Epilogue
THE WEDDING
A single jagged-ass half-charred tree sits alone, centered in an over-grown green lot where a house once stood.
Like it grew out of a crevice in the sidewalk and kept growing stronger just to spite the concrete.
Kind of like the couple who are getting married in front of it—well, getting married again.
Logan promised Kelly a wedding, so here we are.
In front of us, a beautiful couple and a fucked-up tree casting creepy shadows with its deformed limbs.
Behind us, long tables filled with greenery and candles that I can only describe as an ethereal woodland Pinterest-fueled hellscape.
Edison bulbs sway in the light breeze above us in the empty lot of land, where we sit on wooden benches while oohing and ahhing over the wedding vows.
The vows are short, intense, and . . . weirdly hot? After listening to Logan and Kelly declare their love for each other, I kinda get it. I think. Not the whole happily-ever-after part, but the person part. Finding someone who can see the worst in you and not blink.
There can’t be more than fifty people in attendance.
One of whom is my plus-one—Anna. She sits beside me, petite, and sharp around the edges in a way that warns others to never corner her.
Fortunately for me, I love a good adrenaline rush, and there’s nothing more gratifying than being in the presence of a wild animal knowing they could attack at any moment.
She has soft-pink hair, the color of cotton candy, and sits beside me like she’s just as sweet.
This is the first time I’ve seen her in a sundress, which is deeply cruel.
When she comes in to get tattooed, she’s hiding behind ripped jeans and loose shirts.
But tonight, she’s got that pink dress, strappy shoes, and my ink.
There’s something satisfying about the fact that no one else has ever tattooed her flesh.
If I do my job right, no one else ever will either.
Tilting my head toward Anna, I whisper, “Do you see the way they look at each other?”
Her lip twitches, it’s not a smile, but I’ll take it. She gives a subtle nod.
“Do you think they’ll start fucking before they finish their vows? Right in front of Nana Teller and the plates of bacon-wrapped dates?”
She rolls her lips together, trying not to laugh, and it makes me feel like I won something. She doesn’t hand her smiles out freely, you’ve got to earn them. Strangely, I enjoy earning them, like a safe for me to crack.
Once the ceremony is over, we’re left to our own devices at dinner.
Long mismatched wooden tables are sprawled across the grass, decked out like an enchanted forest fucked a conference table.
No seating chart, just vibes. Across from me, Thor sits, downing a glass of wine as if it might teleport him to anywhere but here.
He showed up solo. Beside me, my date quietly eats like she’s hoping nobody notices her at all—unfortunately for Anna, I do. With curiosity and a chub.
Then come the toasts.
First up is Clyde Everhart, the bride’s father, which would be normal if Clyde weren’t fucking dead. But he left a bunch of letters for Kelly to read at various milestones in her life, including her wedding day.
Logan stands and gathers everyone’s attention—I grin ear-to-ear just thinking about how much he loathes being in the limelight.
“Before Clyde Everhart passed, he left me a box of letters addressed to his daughter for important days in her life. This is the first time either of us is reading this letter”—Bullshit.
I am deeply suspicious he’s read and memorized every letter in that whole damn box—“so, maybe cover small ears because all the eloquence Clyde possessed went into his art, not his words.”
Small laugh. Classic.
“Hey kid . . . Well damn. You’re really doing it.
Wish I could be there to walk you down the aisle.
This part hit harder than I expected. I had grand plans to look you in the eye and tell you that I love you, and look him in the eye and remind him that I’ll bury him if he ever hurts you.
But instead I’m writing you this letter because that’s all the time I’ve got.
“You’re a blaze, my girl, just like your mom.
You’ve always been the best part of both of us.
I’m sure you look beautiful today in your dress just like she did.
I know you. You don’t do anything halfway.
Not ink, nor art. You go all in every time.
And if you’re with who I hope you are, your fire is an equal match for his deep water.
Still, I hope you let him burn every once in a while.
People think love just happens, like you could trip and fall into it—but the real kind, the kind that lasts, is raw and deliberate.
I know you know how to love because I’ve seen it.
Love him the way you deserve to be loved—loud, fierce, and unapologetic.
“You were always my best work, so I hope the one you chose knows what a damn honor it is to be your husband. And if he ever forgets, take after your mom and remind him.
“So now, I’m talking to your groom.
“Logan, take care of her. Not in the white-picket-fence kind of way. I don’t care if you forget to open doors or say the right thing. But when she breaks, pick up the pieces and hold her. See her, the hard edges and the soft spots, and love them both, never ask her to sacrifice one for the other.
“I lived with her as a teenager; you can’t tame her so don’t even try. She’s fierce. So if you’re not ready to burn for her, you better step aside. If you’re lucky enough to have her for a wife, then you need to be worthy of her as a husband—every damn day.
“Remember my promise if you ever hurt her. I meant it.
“I love you both. Make a beautiful life together. Love hard, choose each other, and raise some hell.
“Love, the father of the bride (Dad).”
It’s silent when Logan finishes the note.
Someone sniffles nearby. Goddamn it, I’m even getting choked up.
I knew Clyde well; I had a short apprenticeship with him after moving over from a different shop.
Hearing that letter is like hearing his voice again.
The man was mostly quiet like Logan, but when he spoke, he never minced words.
Afterward, the Tellers give their toasts, poor bastards; I’d hate to follow Clyde Everhart. The Tellers’ speeches are as neat and polished as the rest of the family is—sans Logan.
Then it’s my turn, because I like talking and I’m an attention whore.
“All right, I’m up. I’m Casper. Friend of the bride. Friend of the groom. Award-winning tattoo artist. And tonight’s designated liability.
“I’ve known Kelly well enough to know that she may seem precious
and cuddly on the outside, but deep down she’s a force to be reckoned with.
She’s got that cheerful, bubbly personality that makes everyone melt—and makes the rest of us turn into guard dogs in case anyone looks at her wrong.
We’ll sew your mouth shut just for interrupting her, which honestly, is the most us move ever. ”
She rolls her eyes at me, and I glance at the groom.
“And I’ve known Logan long enough to know he has feelings under that resting bitch face.
Watching him fall in love was like watching a building collapse in slow motion.
Impossible to stop, but something you wanted to watch with a bucket of popcorn.
That man waited for her so long it was honestly uncomfortable to be around.
But now? Look at you! Since getting together, you burn brighter and hotter together than you ever did on your own.
” I swallow to make sure my voice doesn’t crack, then nod toward the tree behind them.
“You’ve been through hell and back and have that charred cottonwood back there to prove it. ”
I clear my throat and raise my glass. “To Logan and Kelly. May your love stay wild and fucked up forever. And may the rest of us be lucky enough to find something half as real. Love you both.”
It’s the truth. I know there’s a part of me that yearns for what they have. If I ever settle down, I want it to be a love as raw as theirs. I want romance with a dark side, in a window-watcher kind of way. Deranged, but sexy deranged.
I down my champagne and nod at Thor across from me. “Thor, you’re up.”
He flips me the bird while I drop into my seat next to Anna.
“I gave my toast at the first wedding,” he grumbles. “Pass.”
Okay, calm down, buddy.
“I totally killed it,” I whisper in her ear.
She does that small lip twitch thing again. “You maimed it.”
“Was that—Did you just make your first ever joke?”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“Careful, if you stay quiet for too long, I’ll start to think you’re mysterious,” I warn. “That kind of shit always turns me on.”
“Sounds like you’re in trouble, then,” she quips.
Is she flirting with me? I cock a brow and then my glass—just to her this time. “To getting into trouble.”
She clinks her glass to mine. “And making it worth the consequences.”