Dad stands by Travis and grasps his shoulder, his expression heavy. “Well said, Son.”
Bless them both. They don’t want to see me upset on my wedding day. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine.”
But I’m not. Mitch should have been here, Gabriella by his side in some sexy number that makes all the men’s eyes pop from their heads. Instead, he’s somewhere hurting, defeated, maybe even drinking, and Gabriella is in the ground.
Her death changed us, and her funeral destroyed us, but we’re closer now than we’ve ever been before. It was attended by more than five thousand people. Police lined the road for kilometres as the procession of her coffin left the church. The Australian community abhors the deaths of those who protect and serve. They came out in droves, standing by the side of the road, solemn, service officers saluting as the procession passed by.
My eldest brother missed it all. Instead, Mitch lay dormant in his hospital bed while thousands honoured her life, oblivious to his loss and missing his chance to say goodbye.
“Out you go now,” Dad says to Travis. “I need a private word.”
Travis nods and straightens. “I’ll see you out there.”
When the door clicks shut behind him, Dad takes a seat beside me with a sigh.
I eye him sideways. “You’re not really going to give the birds and bees speech, are you?”
He chuckles but the sound is pained.
“What is it?” I ask, wary.
“Did I ever tell you about Aunty Dee?”
Of course he never told us about our aunt Diana, his younger sister, and he knows that. It’s a no-go topic. She died at the age of eighteen, and she’s been a touchy subject ever since. Dad never talks about her with anyone.
“You’re the very image of her.” He hangs his head, studying the floor. My dad—the man who kicks ass and takes names and looks everyone in the eye when he speaks to them—can’t look at me. “The hair and the eyes but most of all, the attitude. Weakness wasn’t a word in her vocabulary, just like it isn’t in yours. There was fire inside of her and when you were born, it’s like she re-lit the torch inside of you.”
I had no idea, but it warms me to know I’m carrying my aunt’s legacy.
My dad lifts his head and his eyes are filled with the ache of regret. “I loved that fire. It meant no one would ever mess with her. It was going to take her places. So I encouraged it. I fanned the flames. But it was that fire that got her killed. It made her overconfident, gave her too much courage and too much heart. She fought for the underdog with reckless abandon, until one day she stood up to the wrong person at the wrong time, and he didn’t like it. Not one little bit. And as she walked to the train station one afternoon after school, he snatched her and he … he …” My dad’s voice cracks. He pauses and swallows, looking away again, the memory too much to bear. “He did things to her that no one should ever have to endure.”
I reach across and take his big hand in mine, my stomach rolling at what Aunty Dee must have gone through.
“Then you were born, and when I saw that same fire in you, it put the fear of God in my heart.” His gaze returns to mine, his expression grave and eyes glassy. “And I tried to smother it.”
“Fucking Dick Head school,” I mutter.
Dad shakes his head, huffing. “Yes, Fucking Dick Head school. I knew you called it that, by the way. But I convinced myself it could do what I couldn’t. I convinced myself it would douse that fire and keep you safe.”
“Dad,” I whisper.
“That was wrong and I’m sorry.”
My eyes burn. “I always thought I was the daughter you never wanted.”
“No.” His voice is appalled. “God, no. I love who you are. You have a beautiful spirit, and I’m so damn proud of you. You champion your friends and your family. You fight for them and would do anything for them. You went to war for them. You work tirelessly to give them a life you believe they deserve, but it’s time to start living the life you deserve now.” Dad lets go of my hand and stands. He walks to the bedside table where my bouquet of roses rests. He picks them up and turns, a smile slowly forming until happiness lines his face. “Time for you to get yourself hitched.”
“You have to help me up first.”
He chuckles and my belly cramps again. I’m getting good at hiding it because it kept happening the whole time he and Travis were talking and neither noticed. He takes my hand and helps me upright. Then his eyes crinkle. “Hurry up, love. That baby is going to come out at any moment. Best get that ring on your finger first.”
I gasp. “Dad! How did you know?”
“That you’ve gone into labour? Sweetheart, I may be old, but I’m not stupid. Your mother birthed four of my children. I recognise the signs.”
I tuck my arm in his and we leave the room. I descend the stairs and step outside, my father by my side. Henry is on his acoustic guitar by the arbour, and Evie is standing in front of a microphone. They begin my chosen song when they see me—“When I Look At You” by Miley Cyrus—and all our guests stand en masse, turning to watch.
I begin the walk down the aisle, my eyes burning. Jake is standing by the arbour in a navy suit with a red rose boutonniere. He wears a crisp white shirt beneath the jacket, open at the collar. He looks glorious and I remember back to when I broke my arm and likened him to Tim Riggins straight out of Friday Night Lights. We have so much shared history. Who knew that one day the boy who lost his family would marry the girl who smeared spaghetti all over his shirt?
A tear slips out and rolls down my cheek.
Shit. The last thing I need is to ruin my makeup!
Then I pause. Dad stops with me. I hear the slightest falter in Evie’s voice and Jake’s brow furrows.
“Dad,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
“What?” he whispers back.
“We have to go back inside.”
“What? Why?”
My voice is a hiss. “Because I think I’ve just wet myself.”
“Holy Jesus,” he booms in front of all and sundry. “Your waters have broken.”
The music comes to a crashing halt and everyone stands frozen, looking at me. Jake’s eyes drop to my belly and back up again, widening with panic. He doesn’t yell, but his shocked voice carries down the aisle. “You’re in labour?”
I grit my teeth. Didn’t you hear me before, Satan? I said not today.
“No!” I call back, feeling a sticky trickle of fluid run down the insides of my thighs. I wave reassuringly. “False alarm.”
Jake’s face settles into an expression of relief.
“Bitch, you are in labour.”
I turn a hard glare on Tim. He’s in the aisle seat right where we’ve paused, and his eyes are on the pool at my feet. A contraction hits me hard and I gasp. My fingers tighten on Dad’s arm until I’m sure I’ve cut his circulation off.
“Dad,” I whimper.