Headstrong Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  Thatcher straightens up at her name. He hasn’t said anything, but I’m guessing he’s not the biggest fan of Jane communicating with Donnelly over him. Jane wants to give Donnelly the responsibilities that come with being the best man, and I appreciate that.

  “I’m good,” I say. “You guys? Luna?”

  They all nod.

  Donnelly stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember something. “I’ve got tissues, Tylenol…” He pats his pants pockets and takes out a couple items. “Chapstick, condoms.”

  My brows rise. “Why are you carrying around condoms?”

  “You know, in case you and Maximoff have a quickie after the ceremony. I’ve got you, man.”

  I nod with a growing smile. “You can mark that down as: shit that’s not happening. There’s no probability we’ll ditch our reception to go fuck in the bathroom.” I wouldn’t knock anyone for doing it, but we definitely want to wait.

  Oscar grins and pops a Cheeto in his mouth. “You hear that, Donnelly. Your emergency condoms are useless.”

  “Nah, man.” Donnelly slips the condom back in his pocket. “These are for you three then.” He looks between Oscar, Thatcher, and Luna. “In case you need them. I’ve got my guys and girl.” His eyes flit to Luna for a second longer.

  She smiles.

  Oscar laughs, “No way you have Moretti’s size in your pocket.”

  Donnelly focuses back on Oscar. “Thatch can double wrap it.”

  I can’t help it—I’m fucking cracking up.

  Thatcher shakes his head into a long blink. Stunned him silent. Going to be honest, it’s not that hard. My smile aches my cheeks, and in the next beat, we all return to getting ready.

  Luna slips back into the bathroom, where she left her heels.

  I stand in front of the mirror and take a breath. Oscar comes closer, studying me from head to toe. I look over at him.

  “In less than an hour, you’re going to be a married man, Redford.” He nods with a nostalgic smile like, this is it, what you’ve always wanted. Happiness glows in his brown eyes. “How does that feel?”

  “An hour too long.” I can’t lie. Nervous anticipation courses through me. I usually don’t have jitters. I step back from the mirror, for a fuller view, and I skim myself.

  I’m a doctor. I’ve trained my entire life to switch nerves into calm focus, but right now, my breath is short with this strange, jumpy expectancy.

  Shit.

  The three guys share a look with one another.

  “No, don’t do that,” I tell them. “I’m perfectly fine without you three silently worrying.”

  “We’re not worried,” Thatcher says, arms weaving over his chest. His lip edges up.

  “But you are sweating,” Oscar chimes in.

  Fuck, I touch my forehead. Sure enough, moisture lands on my fingertips.

  “Here, man.” Donnelly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He passes the cloth to me, and I pat my forehead.

  I return the handkerchief. “I’m just jittery.” I massage my hands. “Feels like a thousand things are flapping in my fucking stomach.”

  Oscar pops another Cheeto in his mouth. “We call those butterflies, Redford.”

  “No shit.” I widen my eyes. “Make them stop.”

  “Can’t.” Donnelly checks his phone. “You’re about to get married.”

  “They’re not optional,” Oscar says.

  Thatcher’s quiet. A stern, serious look on his face. Honestly, I feel like if I asked him, he’d murder the butterflies for me.

  “Jane said they’re leaving for the venue in five minutes. We’ve gotta be out in five too,” Donnelly announces, sliding his phone back in his pocket.

  Getting closer.

  I inhale a strong breath, and my smile returns at full force.

  Here we go, wolf scout.

  44

  MAXIMOFF HALE

  I’m not spacing out.

  I’m here.

  I’m here.

  So damn present, so I can look back and remember every detail, every ordinary, romantic, and miraculous thing.

  My grooms party and I are lined up outside for the ceremony.

  Trellises hide us from the rows and rows of white chairs and arriving guests. Ivy cascades like green waterfalls down the trellises, orange marigolds and blue hydrangeas peeking out of the lush green foliage.

  Farrow and I decided on colors that reminded us of water and the sunset, which fit perfectly for the venue.

  The grassy cliff is like the world’s edge. Overlooking the crystal-clear sea that caresses the rocks. A gorgeous lighthouse resides at the rim. And I’ve already seen the ivy, floral wedding arch.

  My destination.

  I blow out a breath.

  While the trellises conceal us on the left side of the guests, I can’t see them or the identical trellises on the right side where Farrow and his grooms party wait.

  But I hear soft chatter growing louder.

  Jane glimpses furtively out, carrying a bouquet with the same orange and blue flowers.

  This morning, I kissed her cheeks and said, “Bonjour, ma moitié.”

  She couldn’t even say the routine thing back. She burst into tears. Janie could feel how fucking happy and overwhelmed I am. And I could feel how happy she is for me.

  I love her, and I can’t imagine doing this without her here.

  Jane hides back behind the ivy trellises, turning to me. “They’re all seated.” Her eyes sparkle. She’s dressed in a white jumpsuit, her normally frizzed hair perfectly coiled into soft ringlets.

  They’re all seated.

  This is it.

  I imagine about two-hundred guests filling the chairs and waiting. Production crew has been darting around with cameras all day.

  I make sure I’m in one piece. Yeah. Haven’t obliterated yet. I’m just dressed in black slacks and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled. Casual and simple.

  “We have a couple more minutes before the procession starts,” Jane tells me. “Do you need anything until then?” She smiles so brightly. Her excitement has been a current throughout the day, passing from her to me.

  “No,” I say, and deeply, I tell her, “Thank you.” She put this together. Did pretty much all the work.

  She fights tears. “You don’t need to thank me. You’re my best friend. It’s my honor.” She wafts her face. “Oh God.”

  I run my thumb under her eye as a tear drips.

  “Merci.”

  I’m holding back surging emotion.

  Do not turn into a maple tree.

  “Oh no. Jane,” Kinney hisses.

  Our heads veer towards the front of the line. To Kinney.

  “The strap of my dress just broke,” my little sister says. “It’s white. It’s revolting against me.”

  Sulli helps hold the dress in place. “No way. You look fucking gorgeous, Kinney.”

  Xander mutters, “It’s the Hale Curse.”

  My dad noticeably stiffens beside me. I think this might actually be the first time he’s heard about the curse. Great.

  Jane flashes me a look. “Don’t stress, old chap. Everything is under control.” She’s already flagging down an assistant from the wings, and she leaves the line, just as I hear, “We need the sewing kit.”

  My brain buzzes a million miles a minute. I’m about to marry my childhood crush. Yeah, my brain is trying to ride that thought to the clouds.

  I’m here.

  Present moment, me.

  Marriage material, me.

  About to see Farrow Redford Keene, me.

  My pulse thumps faster, stronger, and no matter how many breaths I blow out, I feel…nervous.

  My dad squeezes my shoulder. I glance over at him, and his amber eyes carry this peaceful reassurance.

  “You only have one job, bud.” A trademarked dry smile inches across his lips. “Make it to the altar. And lucky for you, if you pass out, I can just carry you there.”

  I don’t
know—I’m smiling. “You’re joking, but it might actually happen, Dad.”

  A rare warm look crosses his face. “I felt that way, too. It’ll pass once you see him.”

  Once I see him.

  Him. He means Farrow. We’ve been apart since this morning, seems more like an eternity, and it’s hard to even imagine looking into his eyes at this point. Honest to God, I feel like my joints are rusted. Like my body parts don’t work right. And I need him to help me feel light again.

  I can almost hear him say, Relax, relax.

  I breathe in.

  The sky rumbles, and everyone looks up. Gray clouds amassing. “It might not rain,” Jane reassures, slipping back in line as an assistant sews Kinney’s dress.

  I don’t think, I just say, “It’s alright if it does.”

  Standing here, today, I feel and know that it’s perfect. It’d be imperfectly perfect under any doomsday. As long as he’s with me.

  Music begins to play.

  Guests fall quiet as an extended version of “Show Me Love” by Hundred Waters flows through the summer air.

  I blow out the umpteenth breath.

  The procession begins. Sulli leads and Kinney and Xander follow right behind. Jane gives me one quick smile before she’s off. And my dad hooks an arm through mine.

  This is really it.

  We walk forward, beyond the trellises, and I’m not looking straight ahead at the crystal-blue coast or at the ivy arch. I’m not looking at the lighthouse on the cliffside. I’m not even looking at the rows of standing guests, all dressed in casual white.

  I turn my head to the right. Instinctively. Expectantly. I look across the wicker chairs to the other procession line.

  And he’s already looking at me.

  Farrow smiles that knowing smile, one that says, you can’t take your eyes off me, wolf scout.

  I try looking forward, but no part of my stubborn soul wants to abandon his gaze.

  I can’t.

  He realizes, and his chest rises as he walks. Same exact pace as me. Our eyes crash together again, and I’m weightless.

  Oxygen floods my lungs. I move freely, joints oiled. My gaze sears raw as the chorus to the song bleeds into the air.

  And Farrow tries to glance forward.

  He can’t either.

  He’s drawn back by a magnetic pull, and he stares at me like I’m the only person on the cliffside. Longingly. With deep affection. He’s dressed head-to-toe in black, his hair the same jet-black hue as the day I met him, and he has that cool, casual stride.

  I’m smiling.

  Christ, everyone is watching us. We’re only watching each other. Each step, I come closer and closer to reaching him.

  My dad was joking about carrying me to the altar, but I’m almost a hundred percent relying on him to guide me there. Because I still can’t take my eyes off Farrow.

  His teasing smile only stretches wider.

  I never want to forget that smile. Not for as long as I live. Bury me in the ground with these memories. Send me to the underworld with his face engrained in my head. I’d be a happy man.

  We reach the first row, and we round the seated guests.

  Farrow is out of sight for a blink. Hidden behind the line of groomsmen and women, right before they stand on either side of the arch.

  I inhale a stronger breath, my heartbeat beating double-timed. My head feels too light. Floating off my body.

  I glance at my dad. Wondering if I will fucking pass out.

  He gives me a sharp look and whispers, “Breathe, Moffy.”

  Breathe. Didn’t think of that.

  I take another breath and then I see him again. He’s kissing Ripley on the head, my mom carrying our son on her hip.

  Farrow smiles at me while he gives my mom a hug.

  “Moffy.” My dad’s voice pulls me, and he wraps an arm around my shoulder. I hug him tight, and before I can tell him I love him, he whispers, “You’ve made me so goddamn proud to call you my son.”

  Jesus. Emotion swells up, closing my throat. All I can do is nod.

  He strolls over to his first-row seat next to my mom. She blots fingers at her watery eyes, and my Aunt Daisy passes a pack of tissues.

  Oscar leaves the groomsmen line and waits underneath the arch.

  He’s officiating.

  And I walk closer to the groom.

  Farrow walks closer to me, his jet-black hair blowing in the warm coastal breeze. His eyebrow piercing rises as he gives me that look. You know the one.

  He’s the most beautiful sight in Capri, on this island. In every universe.

  We finally close the distance, meeting in the middle, and we breathe in together. The same time I reach for his hand, he clasps my palm.

  His tattooed fingers slide along my knuckles. Transfixing me. I watch his thumb run over the black tungsten band, still on my finger.

  “Maximoff,” Farrow whispers, and I glance up. His eyes are already reddened, on the cusp of emotion that burrows deep inside me. His mouth curves up. “You okay?”

  I lick my lips, feeling my smile. “Yeah. You?”

  He smiles more. “Yeah—” Lightning cracks the sky. Guests take their seats and murmur, everyone studying the clouds.

  And then, rain falls.

  Farrow and I share a smile as we’re doused with water, even as people shriek and Jane calls out, “Umbrellas are under the chairs!”

  We pull each other closer, my chest brushing his chest. Rainwater drenches his hair, beads down his jaw, and kisses his smile.

  Thunder booms, and Farrow laughs into this overwhelmed expression, “Looks like you made an appearance after me.”

  The thunder, I realize. He’s bringing up what I said to him at the car crash.

  I swallow, my heart filling and eyes welling. The storm washes tears that slip down my cheeks.

  “Redford, you want an umbrella?!” Oscar shouts over another flash of lightning.

  Farrow never looks away from me. “No, I’m good.”

  My chest swells.

  “Maximoff?” Oscar asks.

  “I’m good too.”

  We’ve always been headstrong, and there’s nothing I’d want more than to stand in the pouring rain with Farrow on our wedding day.

  Clear umbrellas pop up with whooshing sounds, and rain pings the plastic in melodic harmony.

  Farrow’s black button-down suctions to his skin, and we squint and smile through the sheets of rain, spilling harder.

  Oscar grips an umbrella, staying dry. I’m not positive if guests will be able to hear him. Or us, but strangely, the rain transforms this moment to a quiet, soft, and private one.

  He addresses the crowd but looks at us as he says, “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the love and union between Maximoff and Farrow.” Oscar grins. “I’m keeping this short and sweet. I know they have vows they want to get to.”

  Through the rain, Farrow lifts his brows at me in a teasing wave.

  I restrain nothing. I smile back.

  Oscar continues, “If you really know these two men, then you know they’re who you call on when you’re at your lowest. When nothing is going right, you just know they’ll be there. One text, one call, no questions.” Thunder crackles. “They’re two of the most selfless men, and I can’t name two other people who are more perfect for each other. Their tenderness together can breathe life back into a body.” He takes a pause. “I’ve witnessed that firsthand.”

  It dawns on me that Oscar was there at the crash site. He saw us together on the highway, that private moment, and it rushes up in me.

  “I’m honored to be here to finally make this official.” Oscar smiles. “And so everyone can see your devotion to each other, even in the rain.”

  Farrow’s carriage rises. Affection wrapping around us. Sheltering us.

  “Without any further wait,” Oscar announces, “the grooms have prepared vows.” The storm lets up just a bit, enough that his voice seems louder.

  That word—
vows—pulls my attention. I’ve thought a lot about what I’d say, but more so about saying romantic, private stuff in front of a crowd.

  Farrow told me that we didn’t have to write our own, but he deserves to hear my words from me.

  I’m not afraid.

  “I’ll go first,” I tell Farrow.

  He nods, an amused grin spreading. “I’ll let you.”

  I still can’t help it, I smile. “Thanks for that.”

  “Anytime.”

  A light chuckle breezes through the guests, and then Farrow rubs water off his face, eyelashes collecting beads, and he looks me over more seriously. Surprise shoots up his brows. “You didn’t write it down?” he asks under his breath.

  Another bolt flashes, and rain descends heavier again. I tell him, “I’ve learned a thing or two from some guy I know.”

  “Some guy,” he repeats.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Don’t overthink it. Just say what I feel, what comes to mind.”

  He lets out a breath. Raw fondness spindles between us.

  I brush water out of my eyes. “I’m going to quote a philosopher, just to warn you, man,” I say softly.

  Farrow’s gaze sinks into me. “I was hoping you would.”

  Goddamn.

  My eyes burn, and I blink back tears. I think about Plato, and I say, “‘Love is born into every human being: it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature.’—I never understood this quote until I met you. Until you filled the incomplete parts of me.” Tears surge up and drip down my jaw, mixing with rainwater. “I was empty. So empty, and I didn’t even know it, Farrow.” That strikes me. How I could’ve gone my whole life without him. Without knowing what this feels like.

  I can’t stop crying. I don’t want to. “You’re the person that my soul has been searching for because my head was too stubborn to do it.”

  He smiles, a wide breathtaking one. Emotion digs into my chest.

  “Farrow, I love you.” Lightning cracks the sky, and I’m not sure he heard me. So I scream it, “I love you!”

  His grin practically explodes. “I love you, too.”

  Our knees knock together, foreheads almost touching, and I whisper, “Your turn.”

  He laughs into a smile. “Wolf scout.” His reddened eyes stroke my features. “You said that you didn’t know how empty you felt until you met me.” His fingers tighten on mine.