my choice of self-preservation is the right one.

I can hear Victoria shuffle closer, then sit on the wooden coffee table in front of me.

She places a hand on each of my knees. “Is giving him up an option?”

The question rattles me, and I snap my head up to meet her gaze. “What did you just say?”

Her expression is sad and sullen. “I said, is giving him up an option?”

Confused, I shake my head. “Are you asking me, on my wedding day, if giving Julian up is an option?”

Victoria nods. “Yes,” she answers resolutely. “Whatever you’re feeling right now, would it go away if you gave him up? Would it all be less complicated if you gave him up?”

Shocked by her question, I straighten my spine. “You didn’t think to ask me this when he and I first got together?”

“Then or now, is the answer different?” she challenges.

“No,” I say, loud and irritated. “No. No. No.”

I rise up off the seat, moving away from her, needing the space. “I don’t even want to think about a life without him.”

“Then don’t,” she says, so simple and matter-of-fact. “Only think about the life you have now. Not what could’ve or would’ve or should’ve.”

Victoria grips the sides of her dress and raises the material up enough that she doesn’t trip on her heels as she makes her way toward me. She stands opposite me and presses her palm to my chest, calming my racing heartbeat. “You and Julian are what are, and that is the only thing that matters.”

I know that, I think to myself. I know that she’s right, and six out of seven days in a week, I pay no mind to those heavy thoughts and I live in the moment. I love and allow myself to be loved, in a way that is beyond anything I could’ve ever dreamed up for myself.

A knock interrupts my wayward thoughts, and as if I needed proof that this man is tethered to me in every way possible, Julian’s head pops through the open doorway, his eyes searching the room for me.

When that chocolate-colored gaze lands on me, the tightness in my chest eases immediately.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask, my eyes taking in the way he effortlessly fits into his tuxedo. “I thought we weren’t supposed to see one another till the ceremony.”

Victoria tries to sneakily slip outside as Julian crosses the threshold and approaches me. But before she disappears, I call out to her.

“Vic.” She glances back at me over her shoulder. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you too.” Her gaze darts between Julian and me. “Both of you.”

Curious, Julian’s steps finally close the distance between us.

“What was that about?” he asks as he circles his arms around my neck. Ignoring his question, I press my mouth to his, needing to feel him, needing him to quiet the noise.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs against my lips.

Gripping his hips, I press him into me, needing him closer, needing the kiss to be deeper. As always, I need my body to say the words my mouth never can.

“I am now,” I manage to croak out.

Guiding his hands up to my face, he reluctantly drags his lips away from mine and holds my gaze. “What is it?”

Closing my eyes, I try to hide my thoughts from him, try to stifle the emotion forever threatening to fall down my cheeks. I shake my head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“I thought after all these years you would know I’ll always worry about you.”

And I do know that. I know that nobody will ever come close to worrying, or caring, or loving me as much as this man does. His thumbs skate over my cheekbones, and I know he’s patiently waiting for me to look at him. Despite knowing he’ll see right through me, I do what I know he wants and let him see me; every thought, every fear, every flaw.

“I love you,” he says the second our eyes meet.

My breath hitches at his unwavering devotion that, somehow, after all these years, still catches me off guard every single time.

“I love you too,” I reply. “So much.”

“Can you believe we’re getting married today?” he whispers into the empty room. “You and me, husbands.”

His eyes glisten with unshed tears, bright and beautiful, and so very content.

“Husbands,” I whisper back. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Not me.” A soft chuckle leaves his mouth. “But I’ve never been happier. You make me so happy, Deacon.”

“I love you,” I repeat, the three words never enough and yet all encompassing.

In sync, our mouths meet, and all the worry and confusion and hypotheticals from earlier fall to the wayside. The tragic beauty of our love sitting between us, like it always does, as sure and steady as the beats of our hearts, binding us together more than it ever has before.

There’s a reason we don’t have eyes on the backs of our heads, because we can’t look back. We can’t change the past, we can only live in the moment.

Here and now.

Him and me.