29. Liam
29
LIAM
I watch her from the corner of the reception hall. Anxiety tightens in my gut as Emma remains stoic among the scrambling bridesmaids.
I feel absurd, childish even, but I can’t tear my gaze away from her. Her grace, her determination, even the way she smiles at the guests—everything about her pulls me in. But there's a tension in my chest, a weight of uncertainty that I can’t shake.
Suddenly, a booming voice startles me. “Enjoying the show, Miller?”
I turn around to see Damon sidling up to me, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, caught off guard. “Just…watching the festivities.”
He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “Festivities, eh? You know, I kind of think my best man seems to be more focused on a certain bridesmaid than on my wedding.”
My cheeks flush. “I…” I begin, unsure of how to explain my preoccupation with Emma.
Damon slaps me on the back, his jovial grin splitting his face in two. “Don't worry,” he interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “I can understand you being bewitched. It’s a Cole superpower. Ask my bride.”
A choked laugh escapes my lips. “Right,” I echo, the word devoid of any real conviction.
Damon leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know what the best wedding gift I've gotten is?”
I shrug, trying to guess. “June?”
“Nope,” he shakes his head, his grin still wide. “I got her before the wedding.”
“An open bar?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Nah, although that's certainly a contender. No, I'm talking about something…bigger.”
My curiosity piques. “What is it?”
He grins, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Seeing two of my other favorite people fall in love.”
My breath hitches. “What do you mean?” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Come on, Liam.” Damon chuckles, nudging me playfully. “You two haven't been exactly subtle. Every time you're not looking at Emma, Emma's looking at you. It’s clear that you’re both head over heels for each other.”
A warmth spreads through my chest, a mixture of hope and disbelief. “But Damon, it’s not that simple. There are…problems.”
“Of course there are,” he concedes, his tone understanding. “But the biggest hurdle? You've already crossed it. You love her, and you know you do. The hard part's done.”
My skepticism remains. “I wouldn't be so sure about that.”
He claps me on the back with a hearty laugh. “Trust me, you will. Now, enough with the sappy talk. Let's get back to you being my best man and celebrating June and my big day.”
I go back to perform my duty for the rest of the reception program, but I still can’t keep my eyes off Emma. Damon’s words echo in my mind as I watch her flit around the room. She’s almost like a whirlwind, here and then there with super efficiency as she directs waiters and handles last-minute details.
My heart aches for a single moment alone with her. I need at least a chance to look into those fiery eyes and have her lavender perfume surround me again. And maybe I’ll even be able to bridge the chasm that has inexplicably grown between us if I explain myself.
Frustration gnaws at me. It’s been a battle all day to snag even a sliver of her attention. Sometimes I feel she’s avoiding me intentionally. Whenever I get close, she’s swept away by another bridesmaid duty or a well-wisher.
Seeing her stand still, I decide to take a more direct approach. I move through the crowd, my gaze fixed on Emma. But then I see Greg, one of our ex-military buddies with a ladies' man reputation that precedes him, walk up to Emma. His trademark charm is clearly in full flow as he tries to work his magic on Emma.
No way she’ll fall for it, I tell myself. And then the sight of her laughing at his jokes sends a jolt of through me. What’s he telling her? Jealousy flares up inside me. I can’t stand seeing her smile like that for someone else.
As Greg leans in, his voice low and conspiratorial, I feel a primal urge to intervene. Striding across the room, I clear my throat pointedly. Emma is immediately whisked away by another duty, and I’m left alone with Greg.
Greg looks up, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “Can I help you, Miller?”
“Actually,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady, “I believe you have to do the explaining.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
I stride up to the man, trying to keep my voice steady. “What were you discussing with Emma?”
“Emma?” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s her name. Thanks, I didn’t catch it earlier. Now I know her name for the next time we meet.”
A flare goes up in my head. “You wouldn’t be meeting again.”
“Why?” He snorts. “Isn't she allowed to talk to other guys?”
“Not if she's my girlfriend,” I reply, the words leaving my mouth before I can think twice.
Greg raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Girlfriend, huh? That’s nice and all, but I didn’t see a ring on it, huh? That means she’s a single woman.”
His words hit a raw nerve, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to take a swing at him. Just as I’m about to retort, a booming voice cuts through the air.
“Time for the photos, everyone!” the MC bellows, herding the groomsmen and bridesmaids toward a designated corner.
I spare Greg a final glare before joining the group, my frustration mounting. The picture-taking session is a blur of forced smiles, staged poses, and awkward small talk. All the while, my eyes scan the crowd, searching for Emma. I hear a voice announce the throwing of the bouquet, and then, out of nowhere, I hear something whizzing through the air toward me. I snatch it out of reflex and realize it’s the bouquet.
The noise and applause around me make it clear that I’ve caught it. My eyes meet Emma’s, and I see her start to walk off. I run after her, weaving through the crowd.
“Emma, can we talk?” I call out, but she keeps walking, her pace quickening.
“No,” she says firmly, not looking back.
I follow her, pushing through the throng of people, my heart hammering in my chest. As soon as we’re out of the crowd, she whips around to face me.
“Leave me alone.”
I open my mouth to speak, and then she stumbles back, her face contorted in pain, a hand pressed to her stomach.
“Emma?” I stammer, “Are you okay?”
“Yes—”
Her face contorts in more pain, and I reach out. But before I can touch her, her knees buckle, and she begins to fall. Adrenaline surges through me. Without a second thought, I toss the forgotten bouquet aside and launch myself across the room. Reaching her just before she hits the ground, I scoop her up into my arms, her weight unexpectedly light in my hold.
“Emma!” I yell, panic clawing at my throat. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes flutter open, a dazed look in them. She tries to speak, but only a weak moan escapes her lips then her eyes close again. Fear grips me as I see a sheen of sweat break out on her forehead.
“Someone call 911!” I roar, my voice sounding desperate even to my own ears. People stare at us, a stunned silence blanketing the room.
Suddenly, June pushes through the crowd, her face etched with worry. “It's Emma!” she shrieks. “She's not feeling well!”
With a newfound sense of urgency, I hold Emma close, her head lolling against my shoulder. The world seems to shrink to this single moment—the warmth of her body against mine, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the terrifying silence that has replaced the wedding music.
The seconds stretch into an eternity, each tick of the clock an agonizing reminder of the precariousness of the situation. Then, amid the growing panic, I hear the blessed blare of sirens cutting through the commotion.
Relief washes over me in waves, so intense it almost makes my knees buckle. Help is on the way, but as I look down at Emma, her face pale and drawn, the fear refuses to completely relinquish its hold on me.
What has happened? What is wrong with her? The questions swirl in my head, unanswered and terrifying. All I can do is hold her close, pray for the ambulance to arrive quickly, and hope that whatever is ailing her won’t steal the light from her beautiful eyes.
I hold her close, my heart pounding. Everything else fades away—the noise, the guests, the celebration. All that matters is Emma, and the fear that I might lose her.
The wail of the approaching sirens becomes louder, and the sound of help rips through the suffocating panic. Cradling Emma in my arms, I sprint toward the venue's exit, the weight of her seemingly negligible form a stark contrast to the frantic energy coursing through me.
Behind me, a wave of concerned voices follows—Damon, June, and a chorus of well-wishers turn into a worried entourage. I ignore them, my focus solely on getting Emma to the ambulance as quickly as possible.
The paramedics materialize in a blur of white and red. With practiced efficiency, they take over, carefully transferring Emma onto a stretcher. Damon places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and grounding.
“Let them do their job, Liam,” he murmurs, his voice a beacon of calm amid the storm within me.
I nod numbly, a ghost of understanding flickering in my mind. But as I watch them wheel Emma away, a raw fear rips through me. I can't let them take her away, not without…
“I'm coming with her,” I declare, my voice hoarse but resolute.
One of the paramedics glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Only one family member allowed in the ambulance, sir.”
“I'm a doctor,” I counter, desperation lacing my voice. “I can help.”
He hesitates, then nods curtly. “Hop in.”
Relief washes over me momentarily, only to be replaced by a fresh wave of panic as I scramble into the back of the ambulance. Damon squeezes my shoulder in a silent display of support before stepping inside to let them close the doors.
The inside of the ambulance feels sterile and cramped. Emma lies on the stretcher. They hook her up to an IV and strap an oxygen mask over her face, the rhythmic hiss filling the silence with an unsettling intensity.
Taking her hand in mine, I feel a jolt of electricity travel through me, a connection that defies the sterile environment. Her skin feels cold and clammy, and I squeeze her hand tighter, willing warmth back into her.
“Emma,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “Please, wake up. Don't you dare…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I love you. I never meant to push you away. Just…stay with me.”
The rational part of my brain knows she can't hear me, but the desperate urge to reach her is overwhelming. “I was a fool, Emma,” I confess, my voice trembling. “I let fear hold me back, but the thought of losing you…it's worse than anything I could've ever imagined. Just hold on. Please.”
Tears prick my eyes, blurring my vision. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor becomes a cruel metronome, each tick marking the passage of time and the terrifying possibility of its silence.
“Don't leave me, Emma,” I plead, my voice choked with sobs. “I can't… I can't lose you.”
Damon sits beside me, a comforting weight in the cramped space. He places a hand on my back, his touch silent but reassuring. I know he's trying to offer words of comfort, but my world has shrunk to the pale face on the stretcher and the desperate rhythm of my own heartbeat.
The ambulance speeds through the night, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors. With every passing minute, the helplessness gnaws at me. All my medical training, all the years spent saving lives, feels utterly useless in the face of my own crippling fear.
Finally, the piercing wail of the siren ceases, and the ambulance screeches to a halt. The doors fly open, and we are rushed inside the hospital, the sterile white hallways a stark contrast to the flashing red lights outside.
“This way,” a nurse barks, leading the way down a corridor. Just as they are about to wheel Emma into a room, my dad appears, his face etched with concern.
“Dr. Miller,” he addresses me, his voice firm yet laced with a hint of understanding. “Let them take care of Emma now. We need to run some tests.”
I open my mouth to argue, but my dad cuts me off. “I know you want to be in there, Liam, but you're too emotionally invested right now. Let me handle this.”
His words hold a weary authority, and after a moment's hesitation, I find myself nodding numbly. He pats me on the shoulder, a silent reassurance in the face of my turmoil.
As they disappear into the emergency room, Damon places a hand on my back, his grip firm.
We trudge out to the waiting area, the sterile silence a stark contrast to the frantic chaos of moments ago. My legs feel like lead, each step a Herculean effort. Collapsing into a plastic chair, I run a hand through my hair, the weight of the experience settling on me like a leaden cloak.
Damon sits beside me, his own exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his eyes. We sit in a tense silence for what feels like an eternity, the only sound the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. Neither of us speaks, both lost in our own worries.
Finally, the emergency room doors swing open, and my dad emerges, his face unreadable. He casts a weary glance at both of us before taking a seat opposite.
“She's stable,” he announces, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “But we won't know for sure what's wrong until we run some tests. It could be a number of things—food poisoning, stress…”
He trails off, his gaze flitting between us. I can see the unspoken question hanging in the air—do we know of any recent stressors in Emma's life?
Shame washes over me in a hot wave. My dad knows, of course, about the events of the wedding. He left for the hospital after Emma’s toast , so he must have seen her reaction to the crowd’s teasing.
“There was…some stress at the wedding,” I confess, my voice barely a whisper. “People assumed we were together and…”
I don't need to finish the sentence. My dad sighs, a deep, weary sound that speaks volumes. He understands the burden of unspoken expectations, the suffocating weight of societal pressure.
“We'll get to the bottom of this,” he says, his voice firm but laced with a hint of uncertainty. “But for now, you two need some rest.”
He glances at Damon, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “You've got a bride waiting for you, son. Go be with her.”
Damon and I exchange a look, both of us exhausted but relieved. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice gentle.
We leave the hospital together, leaning on each other for support. The night air feels cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the day’s events. “She’s going to be okay,” Damon says, his voice filled with conviction.
I nod, feeling a sense of calm wash over me for the first time all day. “Yeah, she is.”
We walk in silence for a while, the tension easing with each step. “You really love her, don’t you?” Damon asks eventually, his tone light but sincere.
I look up at the stars, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “Yeah, I really do.”
Damon smiles, clapping me on the back. “Then don’t let her go. Fight for her, Liam.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. “I’ll get back inside. You go see your wife.”
Damon hesitates, his gaze flitting between me and the north—in the direction of the reception. “Are you sure you'll be okay here, Liam?”
“Go,” I rasp, surprised by the strength that manages to leave my throat. “June needs you. I'll be here when Emma wakes up.”
Damon nods once, his expression a mixture of concern and relief. He pats me on the shoulder, a silent promise of support, before turning and heading out of the waiting area.
With his departure, the silence solidifies, pressing in on me like a physical force. I lean my head back against the chair, letting out a shaky breath that escapes me in a shudder. My mind replays the scene in the ambulance, the panic, the fear, the desperate confession that hung in the air.
A pang of guilt stabs at me. I must have added to her stress, in my desperation, I've pushed her further away just when she needed a shoulder to lean on and piled more pressure on her.
But then, a flicker of hope ignites within me. My dad's words—“she's stable”—echo in my mind, a lifeline in the stormy sea of emotions. The fact that she is stable fills me with a sense of gratitude so profound it brings tears to my eyes.
I walk back into the waiting room and slump on one of the metal chairs. I feel a renewed sense of purpose. Emma is my world, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she knows that tomorrow.
No more doubts, no more fears. Just love, in every single way.