Beneath the monkey suit, the tattoos, and the freshly shaven face, I am still a wreck of a human being. I’m still a lost, hungry, fucked-up kid confused about the way the world works and where I belong in it. My adrenaline spikes when we line up to enter the atrium-style room where the wedding is being held. My teeth are even on edge when Cassidy nearly bumps me on her way to the room where the bridal party is getting ready.
“Sorry, Gav,” she mumbles quickly as she scurries past.
I grunt and nod, noticing a disheveled-looking Jaggerd McKinley staring dazedly after her.
Ah. Slutty wedding sex. I’m familiar with it. While I’ve fooled around with a bridesmaid or two in my day when we played gigs at weddings, I don’t recall ever hooking up with a girl I actually knew or one who was friends with my ex. Not that I ever technically had an ex. Whatever.
I don’t know how Dixie will feel about this or if it will even matter to her, but the thought that it might bothers me on multiple levels. I have so many questions and no right to ask her any of them.
Did she get back with McKinley when she came home?
Would she care if he hooked up with Cassidy?
Is she hooking up with McKinley—or anyone for that matter?
Is she still pissed I didn’t tell her I was home?
And the biggest one of all, if I tell her everything, will she ever be able to forgive me?
Judging from the icicles that formed around her when I looked in her direction at our band meeting yesterday, the outlook isn’t looking so great for those last two.
Only one way to find out, I suppose.
The wedding coordinator decided to make a slight change, apparently, and I can’t help but wonder if Dixie asked her to or if my not attending the rehearsal caused it. Instead of walking Dixie down the aisle, something I was both terrified and excited about, I will stand with Dallas and Dixie will walk alone.
While Dallas and I walk to the front of the altar, I try to visualize telling Dixie everything, the same way Dallas visualizes us having an amazing show before we perform. I can see myself talking but I can’t hear the words.
The small chapel is quiet while I shake Dallas’s hand and congratulate him one last time. There’s a sacred sort of silence surrounding us. Robyn’s family isn’t huge but her side is still much fuller than the Lark side. I glance out over the crowd, seeing only a few familiar faces. I grin at Dallas while fighting the urge to loosen my tie.
“I’m nervous,” he whispers. “This isn’t like playing music. What if I’m a terrible husband and father? What if I—”
“Relax,” I tell him. “Robyn seems really set on sticking with you now that you knocked her up and all. So I think it’s okay even if you suck at it.” But he won’t. I watch him sometimes with her, the adoration in his stare, the slight gleam of amusement in his eyes as if he still can’t believe she actually picked him.
He’s a lucky guy—but he’s a good guy, too, and he loves the hell out of her, so Robyn could’ve done worse. I want to ask them both, no, demand, to know what the secret is. How do you give yourself to someone—flaws and all—and expect them to just love you for the rest of your natural-born lives?
Before I have time to contemplate these burning questions any further, the doors in the back of the room open and Dixie stands there in all her perfect glory. Her dress is strapless and dark blue, a midnight-sky shade of silk that falls just below her knees and wraps her body lovingly. My Bluebird even has a feather in her hair and I nearly get hard at the sight of it barely restraining her wild curls. She holds a small bundle of white flowers and her ink shows on her arms. Everything about her is vibrant and breathtaking.
She is perfection personified and in my heart she’s mine. Always has been, always will be.
Except . . . she isn’t.
I am a statue as she comes down the aisle toward me. I stand unblinking, immovable, unwilling to miss a single second of this sight. As much as I wish I could, I can’t picture us having a day like this. A traditional Texas wedding, her in a white dress and me in another stifling monkey suit—but I also can’t deny that in this moment, my eyes locked on hers as she comes closer, I’m pretending and wishing like hell.