Chapter 22 I Do, Bitches
I Do, Bitches
J AND I ROLLED BACK INTO VEGAS AFTER A MONTH TOGETHER on the road. It had been the most intense yet awesome way to begin a relationship. I always say if you want to get to know someone fast, lock yourself with them in a vehicle for thirty days. That’s make or break, baby!
My divorce from Paulie was barely finalized, and I was what seemed like minutes into freedom from the last relationship.
Today, I know I wasn’t actually free at all yet—my whole body, mind, and spirit were wrecked from Karma’s abuse.
And I wasn’t supposed to be in a relationship with anyone—especially not with the one who mattered most. I needed to be single and do things on my own.
I needed to fall in love with myself and heal.
But along came that sweet-talking country boy and I swooned.
Yelawolf was opening for Deftones—and J was performing with them. All my Vegas homies were in the audience—including a boy toy I’d been with on and off right before J entered the picture. I was excited to see J perform in my hometown for the first time, even if it was just one song with Yela.
But as always, J kept me on my toes. Backstage, he came barreling up to me with his big-ass smile and grabbed me by the arms.
“Let’s get married. Tonight.” I stared him down and waited for him to say Just kidding. He didn’t.
I didn’t hate the idea. But with my track record, I worried whether I could even trust myself to make a responsible decision. J stood there like an excited little boy. I couldn’t help but want to do whatever he wanted.
“Let’s do it!” I said, jumping up and down.
Deep down, I was scared as fuck. I knew it felt different with him, but who was I to trust how I was feeling about a man back in those days?
I barely had a functioning nervous system.
But of course, I live for spontaneity. And it was exciting as hell, and I loved the passion.
Would it end in disaster? Absolutely—but at least we could say it was a fun moment.
Hell, maybe I’ll tell my grandkids about it one day. Or someone else’s grandkids.
“Start looking for a chapel,” he called as he walked onstage. And like the Southern gentlemen he is, later he called me up in front of the audience to propose in front of everyone. I stood next to him as he got down on one knee.
“Will your fine ass marry my white trash ass tonight in Las Vegas?”
“Yeah, baby,” I yelled into the mic, and the crowd erupted with screams. J and I ran offstage hand in hand, hearts racing on adrenaline, and stars in our eyes.
* * *
WHEN I TELL YOU THAT neither J nor I remember our actual wedding date, I’m so serious. Backstage, J took one look at me and said, “Fuck it. Let’s just go now.”
I checked the time.
“The courthouse is open for about forty-four more minutes.”
“Let’s fucking roll.”
The entire way to the courthouse we bumped “Let’s Get Married” by Jagged Edge and “Gorilla” by Bruno Mars. We were so high on life—and other things.
J had specifically asked me not to do blow before the wedding, because he said he didn’t want us to be on drugs while we got married.
Unfortunately, I don’t know how to take direction from authority and took his instruction as a challenge instead of something reasonable and sweet. So, consider me a coked-up bride.
Somehow, we got our marriage license and headed to a one-hour chapel. Outside, J grabbed my hand and twirled me around.
“Bunnie. I want you to know that you’re not going to have to do what you do for work much longer. I promise you.” Being drunk and high, I didn’t want to get too serious—I’m never the one for a heavy conversation in a lighthearted situation. I giggled.
“Baby it’s okay. You don’t have to say—” But he cut me off.
“I’m serious. Look me in the eye. I promise you,” he said. How could I not love this man? He was truly everything I had ever dreamed of but never thought I deserved.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.” I wanted so desperately to believe him—but what the hell was I going to do for a living?
Hustling was all I’d ever known. Standing outside that chapel, all I wanted was to become his wife.
To be Mrs. DeFord and for him to be my ever after happily, if there was such a thing. We’d figure out the rest later.
The little stained-glass chapel in downtown Vegas was decorated with the most random decor, like ceramic urns and Greek columns, and the woman who married us was the tiniest, cutest little nugget.
She had no idea what had exploded through those doors when we came in that night. I was in a shredded black dress.
At the altar, J said, “I wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” looking at me with a big smile, and grabbing handfuls of my ass.
“I’m so in love with you,” I said as I stroked his face. In the background, our friends started playing “Gangster” by Kehlani and our bodies swayed softly to the music as we exchanged vows between drunken giggles and kisses.
Did we think it was a happily ever after? I don’t think either of us thought that far ahead. There was so much we hadn’t thought about. We hadn’t even decided where we were going to live—I lived in Vegas and he lived in Nashville. And that was the smallest item on the scale. He had kids.
Before me, J was a player. He had multiple women who he was with for multiple years at the same time.
One of them was an off-and-on again relationship that resulted in a son together.
This woman gave birth to his son a week before we were married—and today, there seems to be a lot of confusion when it comes to J’s son, but honestly, it’s pretty simple.
They were together before him and me—off and on for about ten years to be exact.
Their relationship was super toxic, but they decided to coparent their son as best they could.
She was already eight or nine months pregnant when J and I decided to be together.
And although my relationship with this baby mama was rough in the beginning, today I absolutely adore her and the woman and mother she is.
And I’m so thankful to have someone in our equation who knows J just as well as I do.
And then there was his seven-year-old, that angel baby I saw staring back at me on FaceTime.
I knew he was going to try to get custody of her soon, but stepping into a mother role didn’t even cross my mind that night.
All I knew was I loved this man, and I was willing to slay whatever dragons we faced together.
* * *
THAT IS, UNTIL I WOKE up extremely hungover the next morning, reeling from the night before.
One thing about party girl me: I was a great time when I was riding that high. But boy, when I came crashing down, I caused destruction to anything in my path. That is the ugly side of addiction that many people don’t want to admit.
I woke up in a booze, Xanax, coke hangover and meaner than a rattlesnake. J, on the other hand, woke up happier than a pig in shit. His happiness would be short-lived.
“J. Did we make a mistake last night?”
It was one of our first arguments. I lashed out. He didn’t deserve it at all.
“I just think we shouldn’t have gotten married.
What the fuck was I thinking?” I didn’t even feel real remorse.
I was just hungover, and I wanted to bring him down, too.
Or maybe I was subconsciously testing him to see if he would respond the same way.
Because if we both thought we shouldn’t have done it, then it would be a reason to sabotage the relationship, right?
I could see my words truly hurt his feelings, so I backed off a bit and we went to meet some friends for lunch. Two screwdrivers for breakfast, and I was back to my happy, chipper self and we moved past the fight.
Or did we? J let it go for the moment, but he sat in my words for a few days.
Then we took a drive out to the Grand Canyon together to really hash it out and figure out if we were going to commit to each other.
For real. The truth was that neither one of us had ever been capable of a committed relationship before.
And my words scared him because he knew our limitations.
The drive up there was uncomfortable. We argued, we talked, and we were very raw with each other about our fears.
I had never communicated with someone so openly, especially as new as we were as a couple.
This was a different way of doing a relationship.
I liked parts of it, but I also pushed back, because J forced me to identify my feelings and held me accountable for my words.
That had never happened to me before—I was so used to throwing heart darts at the people I “loved”—including friends—when I was mad and then just moving on like nothing had happened.
Not with J. He was going to make me own up to what I said.
And he didn’t say things he didn’t mean.
If he said something, he meant it. I wasn’t like that. I had never known anyone like that.
As we looked over the Grand Canyon’s edge, J was still hurt about how I acted the morning after our wedding. Still, he managed to say something that knocked some sense into me.
“I wouldn’t have married you if I wasn’t serious, Bunnie. This isn’t a fuckin’ game to me.”
With one sentence, J had calmed every fear rattling around inside of me.
For my whole life, nothing had been particularly serious—even marriages could be undone without too much trouble.
No one was thinking about forever with me.
But J saw me differently. He saw the long game.
And I saw a man who really wanted to change his ways and learn to love truly.
And with that, I straightened myself out and apologized.
It was just the beginning of all the things we as individuals and a couple would need to face head-on.
But I’ve had several psychics tell me that J and I are soulmates—and twin flames.
Twin flames are mirror images of each other, reflecting all the things that you need to work on.
I had no idea that staring into his mirror would forever change the woman I was and make me into the woman I was destined to be. But thank you God for the gift.