Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Declan
I’ve heard very little of what anyone has said to me. My brain is too busy recalculating everything.
Grant, Finn, and my father are standing with me as groomsmen. I spoke to Mac for a few minutes early this morning. I hate that he’s not here, but it was good to hear his voice for the first time in quite a while.
Thus far, May, Eirinn, and Sam have processed down the aisle, all looking lovely.
But I’m hardly present.
The second Evie’s lips formed the word kiss ten minutes ago, my internal GPS lost its signal.
I forgot the reasons I promised myself Evie won’t know about my feelings. I’ve lost all regard for the determination I entered into all of this because…
She kissed me back.
The second she mentioned it, I decided I’d give it everything, just in case it was my only real chance.
It is entirely likely we’ll marry today and that kiss will be the end of it.
We’ll slip into functional roles as discussed, partners in this effort to make sure Charlie stays where he belongs, and anything between me and Evie will be impossible.
I’ve even planned on this, because it’s what’s right.
I won’t have Evie feeling beholden to me, or like a physical or romantic element to our relationship is somehow something she owes me.
I will maintain that self-preservation. She’ll get what she needs, and I’ll have had a crash course in exposure therapy.
It was nothing short of foolish hope that drove me to try, in that moment, to show her a little of what we might have. It was far from self-preservation, in truth.
So maybe here, I’m leaning into the therapeutic benefits.
My body pulses with longing, the flash of memory bringing an image of her eyes shut, hands gripping my shoulders and mouth responding to mine…
Then the people sitting in neat rows all start making sounds I can’t distinguish and rise as if on cue.
My gaze focuses on Lily and Poppy pulling a red wagon down the aisle.
In it, a be-suited Charlie’s sitting, holding a small pillow with rings tied to the top.
He’s grinning wide, no fear of the crowd, likely because he knows every face from around town.
“He’s just adorable.”
“Look at them.”
“I could die from cuteness overload.”
The comments come while the string quartet plays the processional. I chance a look at Grant, and he’s beaming at his daughters. When they’re almost all the way down the aisle, they drop the handle of the wagon and run to Grant, who hugs them, but that leaves Charlie to his own devices.
But he’s finally looked straight and spotted me.
“Dec! Dec, Dec, Dec. Hi! Cool!” His little voice cuts through everything, and the entire group seems to “aw” at once.
Then he stands, and I lunge forward and snatch him before he can topple out of the wagon. “Whoa, buddy, you don’t want to fall.”
“Hi, Dec. Hi.”
“Hi, Charlie. Are you having fun?”
“Yeah!” His feet kick in my arms.
I see Clementine standing to one side. “Will you go with Clementine for a few minutes?”
“Yeah!” He pats my face like he does most mornings, then reaches for his teacher when she steps up.
She offers me a smile, and I whisper my thanks right as the music shifts.
Finn clears his throat, and I glance at him, but he’s frowning straight ahead as though keeping his eyes on the space where Evie will appear is his sworn duty.
Not a shock he wasn’t about to fully acknowledge Clementine based on his usual behavior, but I would’ve thought he could’ve given her a smile or something since she’s been so helpful through all of this.
I give myself a half second to breathe, reminding myself this is for Charlie. It was good to hold him, feel his lively energy and sweetness, and refocus a bit.
Not that it makes any difference. Because when I raise my gaze and see her, I’m done for.
It’s not the dress, though she is stunningly gorgeous in it.
It’s not the determined and yet, I dare say, happy expression on her beautiful face.
It’s the reality that she’s walking towards me. She may be arm in arm with Jack McKean, but she’s walking toward me.
She’s looking at me like we have a future together. Some long-shriveled up part of me unfurls in this moment.
Maybe it won’t be a traditional marriage, but we can build something good. We can keep Charlie safe and I can take care of her with everything I’ve got. I can show her how wonderful and worthy she is, and maybe she’ll keep looking at me like that for a while.
A few feet from me, she and Jack stop. He turns and hugs her, kisses her cheek, then gives me a look.
I return it because I am not scared of Jack McKean, but I also don’t dislike him.
If anything, I’m grateful to him for what he’s done for Evie.
That writhing jealousy I experienced when I saw them together at Corner Coffee has settled with her stories of their friendship, and the reality that she is standing here with me.
We take hands, and the pastor begins speaking. I want to say so many things, but I just stare at her. She’s doing the same, studying me, eyes circumnavigating my face before returning to lock with my gaze.
Then we’re saying vows, and I feel each one down to my toes.
“With this ring, I thee wed; with my body, I thee worship, and all my worldly goods, I give to thee.” They’re old-fashioned and I vaguely remember my mother asking about them.
Maybe I should’ve given them more thought, but as I say them, then hear her repeat them back to me, they fill me with a sense of longing so sharp it might slice right through my skin.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Evie’s eyes on mine, I lean forward and press a soft, slow kiss to her lips. When I pull back, I swear her cheeks are brighter. I am eminently grateful that wasn’t our first kiss, and I am endlessly hopeful it won’t be our last.
Then it’s over. The pastor says, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dr. and Mrs. Ryan.”
I exhale sharply as everyone claps and cheers, and Evie grasps my arm as we recess up the aisle, past the arch framing the space, and continue around the side of the house out of view. I bring us to a halt on the porch and release her, then turn to her.
She’s laughing, but there are tears, too. She gently dabs at the corners of her eyes.
“Evie.”
“I’m—” She shakes her head, lips pressed together.
She’s so beautiful, it hurts to look at her. I’ve never understood that, but I do now. I do whenever I look at her. She’s not sobbing and upset, thankfully, so the panic I’d normally feel at her tears is caged.
“I thought it went well,” I say, uncharacteristically filling the space while she works out what to say.
“Yes. It was beautiful.” She’s smiling still, and yet more tears slip out.
I am genuinely not sure how to help her. “Yes, it was.”
“Your mother’s incredible. I don’t know how she did all this.” Her words become a whisper, and she has to firm her chin and fight against more tears.
I step closer, wanting to console her.
Actually, no. That’s not it. What I want is to kiss her again. I want to sink into the moment with her, to look at this woman who is now my wife and know we’ll be together forever. I want to tell her I love her. I love what I know of her now and I know I’ll love her more every day.
I’m swimming in that hopeful high when she turns to me and takes my hands.
“I’m just so grateful, Declan. I’m so grateful for this.”
Everything in me recoils, but I keep my mask. I won’t let it slip. Exposure therapy, remember?
But it’s just the reminder I need.