“My bad.”
My mom rolls her eyes. “I was saying, during the ceremony, your dad will be on the end and then me, followed by your grandparents.”
“No, that doesn’t work for me.”
Mom looks back and forth between Kelly and Dani before turning her attention back to me.
“W
ell, I mean it all works, but I want an empty chair on the end, and then Dad can sit next to that.”
A gasp escapes Dani, and she quickly covers her mouth as she understands what I want the empty chair for.
“An empty chair?” Kelly asks.
I nod and cross my arms; this is one thing I am not willing to compromise on. “Yes, I want to leave a chair for Em.” The emotion threatens to come up just like many of my meals did during the first trimester. “It’s important to me. All I want is for my brother to be there, and since he…”
I try to fight the tears, but it’s a never-ending battle these days with my pregnancy hormones so crazy. I back up from my chair and begin to pace the kitchen, and the room starts to shrink in size.
“You know what? No, that color doesn’t work for me either.” I point to the color swatch we had just decided on. “And why the hell can’t we have macaroni and cheese at the reception? It’s my wedding, and I can do whatever I want.” I don’t mean to raise my voice, but I can’t help it. At this moment, I am thankful our dads, Kyler, and Zach are downtown at the boat show and not here to see my outburst. “And if I want to have an empty chair for my brother? Then I’m going to have an empty chair.” I stop in my tracks, and my breath quickens.
It all begins to hit me at once. I need air. I turn on my heels and quickly run out the front door, leaving my mom, future mother-in-law, and best friend in my wake. Once on the front porch, I attempt to catch my breath. I feel a hand grip my shoulder.
I look over my shoulder to see eyes so much like the ones of the man I love.
“Hails, are you all right?”
I turn away. “I’m sorry, I just needed some air. Can you tell my mom and Kelly I’m sorry—I just need some time to myself.”
She gives me a brief smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes like it usually does these days. Before I know it, I hear the door click, and I am alone on the front porch to drown in my own thoughts. I look up to the sky. Damn it, Emmett, why did you have to leave?
I sit on the front porch swing, with my hands on my belly and eyes closed as I rock back and forth. I’ve since managed to get my breathing under control, but I wish Zach were back from the boat show already.
As if he had appeared out of nowhere, I hear, “Hey baby, what’s going on?”
I open my eyes and meet his, instantly feeling better. I hop off the swing—or, well, as quickly as I can, and rush to his arms. His arms are around me, and my lips are on his as soon as we are close enough. A moment later, I pull back, confused.
“Why aren’t you at the boat show? Where’s everyone else?”
“My sister called me. She’s worried about you—they all are. She said you had an anxiety attack. I left and came straight home. Talk to me, Hails. What’s going on?”
He leads me back to the swing, and I settle next to him. The emotions threaten to come back up, and I swallow them down.
“It’s just too much. All this planning. I was just overwhelmed by it all.” I look away toward the driveway.
Zach furrows his brows and draws my attention back to him. “Did something happen?”
I exhale and blink, letting the unshed tears spill. “We were talking about food and colors and seating arrangements and it just really hit me that Em won’t be there. I know we talk about it all the time, but it’s just so real.”
Zach cradles my head to his chest, running his hands down my back.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Just breathe.”
He lets me break down and cry in his arms. This man is everything I never knew I wanted, never knew I needed, yet he was always standing right in front of me. When the pain of losing my brother gets to be too much, Zach is there to pick up the pieces of my broken heart and mend them back together.
With his head against the top of mine, he presses a kiss to my hair. “I wanna take you somewhere.”
“Where?” I sit up, brushing the tears away.