The Guy in the Middle (The Underdogs 3)

It’s the theme song she danced to years ago, the song that I thought would lead to the end of us. Within a few notes, I can clearly see Harper gliding across the floor of her old apartment, the snowdrift behind her, her angelic hair trailing her frame.

Determined to keep my shit together, I slowly inhale to steady myself.

And then she appears, knocking the fucking breath out of me.

Flowers in hand, walking slowly toward me down the aisle, her dress hugs her every curve and trails in a bed of soft lace behind her. Her hair is down, flowing over her shoulders. Glowing, her brown eyes dart along the pews as she greets everyone with a serene smile. She beams at them in welcome before her eyes drift over and find mine.

“Damn it, Priss,” I cough out as tears I can’t hold glide down my face. She’s perfect. In every fucking way. This love I feel for her has taken me to incredible heights, and right now, I feel the highest I’ve ever been. Her love has also pressed me, pushed me outside of being comfortable, built me up, tortured me, but not once has it ever left me. It’s the most spectacular fucking emotion imaginable and I could not, would not, have ever felt it like this if it wasn’t for her. Her tears spill freely down her cheeks as she pauses at the end of the aisle, the man who guided her pulling her into his arms and holding her there. His face soaked as he whispers to her before turning red-rimmed eyes to mine.

“I’ve got her. I swear to you.”

“I know you do,” her father says as he joins our hands together the way we rehearsed it last night. But in this moment, it means a whole hell of a lot more.

It’s been a long road of redemption for Ryan Elliot, and he’s still nowhere near together, but we’ve made peace for Harper. Though I don’t expect much of a relationship with him, I’m good with the gift he’s giving me as he puts her hand in mine. He steps away, wiping his face, and I turn to my bride, whose own face is streaking from her tears, eyes searching mine, all too tempted to take her lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I love you so much,” she says as I do my best to clear her tears with my thumbs. I’m a fucking mess myself, and I’m not the only one. As the music dies, Harper and I hear sniffs coming from all directions and turn toward the pews with concern as laughter fills the church.

Grinning like fools, we collectively turn back to the priest to guide us. The second I slip the ring on her delicate finger—I feel a sense of peace wash over me. She squeezes my hand, reciting her vows earnestly with a tearful voice, her eyes alight with love as I do everything I can to keep from crushing her to me. I take in her every word. But in a way, I feel like we’ve already been living these vows.

We’ve been there at our best and worst, through my dad’s sickness, in health, through poverty, and our new wealth, we’ve lived it. We’ve survived it. We fell in love in the thick of adversity and managed to make it to the other side stronger, better, and more in love than ever.

Feet away from the statue that mirrors the struggle, I marry the woman I love in a room filled to the brim with faith. Faith she kept, faith she still has, faith I now share. Faith that manifested itself because of this love we have and became something I can see.

“By the power vested in me by God and the State of New York,

I now pronounce you man and wife. Lance, you may kiss your bride.”

I cup her face, stroking the sides of it with my thumbs before I take her lips to seal our union. As I kiss my wife, I can still hear her voice, as clear as the day she said it.

“What if this moment, right here, is the moment that changes your life?”

Theo

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, a groomsman request. Would,” the deejay cuts off laughing, but you can still hear it on the mic, “Crazy Laney, would you please join your husband on the dance floor?”

I search the room for my wife and see her head pop to the side of Lance’s broad shoulder before her eyes narrow where I wait for her. And then she smiles when she hears the first few notes of “You’ve Got the Touch,” and I swear I feel every step she takes in her smelly boots towards me. She looks so fucking beautiful in her dress, reminding me of the first night I claimed her.

Seconds later, our hands are clasped, and we start to move to our song.

“You walk a thin line, husband of mine.”

“I’m aware. Have to keep you on your smelly toes.”

“Enough with that. I put odor eaters in.”

“Those boots stink. Your feet stink.”

She rolls her eyes. “I met you in these boots. They’re lucky. I’m not ditchin’ ‘em.”

“Let’s compromise. You won’t ditch me if I buy you new boots.”

“I don’t need new boots. And that’s not a compromise.”

“Laney,” I say, turning her so her dress swishes behind her.

“Fine. Okay, I’ve done everything. They stink.”