That in her heart she knows without a shadow of a doubt that if I could turn back time, I’d choose her.
Her sharp exhale is my only response for a while.
Then she lifts her chin. Her gaze darts over every inch of my face before colliding with mine. “I do now.”
My hand snakes around her waist and I kiss her.
It’s honest and vulnerable. An apology for the mistakes I’ve made and a pledge that I’ll never destroy what she’s given back to me.
It’s an oath. A vow.
“Marry me,” I repeat.
This time, she finally gives me what I want.
“Okay.”
As much as I’d like to stay here worshiping her mouth, we don’t have a lot of time.
I saw how devastated she was when she realized her father wouldn’t be there to watch her get married, but I’m gonna make it happen.
“I’ll be right back.”
Confusion clouds her expression. “Where are you going?”
“To find a priest.” I turn to Mrs. Palma, who’s still standing by the door…sniffling. “They have one of those here, right?”
She dabs her eyes with a tissue. “Yes, there are hospital chaplains.”
“Wait,” Lennon squeaks. “You want to do this now?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Lennon. The sooner it starts, the better.”
I start to head out, but then it hits me that I’m missing a crucial step.
One that would be important to both Lennon and her dad if the circumstances were different.
My chest constricts as I look at him.
I won’t be able to sit down man-to-man and get his blessing to marry his daughter.
Hell, he’d probably tell me to fuck off, and I can’t fault him for that.
But I make him a promise anyway.
One I’ll never break.
I’ll always take care of her.
CHAPTER 76
PHOENIX
Approximately ten seconds after the chaplain pronounced us man and wife Lennon’s father passed.
It was almost as if he knew I’d honor my promise and she’d be in good hands.
Consoling my new bride while she fell apart in my arms on what would typically be the best day of someone’s life wasn’t easy, but there’s a reason we stuck to the traditional vows that included the words, ‘for better, for worse.’
Although I did make an addendum to mine. ‘To love and to cherish…and to never steal from again’, which confused the minister and made Lennon shake her head before the faintest hint of a smile peeked out.
That was four days ago.
Today…is the funeral.
Lennon tried to pull herself together as best as she could to plan it, but when it came time to pick out caskets, she completely crumbled.
And she hasn’t been the same since.
Fortunately, Mrs. Palma and Skylar took over the arrangements.
I’ve only gone to one of these things before—Josh’s—but the service was nice.
The burial part? Not so much.
We were supposed to leave the cemetery a half hour ago, but Lennon keeps staring at the coffin…while everyone else keeps staring at me. No doubt wondering what the fuck to do since we’re supposed to be having an after-party—or gathering, according to Mrs. Palma—back at the house. Which is pretty fucking stupid if you ask me because why the fuck would you throw a party for someone who can’t attend?
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.
She doesn’t say a word. I’m not even sure if she’s aware I’m here.
I glance at Skylar, who nods before coming over and taking a seat next to Lennon. As my publicist, she’s still pissed, but as my friend—and Lennon’s—she’s been nothing but supportive.
Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for Storm and Memphis.
The only reason they’re here is because of my wife.
I can’t blame them, though.
Not only did I drop a bomb that might also ruin their careers, I canceled the rest of the tour.
Which is why Chandler’s currently here.
“We need to talk,” he says as I make my way over to the cluster of people waiting for someone to direct them.
“I’m not changing my mind,” I grunt before closing in on Mrs. Palma, who’s conversing with some of the guests.
She politely excuses herself when she spots me.
“I’m not making Lennon go until she’s ready, so I think everyone should head out without us.”
She looks at Lennon, who hasn’t budged. “No problem. I’ll let everyone know they can follow me to the house and hold down the fort there.”
“Thank you.”
She touches my shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me.”
Grams approaches me after she leaves. “How are you, sweet pea?”
My face must convey how I feel because her brows furrow and her hands bracket my cheeks. “A rainbow always comes after the storm.”
Interesting analogy given her grandson—my best friend—fucking hates me.
“He won’t stay mad at you forever, and neither will Memphis. Brothers fight but at the end of the day, you’re still family.” Her eyes fill with sadness as she glances at Lennon. “Right now, you need to take care of your wife. Trust me, they’ll understand.”
I’m not so sure about that.
She nudges me. “Go on and talk to them before they leave.”
I’d rather stick a rusty screwdriver through my jugular, but she gives me another nudge. A harder one that draws the attention of a few people standing nearby. “Go on.”
I wouldn’t put it past the woman to grab me by my ear and drag me, so I save myself the trouble—and the embarrassment—and go over there myself.
Like me, they’re dressed in all-black Armani suits. The same ones we wore to Josh’s funeral.
I shove my hands in the pockets of my slacks. “Hi.”
Pushing his sunglasses up his nose, Memphis regards Storm. “Do you hear something?”
“Nah,” Storm grunts. “Unless you mean the backstabbing piece of shit who used to be our bandmate.”
The words sting, but at least I know exactly where they stand now.
I gave up everything to get the girl I love back, and that includes them.
“Thanks for coming,” I mutter before walking away.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Memphis snarls. “That’s all you have to say to us?”
“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Storm scoffs. “He’s always been a selfish prick.”
That does it.
Turning around, I glare at him. “Fuck you.”
Some woman placing flowers on a headstone the next row over casts me a dirty look.
Memphis narrows his eyes. “You’ve already fucked us enough, asshole.”
“Without lube,” Storm adds.
Dragging a hand down my face, I exhale sharply. “I didn’t mean—”
“Bullshit,” Storm interjects. “You know exactly what you did. You’ve known for years.”
He’s got me there. “I should have told you.”
Memphis lets out a humorless laugh. “Or maybe you could have just—I don’t know—not stolen our hit fucking song.”