Headstrong Like Us (Like Us 6)

“I’m good,” I say. “You guys? Luna?”

They all nod.

Donnelly stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember something. “I’ve got tissues, Tylenol…” He pats his pants pockets and takes out a couple items. “Chapstick, condoms.”

My brows rise. “Why are you carrying around condoms?”

“You know, in case you and Maximoff have a quickie after the ceremony. I’ve got you, man.”

I nod with a growing smile. “You can mark that down as: shit that’s not happening. There’s no probability we’ll ditch our reception to go fuck in the bathroom.” I wouldn’t knock anyone for doing it, but we definitely want to wait.

Oscar grins and pops a Cheeto in his mouth. “You hear that, Donnelly. Your emergency condoms are useless.”

“Nah, man.” Donnelly slips the condom back in his pocket. “These are for you three then.” He looks between Oscar, Thatcher, and Luna. “In case you need them. I’ve got my guys and girl.” His eyes flit to Luna for a second longer.

She smiles.

Oscar laughs, “No way you have Moretti’s size in your pocket.”

Donnelly focuses back on Oscar. “Thatch can double wrap it.”

I can’t help it—I’m fucking cracking up.

Thatcher shakes his head into a long blink. Stunned him silent. Going to be honest, it’s not that hard. My smile aches my cheeks, and in the next beat, we all return to getting ready.

Luna slips back into the bathroom, where she left her heels.

I stand in front of the mirror and take a breath. Oscar comes closer, studying me from head to toe. I look over at him.

“In less than an hour, you’re going to be a married man, Redford.” He nods with a nostalgic smile like, this is it, what you’ve always wanted. Happiness glows in his brown eyes. “How does that feel?”

“An hour too long.” I can’t lie. Nervous anticipation courses through me. I usually don’t have jitters. I step back from the mirror, for a fuller view, and I skim myself.

I’m a doctor. I’ve trained my entire life to switch nerves into calm focus, but right now, my breath is short with this strange, jumpy expectancy.

Shit.

The three guys share a look with one another.

“No, don’t do that,” I tell them. “I’m perfectly fine without you three silently worrying.”

“We’re not worried,” Thatcher says, arms weaving over his chest. His lip edges up.

“But you are sweating,” Oscar chimes in.

Fuck, I touch my forehead. Sure enough, moisture lands on my fingertips.

“Here, man.” Donnelly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. He passes the cloth to me, and I pat my forehead.

I return the handkerchief. “I’m just jittery.” I massage my hands. “Feels like a thousand things are flapping in my fucking stomach.”

Oscar pops another Cheeto in his mouth. “We call those butterflies, Redford.”

“No shit.” I widen my eyes. “Make them stop.”

“Can’t.” Donnelly checks his phone. “You’re about to get married.”

“They’re not optional,” Oscar says.

Thatcher’s quiet. A stern, serious look on his face. Honestly, I feel like if I asked him, he’d murder the butterflies for me.

“Jane said they’re leaving for the venue in five minutes. We’ve gotta be out in five too,” Donnelly announces, sliding his phone back in his pocket.

Getting closer.

I inhale a strong breath, and my smile returns at full force.

Here we go, wolf scout.

44

MAXIMOFF HALE

I’m not spacing out.

I’m here.

I’m here.

So damn present, so I can look back and remember every detail, every ordinary, romantic, and miraculous thing.

My grooms party and I are lined up outside for the ceremony.

Trellises hide us from the rows and rows of white chairs and arriving guests. Ivy cascades like green waterfalls down the trellises, orange marigolds and blue hydrangeas peeking out of the lush green foliage.

Farrow and I decided on colors that reminded us of water and the sunset, which fit perfectly for the venue.

The grassy cliff is like the world’s edge. Overlooking the crystal-clear sea that caresses the rocks. A gorgeous lighthouse resides at the rim. And I’ve already seen the ivy, floral wedding arch.

My destination.

I blow out a breath.

While the trellises conceal us on the left side of the guests, I can’t see them or the identical trellises on the right side where Farrow and his grooms party wait.

But I hear soft chatter growing louder.

Jane glimpses furtively out, carrying a bouquet with the same orange and blue flowers.

This morning, I kissed her cheeks and said, “Bonjour, ma moitié.”

She couldn’t even say the routine thing back. She burst into tears. Janie could feel how fucking happy and overwhelmed I am. And I could feel how happy she is for me.

I love her, and I can’t imagine doing this without her here.

Jane hides back behind the ivy trellises, turning to me. “They’re all seated.” Her eyes sparkle. She’s dressed in a white jumpsuit, her normally frizzed hair perfectly coiled into soft ringlets.

They’re all seated.

This is it.

I imagine about two-hundred guests filling the chairs and waiting. Production crew has been darting around with cameras all day.