32. Chapter 32
Cate
Present
The church smelled like old wood and lemon cleaner. It was familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Candles flickered along the aisle, already lit for a rehearsal that hadn’t started yet.
I scanned the room the moment we stepped inside, my eyes skipping over familiar faces until they found him.
Trevor stood near the altar with Jim, his shoulders tense, hands clasped in front of him like he was bracing for something. When our eyes met, relief flickered across his face so quickly it almost hurt to see.
I was late.
Again.
A ripple moved through the pews as Amy and I walked down the aisle - whispers, shifting bodies, the quiet release of held breath. Trevor didn’t wait. He kissed Amy’s cheek in passing, then reached for my hand and guided me back the way we’d come, the heavy church doors closing softly behind us.
The hallway was quiet, removed from everything. It smelled faintly of incense and varnish, the walls lined with framed wedding photos - smiling couples frozen in moments that promised permanence.
I expected him to be frustrated, a crack in his composure.
Instead, Trevor exhaled slowly and took both my hands, pressing a kiss to each one like he was grounding himself.
He looked exactly as he always did - immaculate.
His dark brown hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place despite the day unraveling around us.
His suit fit him perfectly, expensive without trying to be loud.
Everything about him spoke of control and care, from the crisp line of his jacket to the weight of the watch at his wrist, its polished face catching the hallway light when he moved.
He wore his wealth easily, confidently, as though it were simply another part of who he was.
Standing there, steady and composed, he felt solid in a way I desperately needed.
“You’ve been distant,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine,” I replied automatically.
He studied me, the way he always did when he thought I was lying. When he knew I was.
“You don’t have to be fine,” he said. “But I need to ask you something.”
My stomach tightened. The hallway felt narrower, the framed photos suddenly oppressive.
“Say it,” I said.
He didn’t rush.
“I can wait,” he said. “I have waited. And I will keep waiting if that’s what you need.” His voice faltered - just barely. “But I can’t be…” he hesitated. “I can’t be a replacement. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if you’re still listening for someone else to come home.”
The words settled between us, heavy and unavoidable.
There it was. The truth we’d been circling for years.
“You think I don’t love you,” I said.
“I think you do,” he answered gently. “I just don’t think I’m the only one.”
My throat burned.
John’s face rose unbidden - his smile, his hands, the way his presence used to feel like gravity. I’d learned how to live around that absence, how to build a life that didn’t collapse beneath it.
But I had never truly let it go.
“I don’t know how to erase him,” I whispered.
Trevor stepped closer. Not touching me yet, giving me space.
“I’m not asking you to erase him,” he said. “I’m asking you to choose.”
The word echoed in the narrow hall.
Choose.
As if love were that simple.
“I need to know,” he continued softly, “if tomorrow is about us… or if it’s about proving you survived him.”
That cut deeper than anything else had.
I looked down at my hands, the faint tremor there, the way my ring caught the light.
“I’m afraid,” I admitted.
“Of marrying me?”
“No,” I said. “Of letting go. Of being wrong. Of waiting my whole life for something that was never coming.”
He reached for me then, resting his hands lightly on my arms.
“You’re allowed to live,” he said. “You’re allowed to be happy. Even if it’s messy. Even if it doesn’t look the way you imagined.”
Tears slipped free, silent and unstoppable.
“I loved him,” I said.
“I know.”
“I still do.”
“I know.”
The fact that he didn’t argue, that he let the truth exist, nearly undid me.
“I can’t promise I’ll ever stop missing him,” I said. “But I can promise I won’t leave you alone in it.”
Trevor closed his eyes, relief and grief crossing his face at once.
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
When John disappeared, most people faded with him. Even Seth, his best friend, his would-be best man eventually stopped calling. Stopped showing up. It was as if the world decided that losing him meant losing me too.
But Trevor stayed.
He cooked dinners when I couldn’t eat. Took me places I’d never gone. Sat with me through silences that scared everyone else away. Loved me when I felt unlovable.
Something in him shifted then - not anger, not pressure, but resolve. He glanced back toward the sanctuary before turning to me again.
Trevor exhaled slowly. “Cate,” he said carefully, “If we do this… if we get married tomorrow… will you be happy?”
My chest tightened. I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
“Or,” he continued, voice barely steady, “will I always be standing in for him?”
I closed my eyes and pictured John - the way he used to tuck me into his side, the scent of him that never quite left. It hurt. It always would.
But I couldn’t live there forever.
I reached for Trevor’s face, my hands trembling. A tear slid down his cheek, and I brushed it away with my thumb.
“I love you,” I said. “And I love John too.”
He didn’t pull away.
“I know John isn’t coming back,” I added, my voice breaking. “But saying goodbye… it doesn’t feel finished. I don’t know if it ever will”
When I opened my eyes, Trevor was crying openly now. He wrapped his arms around me, holding on like the answer mattered more than the certainty.
“Does this mean…?” he asked.
“I’m going to marry you,” I said.
Relief surged through him, visible in every breath. He kissed my forehead, then took my hand and led me back toward the doors.
When we stepped into the sanctuary, the music swelled. Smiles turned toward us.
Applause rippled softly.
No one saw the fault line running through my chest.
We pulled into the parking lot of The Anchor Room, the understated sign for the fancy restaurant lit softly above the entrance. I scanned the lot before turning back to Trevor.
“I still can’t believe your parents picked this place.”
And, of course, we were the last ones to arrive.
Trevor’s mother, Joyce hurried over, hugging me tightly before guiding me to her side. My mom laughed with Trevor’s father across the table. Everyone looked happy.
I laughed when expected. Smiled when prompted. I listened to stories about Trevor as a boy, about his stubbornness, his kindness, his loyalty.
Someone said, “You’re so lucky.”
I nodded.
Across the table, Amy caught my eye. Her expression softened - proud, hopeful, relieved.
I wondered if she could see the truth anyway. The way some people always can.
Trevor ordered my favorite wine. I teased him about it, and for a moment, just one, I felt almost normal.
When Jim stood to toast us, the room quieted.
“To love,” he said. “To second chances. To choosing each other, even when life doesn’t go the way you planned.”
By the time he raised his glass, my chest ached with the weight of it all - of promises made in storms, of loyalty that had shifted hands.
“To Trevor and Cate.”
The room echoed it back.
I smiled, but it felt thin.
Then Amy stood.
Her voice shook as she lifted her glass. “This night wouldn’t exist without one man,” she said softly. “And if he were here… it wouldn’t exist at all.”
She swallowed.
“To John Rosewood. Wherever you are.”
I raised my glass, my hand trembling. “To John.”
The words caught in my throat.
The room followed.
And just like that, the past and future collided, and I realized that loving Trevor didn’t mean I’d stopped waiting.
It only meant I’d learned how to stand still while the waiting stayed with me.