9. Sebastian
CHAPTER 9
sebastian
T he ranch looked like something out of a wedding magazine but, to me, it was unrecognizable. Rows of pristine white chairs stretched across the lawn; each one adorned with fluttering lavender ribbons. Under the ancient oak tree—once a place where Maxine and I hid from the world—a gauzy altar stood, draped in wildflowers. Picturesque. Perfect. Everything Ciara had dreamed of. And yet, I couldn’t shake the hollow ache in my chest.
I watched Maxine, who stood apart from the guests. Her fingers toyed with the dragonfly locket she wore, twisting it absently as though it might tether her to something solid. Around her, cheerful voices buzzed, and laughter echoed like a cruel mockery of her feelings.
Brooklyn sidled up to her, looking radiant in her lavender dress, and offered a soft smile. “You okay?” she asked, her voice low, careful.
Maxine nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Just… taking it all in.”
But I could see through her. The way her shoulders hunched, the faint tremor in her hand, it was all a lie she thought she had to tell. Brooklyn studied her for a moment, her smile fading into quiet concern.
“If you want to talk about it—” Brooklyn began.
“I’m fine,” Maxine cut her off, her tone sharper than she meant. It wasn’t fine. None of this was fine.
Across the lawn, Ciara and David posed for photos, smiling as if they were blissfully unaware of the wreckage they’d created. Ciara looked stunning in her lace gown, her hair swept back in elegant waves, and her smile effortless. Watching them, I felt a knot of anger twist in my chest. How could she stand there, so happy, when Maxine—her own daughter—was barely holding it together?
When the ceremony began, I took my seat next to Maxine. She didn’t look at the altar, instead fixing her gaze on her lap, her hands clenched tightly. The officiant droned on about love and unity, each word hitting like a hammer against the thin veneer of calm Maxine had managed to hold onto.
“Do you, Ciara, take David to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Maxine flinched. I glanced at her, catching the slight hitch in her breath as Ciara’s clear, confident “I do” rang out. Max’s hands tightened into fists, and though she blinked rapidly, a single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.
I didn’t think—just acted. My hand closed over hers, warm and steady, grounding her in the moment. Her gaze met mine, her eyes wide and filled with pain. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t need to. Sometimes, just being there was enough.
The ceremony ended in applause, but it felt distant, almost surreal. I stood with the rest, clapping mechanically as David kissed Ciara. Around us, the guests cheered, laughter and congratulations filling the air. But Maxine’s shoulders remained stiff, her jaw tight.
At the reception, she barely touched her food, her fork scraping idly against the plate. Brooklyn was busy mingling, and Ciara and David basked in the attention; the perfect couple in their perfect celebration. Maxine sat alone, her emotions clearly eating away at her.
“You’re going to wear a hole in that locket if you keep twisting it like that,” I said, sliding into the seat beside her.
She glanced at me, startled, before letting go of the locket. Her fingers trembled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”
“You’re not ruining anything,” I said softly. “But you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling.”
Her eyes filled with tears again, and she quickly turned away. “It feels like she’s trying to erase him,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Like Dad never mattered. And everyone’s just… okay with it.”
I reached out, covering her hand with mine. “Your dad mattered, Max. He mattered to you, and no one can take that away. Not Ciara, not David. No one. If she can’t see that, then that’s her failure, not yours.”
Her breath hitched, and she turned to me, her eyes glassy but grateful. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For always being there.”
“Always,” I said simply.
For a moment, the tension in her shoulders eased, and I saw the faintest glimmer of peace in her expression. She might not have been okay—not yet—but at least she wasn’t alone.
“Come with me,” I said suddenly, standing and holding out my hand.
She blinked up at me, surprised. “Where?”
“Somewhere better than this,” I said, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
Hesitating for only a moment, she slipped her hand into mine and let me guide her out of the tent. We weaved through the clusters of chatting guests and slipped into the garden beyond the main house. The lanterns strung along the paths cast a soft, golden glow, and the chirping of crickets filled the quiet night air.
We walked in silence for a while, the tension in Maxine’s shoulders slowly easing with each step. I finally stopped near a small bench surrounded by blooming roses.
“I figured you needed a break from all that,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the distant sounds of laughter and music.
Maxine sank onto the bench, her fingers brushing the petals of a nearby rose. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I just… I couldn’t breathe in there.”
I sat beside her, my presence solid and steady. “I get it. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with things away from the crowd.”
She looked up at me, her eyes searching my face. “Do you think I’m overreacting? That I should just… accept it?”
I shook my head. “I think you’re allowed to feel how you feel. No one gets to tell you how to grieve or how to handle this. And if anyone tries, they’re wrong.”
Her throat tightened, and she glanced away. “It’s just so hard. Watching her be so happy when it feels like Dad’s memory is slipping away.”
“Your dad’s memory isn’t going anywhere,” I said firmly. “Not as long as you remember him. And you’re not alone in that. Brooklyn and I remember him too.”
Maxine’s lips trembled, and she leaned her head against my shoulder. For the first time that day, she looked like the girl I fell in love with, and I didn't have the guts to tell her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I didn’t reply, but my arm came around her shoulders, holding her close as the garden enveloped us in quiet serenity.