The next morning went by in a blur. There were hair appointments, nail appointments, and makeup from the moment she opened her eyes. And Tristan was still nowhere to be found. She was sure he was with the guys, doing all the wedding things he was supposed to, but the fact that she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since the rehearsal left her stomach in knots.

She stood on the step, waiting for her best friend to walk down the aisle, and glanced over the crowd of people, knowing they waited with bated breath, just as she did. But for a different reason. Because they were waiting for their bride, her best friend for all eternity, while she was waiting for Tristan.

The door opened at the back of the room, and the crowd turned and rose out of their chairs. Renee stood at the open doorway, the “Bridal Chorus” playing softly from the piano in the background. Her dress was off-white, with a lace bodice and delicate sleeves that hung off her shoulders like lace ivy. Her head was high, her skirt simple, draping elegantly all the way to the floor—showing bits of her long legs as she took step after step.

But Samantha barely noticed her, because it was Tristan that made all the air expel from her throat. He was dressed in a tan tuxedo. An off white button-up shirt fastened at his tanned throat, but it was his eyes that memorized her most. They were full of emotion, with bits of gray darkening their depths. He looked, emotional—because he was taking on the role that should have been his father’s. Taking on the role of a person who was far too selfish to be there today.

Tristan pulled in a deep breath and squeezed his sister’s hand in a transfer of strength. Samantha’s eyes moved down to her feet, because as emotional as this was to witness, it must have been ten times more emotional for the pair. They had fought like cats and dogs for most of their lives, but seeing them now, watching them walk side by side, nobody would ever know it. Together they were a harbor of strength, a unit of love and an example of what family was supposed to be. They were crossing the hurdle of a broken family, of a deadbeat father, with their heads held high as though no one was the wiser.

They stopped just below the stairs, where Phin waited with tears in his eyes to fetch his future bride. He shook Tristan’s hand, and they both hugged, exchanging a few words before breaking apart.

The minister stepped forward with a soft smile as he looked from Tristan to Renee. “Who presents this woman to be married to this man?”

Tristan cleared his throat, then clasped his hands together in front of his body. “Her mother and I do.” It was both heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. Because those were words which normally came from a father—yet Tristan, barely twenty-five, said them with more pride, more emotion than anyone else ever could.

There was a hush amongst the crowd, as the minister nodded, and Renee climbed the stairs with Phin. Tristan moved to the end of the row of groomsmen, glancing up to the wooden arbor where Renee and Phin would say their vows, and ignored Samantha completely.

Samantha tried to pay attention, to stay present and listen to every word that was spoken, but it was impossible. Because inside, her heart was breaking. Inside, she was struggling to keep herself upright.

Tristan hadn’t even looked at her. Didn’t acknowledge her for the entire service, and all her fears and insecurities came bubbling to the surface. She wanted to scream. To jump up and down, just to get his attention. To have him talk to her, even if the words he said were to tell her it was over, because his silence was unbearable. His silence was like a double-edged sword, slicing through every vulnerable crevice of her body, her mind—her soul.

She somehow made it through the ceremony, a smile on her lips as she walked out toward the gardens. The guests were ushered toward the open bar, while the bridal party was whisked away by the photographer. Samantha was hardly present for any of it. Her body was living, while her mind and heart protected themselves in a proverbial hole. When the wedding party was released from the photographer, everyone headed back toward the waiting reception.

Samantha caught up with Tristan just before he entered the building. She pulled at the hem of his sleeve, forcing him to turn around. His eyes were distant and dark, so different from the man she’d gotten to know over the past week.

“What’s wrong with you?” she whispered. “Why haven’t you called me back? Why are you ignoring me?”

He licked his lips, seeing her, but not really looking. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She stared at him, wanting to shake him out of whatever had taken him, because this was not the man she’d grown to love. “Tristan, I’m sorry.”

His eyes closed, and he gripped the bridge of his nose in an effort to control his emotion. “I thought you broke up with him.”

She shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks with the relief of finally getting through to him. “I couldn’t just—”

But he cut her off. “Why was he here? Why was he holding you in his fucking arms?” His words were quiet, but were spit from his mouth with all the venom she deserved.

She looked into his eyes, seeing all the hurt and hatred that lived there. Guests were walking by, looking her up and down as they entered the reception room, and all she could do was tell the truth. “We’d been together for six years, I couldn’t—”

But he didn’t listen. “That’s what I thought.” He turned on his heels, not allowing her to finish, and entered the reception room.

She stumbled forward, left in the doorway with her heart in her throat as she watched him walk away. There were people all around her, laughing, smiling, and celebrating—while she struggled to keep herself upright. She walked into the ballroom dressed in a beautiful gown, her hair done up like a princess, yet feeling more alone and undesired than she’d ever felt in her entire life. Needing some sense of solitude, she shuffled through the crowd and pushed through the door to the restroom. She plucked a box of tissues from the closest table then sat down on the toilet and started to cry.

She knew she’d messed up, knew he was right to be angry, but he wouldn’t even listen to her. He wouldn’t even allow her to finish a sentence.

The door to the restroom opened again, and she held her breath, not wanting anyone to hear her crying. The last thing she needed was to cause a big scene at her best friend’s wedding. She heard the stall door close beside her, then a moment later Renee’s head was poking over the stall door by the ceiling.

“Hi,” Renee whispered.

Samantha half sobbed, half laughed at the sight of her best friend. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, her chin wobbling. “You’re supposed to be taking pictures.”

Renee shook her head. “We already took plenty. But I can’t go on, knowing you’re in here dying inside.”

Samantha closed her eyes, hating the fact she’d done this to her best friend. That Renee was in the bathroom offering her comfort when she should be out there with her new husband.

“I locked the door. Will you come out and talk to me?” Renee pleaded.

Samantha immediately nodded, knowing it was the least she could do. She crumpled up her soggy tissue, threw it in the trash, and unlocked her stall.

Renee was sitting on a chaise lounge, fiddling with her dress, but glanced up when she saw Samantha. She patted the spot beside her on the cushion. “Sit.”

Samantha did as she was told, grabbing hold of Renee’s offered hands.

The emotion of the day was etched all over Renee’s face. Emotion about her father, her brother, the wedding. “Remember when I left to go visit Tristan a few years ago?” She began. “When you were in that awful English class and had the midterm load from hell?”

Samantha nodded, but her throat tightened uncomfortably because she knew what this was about. Renee was going to tell her about the accident, about Tristan’s shoulder. Samantha had heard the story only days before, but for some reason she remained quiet. She’d heard it from Tristan, but now she wanted to hear it from Renee.

“Tristan was in a bad accident. He had a concussion, his rotator cuff was torn, bone ripped from its socket…among other things. He was a mess. He underwent emergency surgery to repair what they could, but he was told right away he’d never play ball again. As you can imagine, football was his life, his identity, and I can still remember the look on his face when he was given the news.”

Renee’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears as she looked at Samantha. “But what I remember most, was that he immediately looked to my father. Tristan idolized him, always had, and when he saw the disappointment in my father’s eyes, it crushed him. And instead of being a support to his son, my father lectured him. It hurt Tristan more than his injury, more than the loss of his favorite sport…”

She turned to the box of tissues and plucked one from the box, her voice shredding. “Tristan argued with the doctors for over an hour after that, trying to convince them to do more, to give him another chance, but they couldn’t.” Renee’s eyes bored into Samantha’s, needing her to understand. “Tristan hates letting people down. He can’t handle not being enough. As hard as this whole thing has been for me—it’s been harder for my brother. Because the man he’d always tried to prove himself to has shown that maybe he’s not the person to look up to.”

She wiped at the corner of her eyes as though trying not to ruin her makeup. “Tristan carries the world on his shoulders. He always has. It was unfair of my mom to give him that secret. To make it his responsibility to handle the communication with my father… But like always, Tristan took on the role of making everyone else happy. When my father didn’t even show up...” She cleared her throat, trying to continue. “I think Tristan feels both like a failure, and rejected at the same time.”

She sniffed softly into her tissue and looked down to their joined hands. “I think seeing you with Steven was the last thing he could take. All his insecurities, all his fears came rushing out―”

Samantha plucked a tissue from the box and blew her nose. “Steven didn’t know what happened. I had to—”

But Renee stopped her. “I know you did. And Tristan will understand, too, when you explain.”

“But he―”

Renee gave Samantha’s shoulder a squeeze. “Listen to me. When I saw Tristan walk into the lobby that first day with you, I was relieved. Because I hadn’t seen him smile like that in years. I didn’t know what had changed in him, but I realize now―it was you. You brought something out in him, Samantha. Something I haven’t seen since before he was injured.”

Samantha frowned, trying to comprehend what her friend was trying to tell her.

“He’s pushing you away, can’t you see that? He’s pushing us all away.”

Samantha shook her head, feeling a thousand bricks land on her shoulders. “What do you want me to do? He won’t look at me; he won’t even talk to me,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

“Then make him listen. He may take his time to hear you, but he always does.” Tears spilled from Samantha’s eyes, and Renee grabbed another tissue and continued to talk while she attempted to salvage her friend’s makeup. “I don’t know if Tristan has ever felt loved. Really loved, aside from me and my mother… But he needs more than us. He’s been loved for his looks, loved for his body and what he can do with it, loved for so many other things, but I think it’s hard for him to see that it can be unconditional. That he can be himself and still have value. That people aren’t perfect, and that doesn’t mean love ends.”

Renee rose to her feet, smoothing the silk of her skirt down her legs. “He’s pushing you away on purpose. And if you really love him, Sam, you won’t let him do it.”

* * *

It was just a half hour later when Samantha pulled herself together enough to rejoin the reception. She had cried for a long while. Trying to process all that Renee had told her. It was heartbreaking and awful, but still, she had no idea how to get through to someone who wouldn’t even look at her. Everyone was seated at their tables, being served their chosen meal of prime rib or lobster, and she took a seat next to Mark. He immediately poured her a glass of Chardonnay and pushed it across the table. “I was about to send out a search party. Where’d you disappear to?”

She took a large gulp of the offered drink. “The restroom,” she answered with a tight voice.

He glanced over to Tristan on the other side of the room. “Trouble in paradise?”

She nodded and pulled in a deep breath, but only glanced up for a moment, because she was afraid if she looked longer than that the tears would come again. “Can we talk about something else? I’m not feeling up to this right now.”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded and began cutting his steak. They continued eating their meals in silence, time passing as though she was in a fog, and before she knew it, her sculpture was being rolled out into the middle of the dance floor.

She knew it was coming, but at the same time she wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to stand in front of all Renee’s friends and family. Wasn’t ready for a thousand eyes to be watching her. But the DJ called her out on the dance floor, and she turned to Mark. “I don’t want to do this.” She whispered, but she rose from her seat anyway and collected the microphone from the podium.

She looked into the faces of all the guests. People she barely knew, but were about to see her at her most vulnerable. She turned around to face all of them, then glanced over to Renee, deciding she didn’t care what any of the guests thought. She was doing it for her best friend, her salt of the earth friend whose heart was bigger than anyone else’s.

Renee watched her, eyes and body at attention, waiting for her to speak. Samantha’s chest tightened, and all the tears she’d been holding rushed up to clog in her throat. She ran her hand along the length of the microphone cord, hoping energy or strength would miraculously enter her body. She owed Renee this. If nothing else, Renee deserved a speech from her maid of honor.

Samantha closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath before pulling the drape from the sculpture. The fabric fell to the ground, revealing a plethora of green, blue, and earth toned colors.

She turned back to Renee, meeting her best friend’s eyes as she took in the sculpture for the first time. It was of a ballerina, tall and beautiful, though it’s legs were twisted, fabricated into roots stuck deep into a ball of soil. Her arms were long, held over her head and growing up to the sky like limbs, covered in tiny, intricate leaves in a myriad of colors.

Samantha turned toward the audience and pulled in a breath. “I still remember the day I met Renee,” she began, staring through tear brimmed eyes to look at all the faces. “Her hair was up in one of those tight ballerina buns she wore all throughout grade school, and Ricky Jones had just stepped on her fingers. I instantly felt a connection.” She smiled softly, stretching out her hand to examine her knuckles. “I’m pretty sure I still have the scars from when he stepped on my hand only the day before.”

The crowd chuckled, and Renee’s lips curved in a soft smile. “But Renee was always different than me. Because, instead of worrying about herself, she helped Ricky up to his feet when he fell.” Her voice grew husky with emotion. “She’s always been like that. A harbor of strength. A sheltering tree to all those lucky enough to be loved by her. But she’s kind of crazy, too.” She nodded, causing the whole crowd to mumble with shock.

She glanced over to the seat she’d seen Tristan sitting in not five minutes earlier and found it empty, which caused her stomach to drop a few inches. She took a calming breath, turning to Renee again and straightening her shoulders.

“A few months ago, Renee called at midnight to tell me about a guy.” She raised her brows, indicating she wasn’t happy about being woken up so late. “He was wonderful, and perfect, and she was going out on a date with him. But four weeks later, after many phone calls in between, she told me she loved him.” The crowd began to chuckle, and Samantha cracked a tiny grin. “Quite frankly I was shocked, but who was I to judge?” She paused for a moment, shaking her head. “Then she told me she was going to marry him.” Samantha looked down, her heart so raw and open she may as well have been lying on an operating table. “I thought she was having one of her crazy moments—like literally had lost her mind. Because I’d spent six years with a man, and my heart still wasn’t open to the idea of forever.”

She looked up then, glancing around the crowd who had suddenly gone completely quiet. “How, in such a short time, did she know that she loved him?”

Everyone around her began adjusting in their seats, whispering, but she didn’t stop.

“You see, Renee and I are the same age. Born only two weeks apart. We’ve done everything together. Shared the same birthday parties, the same friends, same graduation. How could she be so frivolous with her heart to marry a man after such a short time?”

Gasps could be heard throughout the hall, and she looked into Renee’s eyes, her lips quivering with the tears she held onto so desperately. “But six days ago, I realized that Renee had it right the whole time. Because time isn’t a factor in matters of the heart. I can see now she’s given her whole heart to Phin. That she’s shown him her flaws, and let him really see her.” She looked toward the ground. “Because that’s how love works. That’s what I want. I don’t want perfect. I want flaws, and I want passion. I want someone to give me everything without holding back. Even the ugly pieces. Even the pieces hidden from everyone else.”

The audience hushed, and Samantha turned back to face them again, knowing Tristan was out there amongst them. Somewhere. “Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about doing things that scare you. Like giving your heart to someone after a few weeks, or a few days. When you find the right person, time stops.” She nodded and smiled at her best friend. “That’s what happened to Renee and Phin.” She placed the microphone back on the podium and whispered, “And that’s what happened to me.”

The crowd went silent, and she lifted her glass above her head. “To the bride and groom, and to love that is timeless.”

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses. Mark stood up, then lowered his head in a nod of respect. She could see he was proud of her, and frankly, she was proud of herself, too. Because she would have never done this a week ago. She wasn’t strong enough then.

Mark came toward the podium, placing his hand on her shoulder before whispering in her ear. “Good job, kid. The ball’s in his court.” He then relieved her from the spotlight, and had the whole room laughing before she made it to the bottom step.

She weaved between the tables, not intending to stick around. Because every last drop of her strength had been used up on that stage, and she needed to get out of there. First, she focused on getting to her table, then, gathering her things, putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and out. Because if she tried to focus on more than that, it was too overwhelming. She made it to her table without anyone noticing her, took a couple sips of wine as she gathered her things, but before she could turn away, an elderly man came forward to block her path.

“Is that piece yours?” he asked. His voice low and eloquent. He looked to be in his sixties, elegantly dressed, with a kind face.

Samantha glanced back to the sculpture near the dance floor and nodded her head. Light was bouncing off the tiny leaves and a few people had gathered around to examine it. “Yes,” she answered, trying to move around him again.

He stepped in front of her, eyeing her up and down curiously. He held out his hand in introduction. “My name is Henry Covington. I own a gallery downtown.”

She swallowed quickly, glancing up into his face in a daze.

He adjusted his stance, then took a sip of his dark drink and tilted his head. “Pieces like yours are exactly what I’ve been looking for, miss…?”

The wind left her lungs and she forgot how to speak—everything. Even her own name. This had been the darkest day of her entire life, and now this man stood in front of her, offering her a candle of hope. Tears brimmed her eyes and she looked down to her feet.

A woman with dark, silvery curls came to stand by his side and took hold of his arm.

“Dear, this is the young artist who made the sculpture,” he said, lowering his head to whisper in her ear like Samantha wasn’t right in front of them. They held a conversation about the detail, the artistry, and Samantha finally found her voice again.

“Samantha Smiles,” she cut in, holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

The older woman took her offered fingers, squeezing them softly. “It’s stunning, dear.” she confessed, “Simply stunning.”

Her husband placed a card into Samantha’s palm, then curled her fingers around the sharp edges. “It’s been a pleasure, Miss Smiles. Please call me, I’d love to chat.” He patted the top of her closed hand and turned to his wife. “I do look forward to your phone call, but if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to dance with my wife.” He then nodded his head once more and escorted Mrs. Covington to the dance floor.

Samantha returned quickly to the table, unable to process anything but goodbyes as she tucked the card away in her clutch.

She walked down the long hall to her room with her head held high, praying to God that Tristan had heard her, that maybe he was waiting for her at her room, but the closer she got, the more it became clear that he wasn’t.

She entered the dark room alone, where she slipped off her gown, letting it land as a puddle of fabric onto the floor. She crawled into bed with pins still in her hair and let the tears flow. Tomorrow she would go back to LA, she promised, and try to forget about the man who took her heart while she wasn’t paying attention. But tonight, she would allow herself to grieve. She would cry until her mouth went dry, until all her tears were spent, and hopefully when it was over, her heart wouldn’t hurt quite so badly.