6. Penny
PENNY
Someone hands me a flute of champagne before I’ve even found a place to stand, and I drink half of it in one go, which is not what a responsible adult does at a wedding that hasn’t even properly started yet.
My heart’s doing something ridiculous in my chest, apparently auditioning for a hummingbird.
Evan.
I used to think the boy I dated in high school was the prettiest thing I’d ever laid eyes on, all lanky arms and a smile that hadn’t figured out yet how dangerous it was.
The man standing across that lot is not that boy.
Dark hair, still. Stubble, still, though there’s silver salting through it now that wasn’t there before.
Those same blue eyes, fixed on me from thirty feet away.
More ink than I remember, climbing up out of his collar, wrapping around his knuckles where his hand grips that beer bottle like he means to strangle it.
He’s broader. Harder. His shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, and I hate—hate—that my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo about who he is now. About the badge that’s usually on my hip and the fact that everything about him is a felony waiting to happen.
I finish the champagne. Grab another.
This is going to be a very long night.
The chairs fill in fast once Ruth starts herding people with the authority of someone who’s done this before, and I end up two rows back on the aisle, close enough to see everything, which might be a mistake, because everything includes Evan standing up front beside Jenson in a black button-up that fits him like it was sewn on, one hand resting easy at his side, the other lifting toward his chest before he catches himself.
I file that away. Cop habit. Notice everything, question nothing out loud.
The music starts—something acoustic, guitar and a low hum of strings I don’t recognize—and the first ones down the aisle are kids, three of them, maybe four to eight years old, scattering flower petals with a chaotic enthusiasm that makes half the crowd laugh.
One little girl in a tiny leather vest throws her whole handful at once and then has to be steered by an older kid to keep walking.
Carol comes next, dabbing at her eyes already even though the bride hasn’t shown yet. Ruth follows a step behind her, steadier, though her chin wobbles when she passes the front row.
Then a younger woman I don’t know, brunette, pretty in a soft kind of way, glancing sideways as she walks, at a man seated on the other side of the aisle with pin-straight black hair.
And then Sasha.
God, she’s beautiful. Her blonde hair swept up with little pieces falling loose around her face, she’s wearing a dress that catches the last of the sunlight and throws it back gold, and she’s crying before she’s even three steps down the aisle, the crying that comes from being happier than you know what to do with.
She’s so young. Barely older than I was when I packed a car and drove away from all of this, and watching her walk toward Jenson Slade without a moment’s hesitation makes me feel things I can’t quite describe.
Tank walks her down, one massive arm looped through hers, moving slow and careful like she’s made of something breakable, which she isn’t, not from what I’ve heard, but he treats her that way anyway. Gentle. Protective. It’s sweet in a way I wasn’t prepared for from a man his size.
Eli Redbird stands at the front where the altar’s been built—just an arch of white wood wound with wildflowers and greenery, string lights overhead between two old oak trees that must be older than the town itself.
He’s got a calm, steady voice, and when he starts talking about the ties that bind two people—not just to each other, but to the land, to the family that surrounds them, to the promises made in front of witnesses who’ll hold you to them—I feel my throat tighten despite myself.
Jenson doesn’t take his eyes off Sasha the entire time. Not once. I watch a man I know for a fact runs guns through half this county stand there with his jaw working, eyes glassy, looking at Sasha as if he still can’t believe she’s marrying him.
The vows are simple. His voice breaks once, and he has to stop and breathe before he can finish.
Something about promising to earn her every single day and building a life her father would have been proud to see.
Sasha’s crying too hard to get all her words out, but nobody in this crowd seems to mind.
Ruth’s sobbing outright. Even Bone, standing near the front in his good jacket, has to take his glasses off and wipe at his eyes with the back of his wrist.
Eli pronounces them husband and wife, and the whole back lot erupts—cheering, whooping, somebody letting off what sounds suspiciously like a firework a little too early—and Jenson kisses her like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it in front of witnesses.
I clap along with everyone else. My eyes sting a little, which is inconvenient and exactly the kind of thing that happens when you drink champagne too fast on an empty stomach at a wedding you weren’t sure you should attend.
And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, all that joy, I catch Evan looking at me again.
He’s not trying to hide it. Doesn’t glance away, doesn’t pretend he was looking at something else. He just watches me across two rows of folding chairs and a crowd of clapping bikers, and I know he hasn’t been listening to the cheering either.
I don’t look away either.
I could blame the champagne. Or the vows, or Sasha crying in Jenson’s arms. Anything except how badly I want Evan to keep looking at me.
Either way, I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to survive the reception.