Page 7 of Entwined

We all wait for Beckett to ask his questions, but none come… he's too busy trying to smother himself in Emmett's neck.

“I'd like to propose a toast.” I stand and lift my glass. “First, to Laney of course, for making me the luckiest bastard alive and finally agreeing to marry me. To the best damn Crew a guy could ask for, thank you all for clearing your schedules and supporting us on our big day. It wouldn’t be the same without you there. And last, but nowhere near least, to Whitley; the most helpful, generous person we know and one helluva wedding planner.”

A round of “cheers” and clinking glasses ensues, we finish our meal and eventually, everyone heads home.

And Laney, holds on tight as I throw her over my shoulder and beeline for our bed

Time is a curious thing; an entity of endless variables—definite but undefined, speeding by one as it drags past another, infinite for all…and yet, for no one.

When I need or want time to pass slowly, moments are gone in a flash. Like now, for example. It feels as though Dane only just asked me to marry him, but here we are… the day of our wedding upon us.

During the pre-commotion; showers, fittings, tastings, the bachelorette party and everythingelse Whitley dragged me to, none of it seemed real.

Not really for me. Not really because I, was in fact, getting married. And definitely not really going by so fast.

Until now.

This feels… surreal.

As I stand in my gown, staring in the full-length mirror, I scarcely recognize the person gazing back at me. That blonde is no ball-playing, scared, eighteen-year-old tomboy, still unsure of who she is, or will be.

No. The reflection I see is that of a full-grown woman; confident in herself, her goals, friends and future. A future that will undoubtedly, always include the once-in-a-lifetime kind of love she has with the amazing man awaiting her hand today. A bond so intense and unbreakable, she knows it will last far beyond this life.

“You're beautiful, angel girl.” My mom comes to stand behind me, both hands on my shoulders as she speaks to the woman in the glass — the fully emerged Laney Jo Walker. Very soon to be Kendrick.

“Thank you, Mama.” I smile, blinking back happy tears. “I'm so glad you're here. You know, I imagined us sharing a moment exactly like this too many times to count. Another absolutely wonderful blessing in my life, totally worth waiting for.”

“I'm just grateful I could be here, and having a good day, so I'll remember it. And on days I don’t, promise me, you’ll tell me the story?”

“As many times as you want,” my voice thick with a held sob.

“Good. Now, before we both start crying, your father and I have something for you. Jefferson?”

“It time?” My dad stands and walks over — yes, he should be in with the guys, but since, because of Dane's heroic efforts, we've gotten my mom's condition under control and her lucidity is present more often than not — she and my dad are now best friends. And accordingly, he never strays too far from her. Plus, I'm glad he's in here with me. “Whitley?” He looks around the suite nervously for her, and upon hearing her name, out she pops!

“Sir?”

“What'd I tell ya about that fancy crap?” He grouches at her playfully. “You call me 'Jeff,' or don't call me at all.”

“Yes, si-, I mean Jeff. What can I help you with?”

“Trish and I are ready to give Slugger our thing.”

“Oh, okay.” Whit's eyes flare with panic, my dad no doubt throwing her “off schedule.” But she's a true sweetheart, never disrespectful, and goes with it. “Give me just a minute to gather everyone and we'll go ahead and do them all now. Is that all right?”

“Be fine.” Dad nods.

“Go for Sawyer. I repeat, if he's still insisting on his part, go for Sawyer,” Whitley dictates into her earpiece/cord/mic doohickey that she loves. Trust me, she may buy everyone in the Crew one and try to convince us to communicate that way from here on out. Doubt it’ll catch on though, considering the fact that her man can barely make it through a group text without going insane. “Ladies!” Whit claps her hands sharply, quieting the chatter. “We're about to do 'the somethings,' as soon as Sawyer gets here.”

The somethings? What the hell does that mean?

Before I can ask, Sawyer comes busting through the door. “I'm ready!” His eyes find Emmett. “Or maybe not. Damn, Shorty, nice dress. Can I, uh, speak to you in private?”

“Thank you, handsome,” Em giggles, moving toward him, but is promptly thwarted by a stiff-arm interception from Whitley.

“You're both kidding me, right? Laney's parents are in the room, and,” her volume hits fever pitch, “we have a wedding, not yours, happening! At a scheduled time!”

“Never mind now,” Sawyer gripes. “You and that damn voice, I've gone and lost that lovin' feeling anyway. Thanks for that, Whit.”

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