Epilogue 2-Sloane
It’s late September and our wedding day is finally here.
I don't ask Patrick to give me away.
Some people probably think that's sad.
Maybe it is.
But the truth?
I was never his to give.
Somewhere along the way, my big brother stopped being my protector and started treating me like a lifeline he couldn't bear to let go of.
He made choices that nearly destroyed both our lives, and while I know addiction played a role, it doesn't erase what happened.
Still, I love him.
Love isn't always logical.
Sometimes it's messy.
Sometimes it hurts.
Sometimes it means praying someone finds their way back to themselves.
Patrick's been clean for nearly four months now. He looks healthier than I've seen him in years.
Older somehow.
Humbler.
He's sitting with the rest of the guests beneath a white canopy, wearing the nicest suit I've ever seen him own.
When our eyes meet across the lawn, he gives me a small smile.
I smile back.
It's enough.
Maybe one day we'll rebuild what we lost.
Maybe we won't.
Today isn't about looking backward.
Today is about walking toward my future.
“Ready?”
Esme squeezes my hand.
I laugh nervously.
“No.”
Bit snorts.
“Good. You'd worry me if you weren't nervous.”
She smooths the front of my gown for the tenth time.
“I think I'm going to throw up.”
“No, you're not,” Esme says.
“Probably.”
Bit shrugs.
“I puked before Sawyer and I got hitched.”
“You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
Esme bursts out laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“It was nerves!”
“It was too many mozzarella sticks and margaritas,” Esme quips.
“I stand by my mozzarella sticks and margaritas.”
I laugh so hard my nervousness eases.
Just like that.
These women? They're more than my bridesmaids.
They're my sisters. They’re the family I never knew I was missing.
We step toward the mirror one last time.
For a second...
I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me.
The gown is soft cream instead of bright white. Off-the-shoulder lace hugs my curves without asking me to hide them.
Without asking me to be smaller.
Or different.
Or less.
My red hair falls in one long, loose braid over my shoulder, soft curls escaping to frame my face.
Tiny white daisies are woven throughout the braid. Their sweet scent follows me every time I move.
In my hands rests a bouquet of white daisies and deep red roses.
Simple.
Wild.
Beautiful.
Just the way I wanted.
Behind me, Bit and Esme straighten their butter-yellow dresses.
Red roses are tucked into their hair.
Bit absently rubs her baby bump.
Esme catches me looking and grins.
“What?”
“I was just thinking...”
I blink back sudden tears.
“I really got lucky.”
“No.”
Esme wraps one arm around my shoulders.
“We all did.”
Outside, music begins.
Soft.
Gentle.
Someone opens the cabin door.
“It's time.”
The words make my heart pound.
This is it.
The walk to forever.
I step outside.
Late September has painted Jersey Iron Ranch in shades of gold and amber. Leaves dance across the pasture. The afternoon sun hangs low enough to bathe everything in honey-colored light.
Rows of white chairs line either side of a flower-strewn aisle.
Friends.
Neighbors.
Ranch hands.
The people who've become my family.
Angie is already crying. Diego has one arm around her shoulders. Alex stands near the front, grinning so hard I swear his face might split.
Sawyer squeezes Bit's hand. Benji slips an arm around Esme when she joins him.
Then...
I see him.
And everything else disappears.
The chairs.
The flowers.
The music.
The guests.
All of it fades until there's only Micah.
Standing beneath the simple wooden arbor outside our cabin.
Our cabin.
He's wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo.
The crisp white shirt somehow makes his blue eyes seem even brighter.
His beard is neatly trimmed.
His dark hair catches the afternoon sun.
He's never looked more handsome.
Then he looks at me.
Like I'm the answer to every prayer he never admitted praying.
His eyes soften.
His jaw tightens.
I swear I see him swallow.
“Oh,” I whisper.
The emotion on his face steals every ounce of air from my lungs.
That's love.
Pure.
Unfiltered.
Absolute.
Every step toward him brings another memory.
The quiet cowboy nursing one beer for three hours just so he could watch over me.
The ridiculous tips.
The new filters in my van.
The first time he called me Princess.
The kiss behind the dumpster.
Finding out he'd been watching over me from afar for months.
Most women would probably call that creepy.
Maybe it should've scared me.
Instead, it made perfect sense.
Because that's Micah.
He doesn't know how to love halfway. He protects. He watches. He notices. He remembers.
That's his love language.
And God help me...
I'm an absolute sucker for it.
By the time I reach him, tears blur my vision.
He reaches for both my hands before anyone tells him he can.
Our fingers lace together.
Warm.
Steady.
Home.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers.
“So do you.”
He laughs softly.
“I've been waiting all day to hear your voice.”
“I've been waiting all day to see your face.”
His thumb brushes across my knuckles.
“I missed you.”
“You saw me an hour ago.”
“Too long.”
I smile through happy tears.
“You are impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
The ceremony begins, but honestly...
I barely hear a word.
Because I'm too busy looking at him.
The man who taught me that love isn't something you earn.
It's something you're given freely.
The man who saw every flaw I'd spent years trying to hide and loved me harder because of them.
I grew up believing New Jersey was highways...
Brick buildings...
And city blocks stretching forever.
I never imagined there were ranches here.
Never imagined open pastures.
Cowboys.
Champion bulls.
Or sunsets that painted the whole sky gold.
I certainly never imagined one of those cowboys would become my husband.
But Jersey Iron Ranch is different.
Special.
Not because of the land.
Or the cattle.
Or the beautiful log cabin overlooking rolling hills.
It's special because of the people.
Because somewhere between heartbreak and hope...
I found a family.
A place where nobody asked me to be anything except myself.
A place where my laughter matters.
Where my dreams matter.
Where I matter.
Most of all...
I found him.
The quiet man who spent so long watching life through screens and security cameras before deciding he'd rather live it beside me.
He gave me a home.
Not a house.
A home.
There's a difference.
One is built with logs and nails.
The other is built with love.
When the officiant tells Micah he may kiss his bride, he doesn't hesitate.
His hands cradle my face.
Just like they did the first time.
Just like they always will.
He kisses me slowly.
Tenderly.
Like he's making a promise instead of sealing one.
The cheers around us fade into the background.
Because all I hear is the steady beat of his heart beneath my hand.
All I feel is the certainty wrapped around me in his arms.
I spent thirty-three years wondering where I belonged.
Turns out, I wasn't lost.
I was simply finding my way home.
And home?
It has brilliant blue eyes.
Calls me Princess.
And loves me exactly as I am.