Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
Rayne
The second Sunday in September, I stand between Lot and my dad, watching Lexie walk down the aisle.
“She looks beautiful,” I whisper to no one in particular. Just facts.
The music swells with a wedding song Chaz wrote for his bride—an instrumental acoustic ballad that floats through the speakers, even more poignant without words.
A mild breeze rolls off Lake Michigan, carrying the promise of autumn across the dunes.
On the shore, an intimate gathering of family and friends is here to celebrate.
Lexie crosses the long strip of white carpet cutting a pristine path through the sand, stunning in pearl chiffon and lace with a short, rounded train, her baby bump starting to show.
She walks alone, a testament to the independence she’s earned.
Chaz stands at the driftwood arch that’s decorated with dahlias.
He’s wearing an ivory suit with a pink boutonniere.
His fro is immaculate, dimples glinting in the sun.
Dice stands beside him, handsome as ever, eyes a little misty.
Sophia’s are literally flowing like a fountain.
Lexie’s best friends, Dee and Jordyn, are glowing in their dusky rose dresses.
We take our seats when Chaz reaches for Lexie’s hand, drawing her beneath the archway. As the officiant performs the ceremony, the couple grins at each other, blissfully happy. Watching Chaz look at Lexie like she hung the damn moon has me blinking back my own tears.
After dinner, the reception is in full swing.
Dice plays a set, bringing the house down.
Lot and I dance like it’s going out of style.
I love having her here, even if only for a few days.
Sophia joins us, and the three of us get low when Dice drops a sick beat, hiking up our hems and dropping our asses, feet twisting in the sand.
It feels good to cut loose after the last few weeks.
All the guests show out for the “Cha-Cha Slide,” and Lot and I eventually step off the crowded dance floor, breathless and laughing, to grab fresh glasses of champagne. As the high-energy beat fades, a soft R&B melody takes over, and Dice announces the bride and groom’s first official slow dance.
Chaz pulls Lexie into his arms, and we all watch them sway against the backdrop of the darkening sky.
A familiar longing squeezes tightly inside my chest. I look down at my hands, wishing my fingers were woven through DK’s, wishing we could step into the light and dance like this without a care in the world.
“You okay, Ray?” Lot asks, her eyes picking up on the sudden shift in my face.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, forcing a bright smile. “I’m just so thrilled for them.” And I am.
Lot doesn’t give me one of her snarky comebacks or off-color jokes.
She knows me well enough to know that’s not the vibe.
I try not to let my mood dip into the blues-zone, but it gets harder to deny it as other couples take to the dance floor.
Dice comes to get his wife. Lot gives me an apologetic wince.
I wave it off. “Go dance with your man. I’m good.”
Seeing Lot with Dice, and Lex with Chaz, held in each other’s arms, I slip away from the edge of the tent, needing a breather.
My toes sink into the cool sand, my satin dress brushes against my calves as I walk toward the water.
The noise of the reception fades in the distance.
The breeze is cold on my bare shoulders as I stand at the shoreline, sipping champagne and reflecting.
I imagine DK here with me, his hand on the small of my back, his solid chest beneath my cheek, holding me in his arms—the place that always makes me feel well-loved and safe.
“Hey, Pumpkin?”
I turn to see my dad shrugging out of his blazer one-handed while holding a tumbler of whiskey in the other. He drapes the jacket over my shoulders.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
“Just thinking.”
He nudges my shoulder with his. “Talk to your old man.”
I stare down at the bubbles rising in my champagne glass, the shield around the emotions I’ve been feeling all week cracking.
“It’s Dakarai.” The confession leaves me on a long breath.
I lift my gaze toward the water stretching beyond the marina.
“I refused to make a choice between him and my campaign. I wanted both. Maybe that was naive.” I laugh softly, though there’s no humor in it. “I love him, Dad. And I love Bayside.”
He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, his expression shifting into something thoughtful.
“I stood up there on the boardwalk and went public about the photos.” The words catch in my throat.
“I told the voters I wasn’t going to hide.
I wasn’t ashamed. That I run a transparent campaign.
” My voice drops. “But I’m not. Not completely.
I’m still keeping the most important person in my life hidden behind a phone screen and stolen moments because I’m afraid that loving him out loud will hurt my campaign and his career.
” That admission scrapes me raw. “It doesn’t feel honest. Not to the voters. And not to us.”
For a moment, only the breeze skimming off the water answers. Then my dad swirls the whiskey in his glass and says, “Remember when you were ten and decided you were going to save those piping plovers?”
I manage a half-smile. “Yes. Mrs. Henderson reminded me of it when I was canvassing in her neighborhood. I hadn’t thought about that in years.”
“You were so determined to protect them.”
The memory plays in short flashes as my dad recounts it.
“The nesting area had been scheduled for removal to make room for additional beach parking. It had been decided. Permits approved. But they hadn’t counted on one little strong-minded girl.
You made flyers with markers and stickers.
You went door to door collecting signatures.
You wrote letters. There was absolutely no stopping you. ”
“I was much.”
“No. You weren’t. You were a force, even then, Ray.
You made it happen. You saved those nests, but that’s not the story.
” He looks at me. “I wanted to prepare you, just in case. I asked you if you would still fight this fight if you knew the nests would be moved anyway. Do you remember what you said?”
“Yeah. I said I’d still do it.”
He nods. “Because even though the outcome you wanted wasn’t guaranteed, you decided that doing something still mattered.”
My dad drains his whiskey. “That’s all I got for you, Pumpkin.”
“No advice?”
“You don’t need it,” he says. “Only you and Dakarai know what this costs and what matters. I have faith in you both to figure it out.”
He kisses my cheek. “Don’t stay out here too long.”
Then he leaves me alone with the music drifting from the tent.
Hollis is out of custody and facing charges.
There’s a no-contact order that stops him from getting anywhere near me.
He hasn’t made a public statement—probably lawyered up—and I haven’t mentioned him again since his arrest. The headlines have slowly died down, reporters are no longer staked outside my office, and my campaign has settled into some semblance of normalcy.
This is not the time to disrupt it with another headline. Especially this one.
But I think about the man I love in secret and keep in the shadows—
And it just feels so wrong.