Page 80 of Breaking Bristol

“Thanks, Daddy.”

He put me at arm’s length and took the tissue my mom handed him to wipe his face. “I ain’t even gonna make a joke about running away before it’s too late because I know that man up there would die for you. He almost did.” He cleared his throat, and Susie took a tissue from my mom, who apparently had a stash. “You have no idea how much it means to me that my name’s getting replaced by the only man’s who could love you more than me.”

“Okay, okay. Enough crying.” My mom waved her hands in the air. “Let’s get this show on the road. I need a drink.”

Dad gave me a squeeze and I kissed his cheek.

Paris, who had left her family’s corporation and became a wedding planner, moved us all in order. I had forced my friendship on her, and she finally let me in, but I still had no clue who she was under her tough exterior. She settled me next to my father and fussed with my bouquet then smiled at me. “You really are beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She turned around, but her foot must have gotten caught on something because she flew through the air. Scotty was like a superhero he moved so fast. He caught her before she face-planted, somehow flipped her around, and got her upright. The momentum had her slamming against him, their chests crushed together, her fingers bunched on his suit, and with his arm around her waist, her toes barely touched the floor so they were a hair’s breadth away.

“Holy shit,” Susie whispered.

We all felt the electricity sparking, and a solid fifteen seconds went by with them gazing into each other’s eyes before Paris gasped softly, then jumped back like she’d been zapped.

Scotty didn’t take his eyes off her as she regained her composure and wiped her hands on her skirt. She cleared her throat and went to stand by the door, still a bit rattled. Eventually, she snapped out of it and got down to business. Touching something in her ear, she spoke softly, and the music started. Paris pulled the door open and smiled at my mom. “Go ahead.”

Scotty escorted my mom to her seat, then took his place on the step by me. Susie stood up for Matthew. It was a little unconventional, but we didn’t care. We didn’t want a huge wedding party, but we did want a big wedding. So we decided on this, and it was perfect for us.

“Lucy, go.” Cheyenne’s little girl skipped down the aisle, threw flower pedals, and I heard a murmur of laughter.

I wasn’t supposed to be in front of the door, but I leaned past my father just in time to see her toss the last of the petals, then run up to Matthew and wrap her arms around him. His face, which used to be so full of torment when it came to her, was barely guarded now.

It was my idea to have Lucy be a flower girl even though all the articles said she was technically too old. I ran the idea by Cheyenne, and she loved it. Matthew wouldn’t even hear of it at first. But when we were at Lucy’s birthday party, I overheard Cheyenne talking to him, trying to convince him it was a good idea, a way to bring everything full circle so everyone could genuinely move on.

He gave in, and when Lucy released him and ran to her seat, the look on his face told me it was exactly the right thing to do.

Paris said my name, and I took a breath.

Then my father walked me down the aisle past our family and friends, and handed me off to the man who slayed my nightmares and made my dreams come true.

Matthew

Six months later.

I held my son in my arms and couldn’t believe he was mine. My tiny miracle, my flesh and blood. I loved Bristol more than I knew was possible, but what I felt for this two-hour-old baby was something that went deeper than my heart, I felt it in the marrow of my bones.

His name was Mikey. Not Michael, just Mikey. Mikey Charles Beckett. And he was beautiful.

“He looks like me,” my brother said. “Thank God.”

“Shut up.”

“You did good, Matty.”

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“Can’t wait to meet him.” I couldn’t talk through the knot in my throat. “It won’t be for a good long while, though.”

“I wish you were here.”

I barely heard him say, “Yeah.”

“Will you watch over him?” I asked.

“Him and the mini Bristols you will have after him.”