“I feel it too,” he groans, ushering me in with a cursory glance both ways outside his door.
Old habits die hard.
“Not getting cold feet?” I have to ask, not even caring if he detects the edge in my voice.
It’s imperative you get married today, Rhys. Then fuck off for a week so I can claim what’s rightfully mine.
“Not cold feet. But maybe a cold,” he sniffs, turning to sneeze as I roll my eyes and look to the high, raw timber-beamed ceiling.
For fuck’s sake. What next?
“Probably that hike yesterday is all, old man,” I half-joke.
Rhys did seem to struggle with our little hike, even though I kinda forced a sprint for the last few miles.
“It wasn’t the hike,” he insists, throwing back some aspirin and sniffling again.
“You really are sick,” I observe, suddenly aware that if Rhys looks and acts this sick, he must be incredibly unwell compared to the average man, which he isn’t.
“I’ll make it,” he growls, gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes, focusing on something I can’t see, but something that’s driving him.
“You remembered the rings?” he asks, deliberately changing the subject and forcing a smile for my benefit.
“And the suit,” I assure him, patting my pocket and hooking a thumb back towards my truck parked outside.
“Why? You want me to get dressed now?” I ask. Wondering if he has a fever.
“We’ve got time,” he says, glancing at his watch.
It’s barely light out, and the ceremony isn’t until late afternoon.
I guess another hike is out of the question, but Rhys looks like he wants to talk.
Man to man.
Like I’ve said, we’ve never been the emotional types.
Marines usually show their feelings through actions, not words.
But Rhys has just a few words for me, some of his last as a single man.
“I know you don’t like her much,” he says, a matter of fact. Starting at the end of what I guess he has to say, but I know who he means.
Clara.
The future Mrs. Rhys Conner.
“I know you love her, and that’s all that matters,” is all I can say.
“I do,” Rhys says with a smile. “She’s everything I’m not.
“No Marine, you mean.” I correct him, making him smile.
“Correct,” he says, slapping me hard on the shoulder.
“That’s a part of my life, and you’re all that too, Reeve. But I’m starting something brand new here. I’d appreciate it if you could help me out by just being you. By being my friend and my Marine brother?” he asks, a little snot in his voice, but no emotion.
He’s not choking up over it.
Rhys is just checking that we’re still good, even though he’s chaining himself to something I’d probably step over rather than dive into.
Gripping his forearm with my hand, the topic is closed.
And he didn’t even mention—
“Y’know,” he adds. “I gotta tell you, Reeve. I was a little worried for a second there. I thought you might’ve actually had designs on Piper the way you’ve been carrying on the past few days,” he says, point-blank.
Not even noticing my reaction as he turns to find another aspirin.
I stay quiet, knowing better than to mouth off at the first sign of trouble.
Surprisingly, he leaves it at that, and I don’t do anything more than raise both eyebrows when he glances at me next.
Leaving him to make up his own mind about it.
I’m glad when I see it disappear from his train of thought.
For now.
The rest of our morning is spent over a hearty breakfast I fix for us both.
We talk about old times, about things nobody else could or ever should even have to try to understand.
“We’re good,” I finally remind him, noticing the hours slipping by. “And you have a wedding to get to,” I add.
Both of us easily get ready, looking the part in no time.
Every button gleaming. Every edge crisp.
Should’ve worn our uniforms… would’ve looked way better.
But I know Clara said no to that. I wanted to have the remaining men from our unit there.
But Clara said no.
It’s a small miracle she even agreed to have me as best man.
The past I represent for her. The parts of Rhys she’ll never comprehend.
It’s no wonder why I have to scratch my head every time I see the two of them together.
“Nervous?” The priest asks, looking from Rhys to me as we wait for the bridal party.
We glance at each other, mumbling something about being a little nervous, for his benefit.
The church is filled a few rows deep.
Nowhere near the number of guests originally invited.
Who the hell they all were is anyone’s guess. Something tells me Denise had something to do with the numbers.
But my mind’s not on Denise, Clara, or even Rhys for that matter.
It’s Piper I’m waiting for.
Already primed to claim her the minute we see the back of her mom and Rhys’s wedding car when they take off for their honeymoon.