13. Hallie #2
"You're right," I say. My voice comes out clear and steady, loud enough to carry in the sudden silence. The organ has stopped. Everyone's staring. "You're absolutely right, Kyle."
His expression shifts from confusion to alarm. He knows me well enough to recognize danger when he sees it, and apparently whatever's happening on my face right now qualifies.
"Hallie," he says carefully, smile still plastered on like armor. "Let's just finish walking, okay? We can talk about this later?—"
"He is too good for me." The words come out strong, certain.
I'm not looking at Kyle anymore. I'm looking at Ryan, standing frozen at the altar with his mouth slightly open.
"Caius is too good for me. He's always been too good for me.
He's loyal and kind and funny and he fixes things.
Not just cars, though he's brilliant at that too.
He fixes people. He's spent his whole life fixing people and never asking for anything in return because he doesn't think he deserves anything. "
"Jesus Christ," Kyle mutters, but I'm not finished.
"He spent years inventing fake car problems just to check on me because he was worried but didn't think he had the right to ask how I was doing.
" My voice cracks slightly, but I push through.
"He told me I was beautiful when I was covered in library dust and wearing a cardigan with a coffee stain.
He made me laugh when I wanted to cry. He made me feel brave when I've spent my whole life playing it safe. "
Ryan's face has gone through about seventeen different emotions. He's landed somewhere between horrified and something that might be understanding, though it's hard to tell from this distance.
"And you?" I turn back to Kyle, letting every ounce of feeling show on my face. "You're just an asshole."
The gasp that ripples through the church is almost comical. Somewhere in the back, someone's grandmother clutches her pearls, probably literally.
Kyle's face flushes red. "You're making a scene."
"I know." And god, it feels amazing. Terrifying, but amazing.
"I'm making a scene at my sister's wedding, and it's probably going to end up on someone's Instagram story, and I genuinely don't care.
Do you know how liberating that is? Not caring?
I've spent my whole life caring what everyone thinks, trying to be perfect and pleasant and easy. I'm done."
"Hallie." My sister's voice cuts through from the altar, but when I look at her, she's not angry. She's grinning. Actually grinning, bouquet halfway to her mouth like she's trying to suppress a laugh. When she catches my eye, she gives me a subtle thumbs up.
"You broke up with me," I tell Kyle, voice steady now, "because you wanted to find yourself.
And you know what? I'm glad you did. Because it meant I got to find myself too.
And myself is someone who doesn't settle for mediocre men who think they're God's gift to women.
Myself is someone who writes filthy fanfiction and hums Tupac while shelving books and falls in love with mechanics who have the kindest hands I've ever felt on my body. "
Ryan makes a strangled noise. I shoot him an apologetic look.
"So thank you," I continue, turning back to Kyle one last time. "Thank you for being exactly the kind of catalyst I needed to stop playing it safe. Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."
I don't wait for his response. I just hike up my bridesmaid dress, kick off my heels because screw it, and run.
The church doors are heavy, but adrenaline makes them feel light as air. I shove through into the afternoon sunlight, blinking against the brightness.
The parking lot spreads out before me, full of cars, all shiny and new and perfectly parked in neat rows.
And there, parked at an angle in the far corner of the lot like it doesn't quite belong among all the sleek sedans and pristine SUVs, idling with that familiar rough rumble I'd know anywhere, sitting like a promise made of rust and stubborn loyalty.
Caius's truck.
My heart stops, restarts, takes off at a sprint that my feet are trying desperately to match. The pavement is rough under my bare feet. I'm running, actually running, in a bridesmaid dress toward a beat-up truck that's probably held together with duct tape and hope.
The driver's side door swings open with that familiar creak I've heard a thousand times before, the metal groaning in protest the way it always does.
And then there he is, unfolding from the cab in that effortless way he has, all lean lines and easy movement.
Caius steps out, and he's not wearing a tux.
He's in jeans and a button-down that's rolled up to his forearms, showing the corded muscle and the smudge of grease he probably doesn't even know is there.
His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it. His jaw is bruised where Ryan hit him.
He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
We stare at each other across the parking lot, and for a second I'm terrified. Terrified he's here to say goodbye. Terrified he's going to tell me it was all a mistake, that he's leaving, that I'm too late.
Then his face breaks into that crooked grin, the one that's always made my knees weak, and he opens his arms.
I crash into him hard enough to make him stumble back against the truck. His arms close around me, solid and sure.