Chapter 23 #2
The part that always braced for the leaving. That read love like a ticking clock—one I couldn’t see but always heard, just waiting for time to run out. The part of me that flinched when things got too good, that called it self-preservation when it was really just fear in a prettier dress.
But not today.
Today, I wasn’t going to run. I wasn’t going to sabotage something just because it felt like it might matter too much. I’d already wasted too much time pushing away the very things I wanted most. And I was done.
The music swelled, a single violin, warm and aching, and I took one steady breath before stepping forward.
I wasn’t the bride.
But fuck, it sure felt like something was beginning.
My heels clicked softly against the polished wood floor. One step. Another. The hem of my dress swished around my ankles like it had something dramatic to say. The bouquet in my hands—white roses and holly leaves with pinecones tucked in like secrets—trembled just enough to give me away.
But I barely saw anything. I barely noticed the rows of smiling faces, the blur of twinkle lights and flickering candles. Because my head? My heart? Every part of me was already tangled up in one person.
Easton.
The boy I never really stopped loving.
The man I was slowly, terrifyingly letting back in.
He stood at the front like some kind of cinematic fever dream—tall, still, terrifyingly composed in a suit that looked custom-cut to ruin my life.
The fabric hugged his shoulders like it had personal feelings about him, narrowed at the waist in a way that should’ve been illegal, and honestly? It made breathing a whole situation.
His dark hair was a little damp still, like he’d barely made it inside before the music started.
His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers tight, like he needed something to hold on to.
And that face—fuck. He looked calm, unreadable, like he was keeping every emotion locked behind those stupidly green eyes.
But I knew him.
I knew that jaw. That tension. That look that meant he was feeling everything all at once and had no idea where to put it.
Then his eyes found me.
And the world stopped spinning.
He didn’t smile. Not right away. He didn’t do anything showy or dramatic.
He just…looked. Like I was the only person in the room.
Like I was something precious and impossible, standing there in borrowed heels with trembling fingers and a bouquet that suddenly felt too small to carry the weight of my chest.
The look in his eyes wasn’t playful, or teasing, or flirty like it usually was. It was reverent. Like he was seeing me for the very first time and still somehow recognizing everything he already knew. Like I was a prayer he hadn’t realized he’d been whispering all his life.
Like I was a hymn he didn’t know he still believed in.
My breath caught in my throat, and for a second I swore I forgot how to move. My knees wobbled. My stomach flipped. That fragile place in my chest, the one that had been locked up since I’d left him, cracked open just a little more.
The guests rose behind me—a soft rustle of fabric and shifting feet, a symphony of murmurs and program pages fluttering like wings. They were standing for the bride.
But Easton didn’t glance down the aisle. He didn’t blink.
He watched me .
As if I were the one walking toward him.
As if I were the moment. The vow. The finish line and the beginning, all wrapped into one girl in a satin dress and shaking heels.
And it wrecked me.
Because in that gaze…steady and unwavering and impossibly full, there was no room for fear. No space left for old wounds. Not even the hollow ache that had lived in my chest since yesterday when my father stepped through that door like a ghost given form.
There was no room for him.
Not when Easton was in my life.
The music swelled again, fuller now, warm and orchestral and brimming with joy.
The back doors opened—and there she was.
Paige.
Radiant. Graceful. The picture of a bride in winter—long-sleeved lace, a delicate veil trailing like breath behind her. She smiled, and my throat tightened.
And on her arm?
Steve.
Shoulders squared, chin lifted, pride written in every step. The man who’d shown up. Who’d stayed. Who’d driven us to school in snowstorms and taught us how to change a tire and made pancakes shaped like our initials on birthdays.
The dad who deserved to be there .
The crowd turned as one to face her.
Phones rose. Gasps rippled. Someone near the front dabbed at tears with a crumpled tissue. I heard my mom whisper something to MeMaw as she clutched her pearls like they were holding her together.
And Easton?
He didn’t shift or blink or do a single thing that would’ve meant he wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be.
He just kept looking at me.
Like I was still the only one in the room .
Like nothing in the world—not wedding vows or falling snow or the slow march of time—could turn his attention away.
My heart thudded wildly, painfully, beating against my ribs like it wanted out. Like it wanted to hurl itself into his hands and trust him to catch it.
Paige’s steps echoed down the aisle, slow and certain. Levi’s smile looked like it might split his face in half. People sniffled. My aunt clutched her husband’s hand. Paige’s veil fluttered slightly behind her like a promise.
And Easton kept watching me.
My breath came shallow. My throat felt tight. My eyes found his again without meaning to.
He still wasn’t smiling—but his eyes weren’t empty.
They were packed. With awe. With hunger. With a kind of aching devotion that settled deep into my bones and made everything that had ever come before it seem dull by comparison.
I was his beginning.
And maybe…maybe. He could be my end.
The thought landed soft and sharp at once, like rose petals on a bruise.
I blinked against the pressure building behind my eyes, willing myself to stay present, to stay steady. For Paige. For the moment. For the version of me that had finally started to believe in more.
But Easton.
Fuck…Easton.
He looked at me like I was the vow. The prayer. The last page in a book he’d been reading in secret for years.
And I’d barely done anything.
I was just standing there, bouquet in hand, pretending my heart wasn’t a kaleidoscope of cracked pieces finally turning toward the light.
Paige reached the front of the room. Levi took her hand, his eyes glassy, his lips already trembling with whatever vows were about to come pouring out of him.
The officiant welcomed everyone with a calm, pastoral warmth.
I barely heard him.
Easton’s eyes still hadn’t left mine.
Not when Paige handed off her bouquet to me with a soft squeeze.
Not when she turned to Levi, glowing, ready.
This was it—this thing between Easton and me. It was bigger than the room, louder than the violin that had returned with a gentle refrain. It pulsed under my skin, made my knees feel too soft and my heart feel too full.
And still, he didn’t smile.
That’s what undid me.
He didn’t need to.
Because everything I needed was in his eyes.
That he was here. That he’d stayed. That he was holding the space around me like a promise no one else had ever dared to make.
He was choosing me.
Not in some performative, poetic way.
Not for a night or a weekend or a week in a snowy town with string lights and sleigh rides.
But now. Here. In the middle of my sister’s wedding. In the aftermath of the worst day I’d had in years.
In front of the father who had never stayed.
He was still choosing me.
The officiant’s voice rose again, warm and certain. “Marriage begins in the quiet spaces. In the stolen glances. In the hands that reach out even when the world is loud and complicated and messy.”
My throat tightened.
I understood that line. I understood what it meant to be chosen in the mess .
Because Easton had found me there.
Not in the glossy versions.
Not in the Natalie I played at when things were shiny and effortless.
He’d seen every version of me…long before this week. All the years growing up, all the cracks I tried to patch with sarcasm and distance. He’d loved me anyway.
I’d broken up with him. Broken his heart. Walked away like it was the only option. And he still hadn’t let me go.
Not when I cried into his shirt. Not when I avoided his eyes for almost two whole years. Not when I stood in front of him yesterday, barely holding myself together.
He hadn’t turned away. He hadn’t stopped choosing me.
I glanced down, fiddling with Paige’s bouquet. Pine needles scraped at my wrist—unsubtle, unapologetic. A little bite of reality when I needed it most.
Easton shifted just slightly across from me.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from falling apart, and when I looked back at him, I saw it.
The change.
The smile was there now.
Barely. Soft and reverent. A smile that didn’t ask anything of me but gave everything in return.
It undid me.
But I wouldn’t cry.
Even though I could feel it in my throat…that dangerous, wobbly feeling like my tears might spill over. I wouldn’t cry through my sister’s wedding. No way. Not after the week we’d had. Not after what I’d promised myself this morning in the mirror.
No matter how utterly undone I was by the man standing across from me, looking at me like I was his beginning.
But I didn’t look away, either.
And slowly, my lips tipped up, and I smiled softly back at him. The two of us, sharing this silent moment, full of so many words.
Because he was still mine. And I was finally, finally letting myself believe I could be his, too.
The vows began. Paige’s voice rang out clear and steady, each word wrapped in love. Levi answered with his own, his voice breaking once before he laughed and caught it.
It was beautiful. It was everything a wedding should be.
But for me, for the girl still holding her breath under a thousand stars’ worth of grief and hope…
It felt like the beginning of something else entirely. Something wilder. Something more dangerous.
Something I wanted.
Easton.
His name pressed against my ribs like it belonged there.
My beginning and my end.
Finally .