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JULIAN

O ur hold on one another tightens and our kiss morphs from connection to desperation very quickly. Whatever was bothering Deacon is no longer at the forefront of his mind.

I can feel myself harden behind my pants as his tongue snakes out to meet mine, tasting and taking.

“Deacon,” I breathe out. “We need to stop.”

He presses his own length against mine. “You should’ve thought about that before you came in here. What did you expect to happen?”

“I missed you,” I confess. “It was a dumb idea.”

His mouth trails kisses across my jaw and down my neck while his hand slips between us and cups my erection. “We could’ve taken care of this before the day even started.” He squeezes, and I groan. “More than once.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time,” he balks, rearing his head back, moving his lips away from mine. “Do you plan on doing this again?”

“Only with you,” I answer before recklessly kissing him again. “Five years. Ten. Twenty. Fifty.”

“If you don’t walk out of this room right now, we’re going to be late to our own wedding,” he warns as I rock my hips into his hand. “And I won’t be even a little bit sorry.”

Groaning, I place my hands on his chest and push myself off of him. The distance between us already making me ache.

We stare at one another, for the first time finally allowing ourselves to truly look at each other. Taking in the magnitude of what we’re both wearing and what we’re about to finally do. Deacon is dressed in a navy blue suit, with black lapels and a black bow tie. I thought there was nothing better than my fiancé, the mechanic, coming home covered in oil and grease, with a white t-shirt stretched over his beautifully defined chest, but this might just be the winner.

Because this is all for me.

“You look breathtaking,” I admit.

“You like?” he teases.

“I love.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” he teases, stepping toward me.

“Don’t.” I hold up my hand. “My self-control is non-existent right now.”

Smirking, Deacon bats my hand away and stands in front of me, reaching for my bowtie. “Don’t worry,” he says, untying it and tying it back up. “I’ll make tonight worth the wait.”

When he unties it a second time, I raise a brow at him. “What are you doing? I thought I did it right.”

“It was perfect. I’m just finding ways to be close to you.”

His admission is soft, and his touch tender as his fingers graze my neck. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, bringing the conversation back to whatever was bothering him when I walked into the room.

“I think he’d be happy for us,” he says, completely throwing me off my axis.

Emotion lodges itself in the back of my throat, words failing me. Instead, my eyes fill with tears, easy to form and quick to fall.

We don’t talk about Rhett much. Not in reference to our relationship, but rather as a separate entity. A brother, a boyfriend, a best friend. But he very much exists in everything we do and every choice we make.

The guilt ebbs and flows, for both of us, but our love for one another always overrides it.

“I know he would,” I assure him, keeping my voice steady. “He wanted nothing more than for us to be happy.”

“And I am so happy,” Deacon says, his voice laced with awe.

His hands straighten my bowtie one last time before he drops a gentle kiss to my lips. Stepping back, his arms fall to his sides, his blue eyes watery and filled to the brim with nothing but reverence for me.

“You’re ready now,” he says confidently.

“I know,” I say with a smile. “Now, hurry up and make me your husband.”

Straightening my spine, I button up my tuxedo jacket, and breathe through the anticipation that’s fluttering around in my stomach as I take in the room before me.

Our wedding was always going to be a small, intimate event, Deacon’s family and the few friends we have accumulated along the way. Both perpetual loners, it’s very easy for us to get sidetracked in our bubble, but when we let people in, it’s always a pleasant reminder, especially for Deacon, of just how much love there is in the world.

To give and receive.

Dressed to the nines, Wade squeezes my shoulder as I reach the end of the aisle. Both Deacon’s best man and our self-appointed marriage officiant, even though the decision was made when we were all heavily intoxicated, there really is nothing more perfect than the person who has supported us the most, marrying us today.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Are you?” I retort back. “Did you practice all your lines?”

He raises a bunch of folded papers. “I did, but I bought these as a backup.”

“Who would’ve thought it would be hard to officiate a wedding,” I tease.

“Harder than getting the license, that’s for sure.”

This makes us both laugh.

“Are you nervous?” Wade asks me. “Do you have your vows ready?”

I tap my temple. “I’ve got it all up here.”

“Show off,” he mutters.

Before either one of us gets the chance to say another word, Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love” starts to play on the speaker, and the flutter of anticipation returns to the pit of my stomach.

It doesn’t matter that we’ve already seen one another, touched and spoken to one another. It doesn’t matter that a million ‘I love you’s’ have already left my mouth for this man, and my lips have kissed him an endless number of times. Because nothing in existence could’ve prepared me for the way I would feel, watching Deacon walk down the aisle, arm in arm with his father, toward me.

Toward me .

An overwhelming sense of warmth fills me from head to toe. My love for him and his love for me; it overflows, spilling between us, drowning us in the best way possible.

They hold on to one another tightly, each of their steps still seemingly too far away.

I want them to hurry, I want Deacon close.

I want to make him my husband.

Bill Sutton is a stoic man I have known almost my whole life. I’ve seen him experience the worst things a parent can endure, and yet I have never seen him as overcome with emotion as he is right now.

The years have aged him, lines at the corners of his eyes, deep creases on his upper lip, proof that despite his denial, he has reacquainted himself with his love for tobacco these last few years. I know the tug-o-war between his remaining son and his wife has taken its toll, but even through the stream of tears that fall down his face, the pride and happiness he has for Deacon in this moment is unmissable.

When they finally reach the end of the aisle, Bill releases Deacon, just to hold his face in his hands and stare at his son. As they wordlessly stand there, in front of each other, I take in what is the history and the future of the Sutton family. They’ve been through a lot together since Rhett died, but they’ve worked harder at their relationship than I think either one of them ever expected, and today is proof that none of that hard work has gone to waste.

Bill kisses Deacon on the forehead before taking a step back. But when I expect him to move to the side, he surprises me by stepping forward and holding my own face in his hands.

“I’m so happy for you, son,” he says, his eyes full of unshed tears. “I’m so unbelievably happy for you both.”

Unable to contain the onslaught of emotions, I wordlessly nod through my own tears at the man who never once questioned taking me under his wing. Opening his heart and family to me all those years ago, single handedly changing the trajectory of my life, making sure I knew I was welcome, I was wanted. I was loved.

And now here I am, ready to profess my undying love to his son. Because Deacon is welcome, he is wanted, he is loved.

Releasing his hold on me, Bill grabs Deacon’s hand and places it in mine.

“I love you both,” he says firmly.

“I love you, Dad,” Deacon manages to whisper. “Thank you.”

Bill squeezes our shoulders and moves himself to the side, outside the aisle and to a seat beside Victoria. When everyone’s seated, I bring my gaze to Deacon and lace my fingers with his.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

“Ready to get married?” he asks.

Offering him a wink, I turn my head to Wade and give him a subtle nod.

Smiling back at me, our officiant and best friend straightens his back, standing proudly, as he brings the microphone to his mouth. “Friends. Family. Welcome to the wedding of Deacon Sutton and Julian Reid.”