Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

Our first dance.

I whisper against his lips, “This moment is ours, isn’t it?” I don’t want to share this with anyone else. We ended up on the floor. Just like animals. I break into a smile, and his thumb strokes the long scar on my cheek.

He looks like he could spend the rest of his life on the floor, right here, tangled up with me. He nods and says against my lips, “This is fucking ours.”

I run my fingers through his hair again. “I’m so happy I could scream.”

His lips curve upward. “Then scream, Calloway.”

I howl instead. When he joins in, when he howls with me, my world is absolutely, totally and entirely complete.

RYKE MEADOWS

6:02 a.m.

The sun just begins to rise behind Machu Picchu’s sharp mountain peak, the dark sky fucking lightening with soft blues. I stand beneath a wooden arch draped with green foliage and an assortment of white flowers and yellow daisies.

My heart is fucking pounding. I watch Daisy’s parents help her grandfather in a wooden chair before they take their seats. Sam, Maria, Garrison, my father, and Frederick are already in theirs. Off to the side, one of my oldest climbing buddies wields his zampoña, a pan flute. Eddie offered to play the music at our wedding last time I visited.

For a fifty-year-old fucking recluse in the middle of the Costa Rican rainforest, it was a grand gesture that I wouldn’t refuse.

I keep raking my hands through my hair, the sleeves of my white button-down rolled to my biceps. Just black slacks and a black tie, nothing fucking over-the-top. Same for my groomsmen: my little brother and Connor.

“If you’re going to puke, bro, you only have two minutes to do it.” Lo is closest to my side.

I rub my forehead with my arm. Fucking A.

All I can think is that this has to be perfect for Daisy.

Luck slips out of our grasp every time we catch it. The minute we taste happiness or something decent and good happens, it’s gone. Her theory about how she can’t feel happiness in one breath, without being struck down in the second, fucking kills me.

Today, of all days, I want to prove her wrong.

I want her to feel happiness without anything else attached. Just pure unadulterated joy.

Let me give her that.

I stare up at the sky, expecting a helicopter. A fucking drone. The disruption of paparazzi to pour down on us.

A second later, a bird slices through the dim, morning light. Okay. I nod to myself, my shoulders loosening. Okay. Lo places his hand on my back. “Seriously, are you alright?”

I rotate, catching sight of Lo’s foreign concern and Connor’s tranquil, relaxed expression. Sully stands off to the left of the arch, hands in his slacks, his shaggy hair bobbing to the rustle of the trees. No music yet.

I never imagined myself married or a future wedding or anything past today. If I did ten years ago, I doubt it’d look anything like this. With these friends and family here. Willing to celebrate the love that Daisy and I share. This isn’t a sad, lonely picture.

It’s just the fucking opposite.

“I’m okay,” I finally tell my brother. Better than okay. This is the kind of life I never thought I’d have, and seeing it all laid out like this does something to me.

“Really?” Disbelief clouds his face. “I thought we’d have to take a puke break for you.”

“Fucking really,” I snap back, glancing at his watch. “She’s taking a long time.” Maybe she’s sick. “I should—”

“You should stay here,” Lo cuts me off. “It’s your only job.”

“No surprise he’s having trouble at it,” Connor pipes in.

I roll my fucking eyes, but I’m glad that he’s still here, no matter how much we grow older.

Connor checks his Rolex. “She is a little late though.”

Something terrible fucking happened.

I’m going to leave.

And just as I’m about to take a step, Eddie begins blowing on his pan flute. The whimsical music breezes through the private gardens, the lodge far off and hidden behind trees.

I stand rigid, my arms at my side, and I fixate on the hedge where people should either frantically run out or gracefully walk along the aisle between wooden chairs. Let it be the fucking latter.

What feels like a century passes.

Real fucking concern darkens my face.

Then a canary yellow dress billows into the forefront.

Poppy emerges from behind the hedge. The fabric of her V-neck gown cascades to the grass, the layers light and combined to look like a flower petal.

I hone in on her slow pace, timed to the pan flute.

She’s not running. She’s not hysteric. She carries a tiny bouquet of white flowers, and just as Rose and Willow follow behind her, I notice something.

They all wear crowns made of baby’s breath. It reminds me so much of Daisy. Everything’s going to be okay. It’s beginning to feel that way.

Lily, the maid of honor, brings the rear with a nervous smile. Her flower crown is slightly off-kilter. My little brother makes the Spock symbol thing at her, and her cheeks redden but her smile stretches.

She’s beautiful and has more self-confidence than I ever remember her possessing. I’m proud of you, Lil.

In no time, all of Daisy’s sisters line up on the other side of the arch, Lily closest to it. Next, two-year-old Janie and Moffy shuffle down the aisle, tossing white flower petals from their respective baskets. Then comes a chorus of “awwws” and camera flashes from Daisy’s parents.

These two little kids are beyond fucking cute.

Janie runs out of flowers, and Moffy lets her grab some from his basket. They finish off at the end and then Samantha lifts Moffy on her lap, Greg picking up Janie.

Our white husky suddenly appears, her tail wagging as she hurries excitedly down the aisle, a yellow bow tied around her collar. As she reaches

me, I crouch and pat her side and rub behind her ears.

Lo follows suit, only to retrieve the rings attached to her collar. Then Nutty sits calmly by Lo’s feet, alert and watchful of the aisle. Like she fucking knows who’s coming next.

I exhale.

In the audience, everyone begins to stand.

6:12 a.m.

The sun is rising in Peru.

I had no preconceived notions of what I’d feel today. I didn’t think that fucking far ahead, but waiting for the bride to step out, my bride, shortens my breath. More than anyone else, I just want to see her.

And then she rounds the hedge.

I’m almost knocked back. I take an audible inhale, my gaze fixed on her unparalleled smile and her golden blonde hair.

Daisy stands strongly, fucking vibrantly, at the end of the aisle.

My eyes burn because I’ve never seen her this beautiful or this alive. Meeting her radiance head on is a collision with ten-thousand degrees of heat. The longer I watch, my gaze blazes, water welling like I may not fucking survive. And guess what.

I’m not shutting my eyes.

I’d rather die inside this moment than miss a single part.

An assortment of colorful flowers shaped in a crown is nestled in her golden hair. Her sheer white gown dusts the grass, see-through long sleeves reaching her wrists. As she begins to step forward, I notice the intricate embroidery of silver doves and vines dripping down her arms, breastbone, and waist.

When my eyes connect with hers again, she mouths, hey there.

I find the fucking strength to mouth back, hey, Calloway.

My gaze grows glassier the more I watch her, the more she watches me. Slowly nearing.

The glimmer in her green eyes, the lightness in her gait, the overwhelming smile stretching her scar—this is the look of someone who’s free. Somewhere along the way, she found her voice. Somewhere along the way, she found her stride. I’m just the grateful fucking guy who was given the chance to stand by her side.

Through it all.

I don’t pinch my eyes, and a couple tears slide down my cheek.