Chapter 22
Ever anticipated something so immensely you no longer experience nerves? The truth—I haven’t been the slightest bit nervous since popping the question. I’m too fucking excited. Even though all this has moved quickly, it hasn’t happened fast enough. Anticipation built to such a high degree I was losing my mind. I went through stages of being fearful I’d be a shit husband. First it was a whisper, and then it was all I thought about.
I’m not perfect. I have many flaws and have exhibited them many times throughout our relationship. My temper fucking sucks. My patience is limited. I’m moody. I’m an arrogant son of a bitch. My demand for control is intense.
How Whitney puts up with me is beyond me. She has a way of looking at me like I’m all she ever sees and it strikes my heart. We may have ups and downs, but we’re always riding that coaster together.
Although she sees the softer…the fucking softer side of me, it’s only for her. She holds that right. No one else. She brings out my weakness—her. She can put me on my knees with just a look. She makes me want to be a better man, all compassionate and shit. I strive to do sweet things just for her. Her smile is beautiful, as is her heart. She’s my necessary contrast. My life I want to live.
How I put up with her is, well, it’s fucking easy.
Even if it’s undoubtedly changing me…only for her.
My hands shake with excitement as I finish tucking in my shirt and buttoning my pants. Whit kept her promise to me—I’m not wearing a tux or a fucking bow tie. Instead, I’m in a dark gray suit because black is for funerals. I’m not here to end my life. It’s beginning the moment she steps to me.
“The photographer wants us,” Jackson says behind me.
I check him out in the mirror. Where my suit is dark, his is lighter. “Ten minutes,” I state.
He slaps my shoulder. “Do you know how to pose without your hands balled up?” he jests.
I chuckle. “It’ll be the ultimate test.”
“You nervous yet?”
“Not a drop,” I say.
I finish getting dressed and shrug into my blazer before nudging him in the arm and stepping out into the hall.
Pictures. Poses. More pictures. More poses. Smiles. Big smiles. Matt, Kyce, Jackson, and me. I’m a smirker. Not a smiler. The photographer has reminded me many times. After every flash, I glance up to the windows on the second floor of the stone building. I don’t know where she’s at, but I’m hopeful to get a sight of her peeking out of the windows.
I’m ready to see my girl.
I manage to keep my hands in a relaxed position and not fisted, although when the photographer said for us to be natural, I loosened everyone up by posing into my fighter’s stance. He snapped the picture. It’s going to look damn good too.
Soft music plays as I look out to everyone. Yeah, I’m standing at an altar. Not just any altar, not the same one as my oldest brother. No. Mine.
I’m drowning in suspense.
My parents look proud and happy. Abby is teary-eyed sitting beside her boyfriend, Eli. They’ve been dating for a few months and he seems to be a good guy. He loves Abs and respects her. He’s what she’s needed and he knows the repercussions if he ever hurts her. Steamy past or not, we have a friendship I don’t ever want to replace.
Jay sits a few rows back also incredibly teary-eyed. Him and his boyfriend split just two weeks ago after Jay caught him shacking up with another man in Jay’s bed. He handled it like a champ. If that were me, I would’ve murdered them both.
Carter is seated alone right behind my parents. He’s bulked up and now rests in the middleweight class comfortably. He adheres to everything I tell him. His first fight is in three weeks and as his coach, I know he’s going to do well.
Wait. The wedding.
Whit promised she didn’t want anything big and nothing too extravagant. Of course, I don’t care just so long she’s walking to me and we seal the deal. I rushed the process. After seeing her go through what she went through and pull out of it like a motherfucking goddess, I knew I needed her to bear my last name. I think that’s when I realized just how much I loved her. Seeing her like that made me see things differently. Watching her strength made me admire her incredibly.
At the end of the aisle, Matt steps out from the side, Lily the other, and she takes his arm. He glances to Holly, sitting toward the back, before looking back toward me. Slowly, they make their way to me, separating and standing wherever Whit told them to. Next is Kyce and Sarah. Since I wanted Jackson as my best man, he didn’t get to travel the aisle with his wife. But Kyce and Sarah are giggling and whispering as they take their steps.
Jackson and Candice exit, them too, cutting up.
My heart clamps when Gracie comes out in her little white dress with a blue—my blue—ribbon in her hair, tossing out petals wildly.
“You good?” Jackson whispers after he steps to my side.
“Fucking amazing.” I smile over my shoulder. Quickly, he peers to the preacher behind us.
I don’t care. You want me to watch my mouth? Reset my memory and erase the excitement rupturing in my soul.
The music changes and everyone stands. I clench my fists in front of me trying to contain my suspense.
Whit and her dad step out.
Holy fuck…
I can’t breathe.
I’m pretty fucking sure I don’t have a pulse.
I can bet money my feet aren’t planted on the ground.
She’s absolutely stunning. Incredibly exquisite.
I’m now in perma-grin mode as she smiles at me.
“Dude,” Kyce says loud enough for me to hear.
I’d look at him, but I can’t rip my gaze from my bride-to-be in her dress walking to me.
Holy fuck…
“You breathing?” Jackson nudges me.
“No,” I answer truthfully with my eyes locked on Whit.
The need to rush to her and carry her the rest of the way surges me, but I dig my heels in.
“Hey,” she says as she stands before me.
I clutch her hand because the need to feel her is insane.
I swallow because she’s stolen my words. “You look…” I glance down her body. “Damn, Whitney.”
She’s beaming as she blinks back her happy tears. My throat is on fire as I clench my jaw.
We say our vows, thankfully short and sweet. And when the preacher says those magical words—You may kiss your wife—I grip her by the back of her head and crush my lips to hers. Public or not, this is our first kiss as husband and wife, and I promise it’ll not be forgotten.
I plunge my tongue into her mouth, wrapping my other arm around her waist and yanking her into my chest. She liquefies against me, scraping her nails into my scalp. When I lean back, we’re both panting.
“We’re married,” she whispers, giggling.
“We are.” I grin.
“Husband.”
“Wife,” I reply and then turn us to the crowd.
Husband and wife. I’m fucking married. And Whitney is my wife. Mine.
Whitney Hayes…
Fuck that sounds good.