Chapter Twenty-Four The Wedding Shift
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Wedding Shift
Dean
My fingers remember.
That’s the weird part. Six years of nothing, and they still know where to go. Still find the chords like they’ve been waiting.
The guests are seated. Waiting. Mason’s nervous-tapping his foot against his stool.
“You good?” I ask.
“Getting married, bro.” His voice has that edge of disbelief.
“I noticed.” I transition to a different chord progression, something softer.
“To Ivy.” He’s got a dreamy, faraway look on his face as he says this.
“That’s generally how weddings work.” I almost smile despite the tension coiling in my shoulders.
“Shut up.” But he’s smiling. “Thanks for this.”
“Thank Poppy. She’s the one who—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I meant playing again.” He looks at me now, really looks at me. His expression is serious, understanding. “I know it’s been hard since—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp. My fingers press harder into the strings.
“I’m just saying. This is big.” His voice is gentle, careful.
I frown, focusing on the fretboard. “It’s one song.”
“It’s more than that.” He knows. Of course he knows.
Maybe. Probably. But I can’t think about that now. Can’t think about why I drove to a storage unit I’ve been avoiding for years. Can’t think about the look on Poppy’s face when she saw me playing.
Can’t think about how she’s leaving tomorrow. Definitely not that.
“Here we go,” Mason says.
The wedding party starts walking. I play the music Poppy picked—something soft and romantic that makes my chest tight.
Each bridesmaid passes. Then CeCe, coming up from the side, who winks at me like she knows something.
Then the music changes. The song Ivy specifically requested.
And there she is.
Not Ivy.
Poppy.
Standing at the back, clipboard forgotten, watching me play. Tears swimming in her eyes.
Damn.
I almost miss a chord. Mason covers, keeps the bassline steady.
Ivy appears, radiant and perfect, but I can’t stop looking at Poppy. The way she’s pressing her hand to her chest. The way she’s looking at me like…
Like maybe I’m not the only one who’s screwed here.
Mason sets down his bass and takes his spot at the front.
The ceremony passes in a blur. Vows, rings, the unity thing where I play the song that makes everyone cry. Mason kisses his bride. Everyone cheers.
And Poppy’s gone.
Disappeared somewhere between “I do” and “I now pronounce you.”
“That was beautiful,” someone says.
“Thanks,” I manage.
Pack up the guitar. Shake hands. Accept compliments I don’t deserve.
But all I can think about is the look on her face.
And how I have less than twenty-four hours to figure out what the hell to do about it.