Orla
Ireland
Two Days Until the Wedding
It felt good to be home.
The feeling hit the moment we turned off the main road and onto the winding lanes that snaked toward the castle near Ballyadam.
Green fields rolled on either side, stone walls appeared mossy and weathered, and sheep scattered like little clouds across the hills.
As we crested the last bend, the castle we’d chosen for our venue came into view, its turrets rising against the cotton scattered blue sky like something out of a storybook.
When I was a little girl, I used to dream of getting married in a place like this.
As I got older, I’d learnt not to aim so high.
Josh and I had spoken about booking the golf club in Cork which was sensible—practical for family.
But it was a far cry from fairytales. When Tyler asked where I wanted to hold the wedding, no expense spared, there was only ever one answer. Funny how life works out.
Tyler slowed the car to a crawl, his hand tightening on the wheel as he stared up at the stone towers, ivy climbing the walls.
“Jesus Christ, O…” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You weren’t kidding when you said castle.”
He hadn’t said much on the drive from the airport, but his face had been a picture.
Tyler had never been to Ireland before, London was as close as he usually got when he played this side of the world and now he kept staring out the window like a kid at Disneyland.
Every few miles, he’d mutter something about Game of Thrones or fairytales, which made me giggle.
To me, the stone walls, the green rolling to the horizon, the damp air that clung to your hair, it all felt like home. To him, it was another planet.
We were staying in one of the cottages on the estate for the next few days, a quiet hideaway whilst we prepared for the wedding on Saturday.
Dad, Mal, and Danny were driving up tonight to meet us before Kate, Gwen, and their husbands joined tomorrow for the pre-wedding celebration.
The thought made my stomach twist. Not about the wedding itself–Tyler and I were already married–that part felt steady and right, but about my family spending that much time with him under one roof.
We’d only managed one visit from Dad since everything changed, he’d insisted on coming over to stay with Danny for a few days after his surgery just like we’d done for him.
He and Tyler had gotten on like a house on fire, of course.
Dad could talk to anyone, charm anyone. But Danny was another matter.
Tyler had tried with him these past few months, gone out of his way, even, but Danny’s injury had left him brittle and not quite himself.
The surgery had gone well, the rehab too, but there was still something unresolved in his eyes every time I looked at him. Something I couldn’t quite reach.
After we collected the key to the cottage, we unloaded the car in a flurry of bags and boxes. Tyler kept sneaking glances at my dress in its carrier like it might reveal itself if he stared long enough. I swatted him away each time, rolling my eyes.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying.” He grinned, hauling another case from the boot.
“And did you remember your shoes?” I asked, for what must have been the nineteenth time since Heathrow.
He groaned theatrically. “Yes, O, the goddamn shoes are here. You’ll see them on my feet, promise. Unless you’d rather me go barefoot? I think it fits the whole castle vibe.”
I shook my head, but truthfully, his teasing had kept me sane all day. Beneath it, my stomach was a knot of nerves. Dad and my brothers would be here within the hour.
We set everything down inside and collapsed onto the sofa, sinking into the cushions like we’d been carrying bricks on our backs. Tyler looked wrecked. Still gorgeous, still mine, but wrecked all the same.
He hadn’t properly stopped since Wimbledon.
Five brutal sets against Jordan, two men going at each other like they had something to prove to God himself.
I could still see it, the way Tyler’s final return clipped the net cord and dropped cruelly into Jordan’s line, only for him to chase it down and whip it just wide. Inches. That’s all that separated them.
Tyler had said all the right things afterward, smiling for cameras, clapping Jordan on the back, telling the press he’d be back stronger, but now, sprawled with his head tipped against the cushion, I could see the exhaustion humming through him.
He was running on nothing but adrenaline and stubborn pride.
I brushed a hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. “You could nap before Dad gets here,” I murmured.
He cracked one eye open, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “And let your old man think I can’t handle him? No chance.”
“You sure you’re ready for all three Sheehan boys?” I asked, arching a brow.
“Born ready.” He still hadn’t lifted his head, his voice still drowsy but smug. “Your dad loves me. Danny…well, depends what mood he’s in, which seems to be one setting only. And Malachy? He’d better appreciate the lengths I’ve gone to just to pronounce his name right.”
That made me laugh and the tension sitting tight in my chest loosened. Trust Tyler to make it sound easy, even when I knew it wasn’t.
Then came the knock at the door.
We both glanced at the door before Tyler finally swung his legs off the sofa with a groan. “Showtime,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as I hurried ahead to answer.
I pulled the door open, and there he was—Dad, all broad shoulders and weathered smile, that twinkle in his eye softening everything. “There’s my girl,” he said, pulling me straight into a hug that smelt of turf and aftershave.
When he let go, his gaze flicked past me to Tyler. For a beat, my stomach clenched but then Dad’s face broke into a grin. “And there’s the lad himself. Tyler Reed, in the flesh.”
Tyler straightened from his lazy lean, suddenly alert. “Sir,” he said, offering his hand, but Dad batted it away and pulled him into a bear hug that left him blinking in surprise.
I raised an eyebrow, quietly impressed. So was Tyler, judging by his expression.
Next came Danny. He leaned against the frame, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes locked on Tyler.
“Well, look who it is,” he drawled. “Wimbledon runner-up, right here in Cork. Should I ask for an autograph now or wait ‘til after the wedding?”
Tyler crossed his arms and leaned lazily against the wall with a grin. “Depends, bro. You gonna frame it or throw darts at it?”
Danny’s smirk twitched. For a second, I couldn’t tell which way it would swing. His gaze lingered on Tyler’s like he was weighing whether to bite.
“Definitely darts.”
The air held tight for a second then both of them cracked grins, the tension dissolving as fast as it had sparked. Even Dad gave a dry chuckle, like maybe, just maybe, things were thawing at last.
Before I could exhale, Malachy’s voice boomed through the cottage. “Oh, the Reeds do exist, do they?”
Tyler’s head whipped toward the door, grin still tugging at his mouth. He hadn’t met Mal yet. Travel and bad timing had kept them apart but I could already see the ease flicker across his face. Mal had that effect on everyone. His presence always loosened the room.
Out of the four of us, Malachy was the most easygoing. I wasn’t worried about him.
“Where are Erin and the boys?” I asked.
“Oh, they’ve gone up to the guest house to get settled in. The sods bickered the whole way here, so she’s probably losing her shit with them by now.” Mal laughed, broad and warm, and I couldn’t help smiling.
“Tyler, great to finally meet you,” he said, extending a hand.
“Likewise,” Tyler answered, clasping it firmly, giving him a smile that was genuine and fond. I could feel the relief washing over me but so help me, I wished Erin was here to help balance out the testosterone already thickening the air in this cottage.
“So, what’s the plan this evening?” Dad asked, settling into the armchair he’d no doubt claim as his throne for the rest of the night. He looked good, leaner, sharper, healthier than I’d seen him in months.
“Dinner’s being sent down from the main estate at eight,” I said. “A few bottles of wine, nothing too strenuous. Everyone’s probably wrecked from the trip.”
Dinner arrived not long after, the smell of roast lamb and rosemary filling the little cottage as we pulled chairs around the oak table.
Plates were passed, glasses poured, and for a while the chatter stayed simple, Mal cursing the state of Irish roads, Danny sliding in the odd jab about Tyler’s so-called backhand, earning himself a smirk and a muttered, “We’ll see about that. ”
It was Dad who shifted the mood. He reached for the bottle of red, topping up his glass before fixing his eyes on Tyler. “Will your mother be coming, Tyler?”
The scrape of Tyler’s fork against his plate was too sharp. I felt the tension roll through him before he even opened his mouth.
I kept my expression neutral, though my chest tightened.
We’d sent her to an exclusive rehab a few months back, and by all accounts she was still sober, had been for months.
The invitation had gone out. The flight was booked.
Now all we could do was wait and see if she’d been steady enough to board it.
Tyler’s gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second before turning back to Dad. His voice was even, but edged with that raw honesty he carried like a scar.
“To be honest…we haven’t heard much. Flight’s booked. Just depends if she’s left the vodka alone long enough to get on it.”
It wasn’t him being cruel. Just the truth.
I knew by now that Tyler found it easier to be flippant about his mother than get into any gritty details.
Every call with his mother reopened old wounds, and the clinic had warned him to keep contact minimal until she was steadier.
Updates only. No false hopes. No broken promises.
Dad nodded slowly, a glimmer of sympathy softening his features. But it was Danny’s reaction that nearly knocked me sideways. The teasing smirk had slipped clean off his face, replaced by something I hadn’t seen in months. His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual edge.
“That’s rough, man. But…” His face softened, as though he felt guilty about his earlier teasing. “You’re here now. You’ve got Orla. You’ve got us. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
For a second, Tyler just blinked, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his shoulders eased, the tension in his jaw unclenching. Not gratitude exactly, more shock, but I saw the way his throat bobbed, like he was swallowing something down hard.
The silence held, heavy and fragile, until Dad cleared his throat and reached for the bottle again. “Right, enough doom and gloom. We’re here to eat, drink, and get these two properly married. Glasses up.”
Relief rippled around the table. Mal leaned over to clap Tyler on the shoulder, with a broad grin as though accepting him like another brother. “Survive dinner with us, Reed, and you’ll survive marriage just fine.”
That dragged a genuine laugh out of Tyler and the knot in my chest finally eased.
Looking around the table at Dad, Mal, Danny, Tyler, I realised maybe we’d just taken the first step toward pulling this all off.