by J. L. Berg
I’d learned to move past my guilt, the all-consuming raw fear that my every action had caused that accident to happen that night. If I hadn’t introduced us to the group at the club, if we hadn’t stayed and followed them to their home, if I’d only gone back to the hotel when Megan asked, if we hadn’t been drunk . . . there were so many factors, so many reasons, and I’d decided it all came down to one guilty party—myself.
But over time, after much healing, I’d learned that blaming myself would never bring her back, and living in the mountain of regret I’d built around myself would never solve anything. Would Megan be happy to learn I’d given up my life as well?
So, I’d freed myself from the shackles I’d sentenced myself to and learned to live again—with Lailah.
But some things never change, and the idea of drinking scared me to death, especially since I’d been entrusted with the greatest gift on earth. If anything happened to Lailah because of me, I didn’t think I could live with myself. When it came to her, I could never be reckless.
As our drinks arrived and greasy burgers and French fries were ordered, we made our way over to an empty pool table and began setting up our first game.
“So, seeing as I’ll be a married man in a few hours,” I said as I rubbed a little blue chalk along the tip of my pool stick, “how about you entertain us with a few stories about my beautiful bride, Marcus? Tell me something I might not know.”
His motions mimicked my own as he readied his pool stick, and then he began to collect the scattered balls that had fallen into the pockets from a previous game.
“Hmm . . . let me think,” he answered, placing each ball into the triangular form before sliding it up to the silver marker on the table.
Each painted ball rolled and spun around as they made their way across the green felt. He lifted the triangle and centered himself, leaning over to take in the perfect position.
Crack.
The balls flew perfectly across the table, and several immediately fell into pockets.
“Damn, man. Give us a chance.” Brian laughed.
Marcus smirked as he walked around to find another angle. “Did she ever tell you that she went through a rather impressive Twilight phase a few years back?”
I nodded. “Well, she didn’t exactly tell me. It was more like I found the mound of books, DVDs, and even an Edward doll in a box shoved in the back of the closet. Do they really sparkle?”
“I’m afraid so. She made me stay late one night after my shift, and we watched every single one—or at least the ones that were out. When I asked where their fangs were, she hushed me and said to keep watching.”
“She’s moved on, and now, she makes me watch The Vampire Diaries every week.”
“Oh, I remember. She pulled me into that a few times. Just be glad they don’t sparkle.”
“Are we playing pool or turning into teenage girls?” Brian asked, raising his pool stick in the air for effect.
I laughed and motioned for Marcus to continue his turn. He knocked around a few more balls, but none scored, so it was my turn.
“Here’s something you might not know. When she was younger, there was a time when she had to sleep with the aid of an oxygen tank. She’s always had to use one from time to time, but around when she was seven, it became a nightly ritual.”
I frowned, trying to imagine my angel, young and frail, chained to a bed each night, breathing through an oxygen mask.
“After about two weeks, she became so angry—with me, her mother, and even the noisy metal tank by her bedside. At seven, she’d endured more than most had in a lifetime, and I think she’d just decided it was enough. It was one of the few times Molly ever reached out for me for non-medical help when it came to Lailah.”
I took my turn, barely interested in the game anymore, and it was soon Brian’s turn. Taking a sip from my soda I sat down and listened to Marcus as he continued his story.
“I ended up calling one of my buddies up at the Children’s Hospital at Stanford. I knew Molly asking me for help was huge. It meant that she trusted me beyond the realm of a doctor-patient relationship. This was something she was asking of a family member, and I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“With a bit of borrowed advice from my friend, I showed up at their apartment with balloons and dress-up clothes in hand. Molly opened the door and thought I’d gone insane. I was wondering the same as I entered Lailah’s bedroom and found her sitting there, curiously staring up at me. When I told her we were going to meet a new friend, her eyes perked up and darted to the door. They immediately fell when I explained that this friend was someone she already knew but just hadn’t been properly introduced to.”
“The oxygen tank?” I guessed.
He nodded, taking his second shot, having already sunk a few balls in his first turn. Then, he darted across the table to land a few more. “I explained to her that her oxygen tank was a superhero, and it had a big job to do—to keep her alive. I said that, sometimes, superheroes had to go into the real world in disguise, so I was there to help give her oxygen tank the superhero look he or she deserved. We spent the entire evening decorating that tank and giving it a name. She happily spent the rest of the summer with Oxy the Oxygen Tank. We’d secretly switch the outfit every time the tank needed to be replaced, and she never complained again.”
“Oxy, huh?” I grinned.
“Yep. She was seven,” he added.
“I like it.”
Within minutes, Marcus had crushed Brian and me, and just in time, the food arrived. Brian and I weren’t willing to risk a rematch, so we all squeezed back into our booth and began scarfing down what had to be the best burger I’d had in months.
“Damn, you know how to pick ’em,” I said to Marcus in between bites. I paused to breathe. Even the fries were perfection—crispy and dark brown with just the right amount of seasoning.
“It’s one of my many talents. Hearts and food—that’s about all I’m good for.” He laughed.
“I doubt that,” I said before taking a long drink of soda.
Marcus had been there for Lailah through her entire life, standing by her when her own father hadn’t. He’d been the father his brother never could be. Oxy the Oxygen Tank might have worn the tiny cape night after night in that little girl’s bedroom, but it surely wasn’t the only superhero in Lailah’s life over the years.
And now, she’d become the hero of her own story.
After another game of pool where Marcus managed to crush Brian and me once again, we headed a bit farther down the street for a last-minute shave. It had been creeping up to the three o’clock mark, and I had begun to get antsy, but the guys had insisted—saying that if we headed back now, I’d do nothing but dive into my suit and begin pacing back and forth across the floor until we had to leave for the church at five.
They were both right. It would take me less than twenty minutes to get ready. No primping was involved for the groom. I’d just have to throw on a nice tailored coat and tie along with a new pair of shoes, and I would be ready to go.
Another distraction was exactly what I needed.
The place Marcus had chosen was definitely his style more than mine. An old red-and-white striped pole stood proudly outside the ancient parlor that had probably been around since my grandfather roamed the city. As we walked in, I inhaled deeply and got a whiff of aftershave and cologne.
A man sat high up in a chair with his head leaned back. His entire face was wrapped in steaming towels as the barber attended to another man at the counter. The cash register dinged and sprang open, reminding me of a place my mother used to take me to for ice cream when I was a child. Made of solid metal with gold lettering, the old piece of machinery didn’t even plug into the wall. It was probably older than all three of us combined.
“Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?” the elderly barber asked while walking back to his steaming client.
I watched as he unwrapp
ed the towels to reveal dewy pink skin and a relaxed happy face.
“We were hoping you might be able to do a couple of shaves today?” Marcus inquired.
He nodded, pumping the hydraulics on the chair a few times to bring the man down to his eye-level.
“Sure can. Special occasion?” he inquired.
“This man is going to become my son-in-law today,” Marcus stated proudly, patting me on the back.
My face curled into a half grin as I felt his fingers gripping my shoulder. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the love this man had for me. I felt undeserving of it, yet I never wanted to let go of a single drop of the overwhelming joy he had when he looked at me with such pride.
“Well, that is quite a celebration. Can’t show up at your wedding without a proper shave. Give me a minute to finish up Dale here, and I’ll be right with you.”
The three of us headed to the old plastic chairs over in the corner to take our seats. I snickered a bit when I saw Brian’s eyes go wide as he sat down and felt the legs wobble slightly. Like the owner, everything in this establishment was old, including the rinky-dink chairs we were occupying. I wasn’t sure they were used to holding a former high school linebacker like Brian. Hell, even my chair was bowing a little, and I hadn’t been hitting the gym nearly as often as I once had.
After several minutes of small talk and flipping through ten-year-old car magazines, the formerly pink-skinned man was now making his way out the door.
“Now, which one of you is up first? The groom?”
Marcus nodded, and I leaped to my feet, ready for my own form of wedding-day pampering. The man ushered me to the barber chair, his eyes darting to my hair. After a cursory check, he must have decided it was decent enough to meet my bride later that evening because he didn’t say anything further as he proceeded with just the shave.
“You ever have any relatives come by my shop?” he asked as he grabbed the hot towels from a nearby bin.
“Uh . . . no, I don’t believe so,” I answered his odd question, arching my brow in confusion.
“It’s just, you look like a guy who used to come by here about fifteen years ago. I never forget a client or a face. It’s why I’ve stayed in business for so long. You don’t see too many barber shops around New York these days. It’s all salons and cookie cutter shops. But not me. I’ve made it because I remember people, and my clients respect me for it. And you look just like this guy . . . Stevens—that was his name. He came in here once a month for about a year and then disappeared. I never saw him again. But if I could place a bet on it, I’d say you were his twin—or son. Spitting image, I tell you. Spitting image.”
“Sorry,” I answered. “The only male relative I had around here fifteen years ago was my father, and his last name wasn’t Stevens.”
He shrugged. “Well, I guess everyone’s got a twin.”
The hot towel went over my head, and he told me to sit back and relax. For once that day, I actually did.
In just a few short hours, I’d be standing at the end of an aisle as I watched Lailah walking toward me, ready to become my wife—forever.
WE ALL STOOD back, looking up at it and just stared.
“It’s so pretty.” Grace sighed, looking over at her sleeping son, who had been delivered to us earlier that afternoon by Brian.
Apparently, my husband-to-be was antsy and needed guy time, and that didn’t include babies.
“It’s not too fluffy?” I asked as my eyes darted back and forth to the gobs of fabric hanging from the dress as I tried to remember how I’d looked in it during my last fitting.
My hands nervously wrapped around the silken waist of my robe. Spending years in nothing more than T-shirts and sweats, it was hard to gaze up at something so stunning and imagine me inside of it.
“Heavens no. When it comes to bridal gowns, there’s no such thing. It’s perfect,” Grace replied.
When a girl had spent the majority of her life believing she’d never get married, let alone see adulthood, stepping into a bridal salon to pick out a wedding dress was an event to remember. Sure, it was a big day for anyone, but for me, it’d signaled a turning point. I was no longer Lailah, the girl everyone pitied. I was Lailah Buchanan, future wife to Jude Cavanaugh. As far as I was concerned, I was the luckiest female on the planet.
Okay, maybe every woman felt that way as she stepped into a bridal salon, but I was sure most of them knew from an early age that they’d eventually meet that wonderful man and find themselves planning the wedding of their dreams.
I’d never had such lofty plans in my life.
I’d only dreamed of surviving.
And now, I had.
When I’d stepped into that beautiful bridal store and looked around at the twinkle and glitz of pearls and diamonds sparkling from every shimmery corner, I’d suddenly become that little girl who had never gotten to plan her dream wedding.
I’d picked out the biggest, puffiest ball gown I could fathom, and I had spent an embarrassingly long amount of time in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, twirling and just looking at myself. Eventually, smiles had become tears and then sobs as I realized what this moment meant.
I’d survived. I had made it through to the other side, and now, I was here, living the life most people took for granted.
My mother and Grace had wrapped their arms around me, nodding, telling me I’d never looked so beautiful. I hadn’t bothered with trying on any other dresses. I’d had my bridal moment, or whatever they called it.
And here I was, standing in front of my dress, ready to put it on for real.
There were no more fittings, no more sneaking into the office closet just so I could catch a glimpse of its organza layers and remember what they’d looked like while falling down around my body like beautiful sheets of snow.
This was all actually happening, and now, I just needed to realize I was deserving of it.
“So, are you ready to put it on?” my mom asked, reaching up to unhook the hanger from the top of the closet.
“Yes!” I nearly squeaked in excitement.
They both laughed as I dropped my robe, and I watched as they carefully unzipped the back.
“That’s not what you’re wearing underneath, is it?” Grace asked, her head doing a double take as she caught sight of me standing in my simple white satin underwear and matching strapless bra.
“Um . . . yes. Why?” I asked, now feeling self-conscious.
My hands moved to cover my stomach, but she batted them away.
“Oh, stop. I’m just commenting on the fact that it’s a little . . . well, underwhelming.” She smiled.
“And virginal,” my mom added with a laugh.
I looked down at what I had on and frowned. “It’s white and satin,” I answered with a huff. “I got it at the bridal salon!”
“Oh, honey. I knew this would happen. Hold on,” Grace said, raising a single finger in the air, issuing a virtual pause on our conversation.
I gazed over at my mother who still held the dress, midway through unzipping it, and she just shrugged. Obviously, she wasn’t in on this little adventure. Comments were her only contribution.
I turned to see Grace shuffling through her enormous suitcase, hunched over with her butt raised high in the air, as she dangled on one heel, trying to somehow be ladylike in her emerald-green dress. The view was quite hilarious.
“Aha! Found it,” she announced, pulling out a pink bag and shoving it in my direction.
“Pink. Should have known.” I rolled my eyes.
“Just the bag.” She laughed.
I opened it and found a mass of tissue paper surrounding delicate white lacy lingerie. I pulled it out, feeling my cheeks redden instantly, and I held it up for closer observation. “Is this a—”
“Thong? Yes, hon.”
I was fairly sure my gulp was audible. My eyes widened as Grace’s laughter filled the room. I looked to my mother, who was joining in on the fun as well.
�
�I might just have a heart attack right here, new heart be damned,” I muttered.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s fine. Very tasteful.”
“Okay, but try not to look, Mom.”
Her face curled into a smirk as she made a valiant effort to contain the giggles. “Okay.”
I quickly changed, swapping my sensible satin boy shorts for the barely there lace thong Grace had bought me. When she had been with me a few weeks ago, I’d purchased a few things for the honeymoon but nothing too risqué and definitely nothing that went up my butt. Jude and I had been together for a while now, but I was still very much a newbie when it came to certain things—and apparently, dental-floss lingerie was something I could add to that list.
In addition to the new sexy panties, Grace had also purchased a new strapless bra for me.
I eyed it warily.
“It’s a push-up. Believe me, you’ll thank me later.”
“Will I still fit? I mean, I was fitted to my dress with this bra on,” I said, looking down at my regular non-push-up satin bra.
“Yes, the girls will fit, and they’ll look amazing.”
“The girls?” I asked, quickly turning to change.
“Yes, treat them with a little respect, Lailah. They’re the only two you get.”
I circled back around and watched her eyes bug as they zeroed in on my chest.
“Whoa. Tell Jude he can send my thank-you flowers anytime.”
I looked down and nearly gasped. “Are you sure this is decent? I mean, they’re nearly poking me in the eyes!”
The sound of my mother’s snickering filled the air.
“Oh, hush. They are not. You don’t have nearly enough down there to poke an eye out. Besides, by the time we get the dress on you, it will be just enough cleavage,” Grace commented.
“Just enough?”
“Yes. Church cleavage—not too much, not too little, just right.”
I rolled my eyes and maybe snorted just a bit. “Okay, Goldilocks.”
Moving across the room, careful to cover my backside around my mother, I stood in front of her as she held my dress and took a deep breath.
