Page 100 of Parrish

This is us.

These are our scars.

“You asked about our wedding,” he pauses, swiping a hand over his worn face. “And all I could think about was that most women look back on their wedding with fucking stars in their eyes. Not you,” he says, meeting my gaze.

Pain.

His.

Mine.

It’s all there radiating from those dark irises.

“There was no reception with top-shelf liquor. Nor was there some fancy cake we fed to one another. What should’ve been the happiest day of our life was filled with heartache and carnage. Who the fuck wants to tell their wife that?”

“Stop,” I whisper. The tears cloud my eyes and spill over, running down my cheeks like the fiercest waterfall. I don’t bother wiping them. The dam is broken. Instead, I hold out my hand and silently plead with him to take it. Maybe it’s just my natural instinct to offer him comfort or maybe it’s more.

Maybe it’s part of that bigger picture.

He doesn’t take it but he does sit at the foot of the bed and the proximity of his closeness heightens my senses. I see him more clearly. The tables turn and suddenly it’s Jack who is providing comfort simply by being close to me. His masculine scent it’s more than familiar, it’s home. All the truth he’s telling, it’s a storm, and he’s my shelter.

“You were pregnant with Danny,” he rasps. “About seven months. You wore some kind of dress that showed off your belly, black lace-up boots, and a leather jacket,” he reveals, running his hands over his denim covered thighs. “You were the most beautiful bride I ever saw.”

Blowing out a breath, he hands his head.

I wish he’d look at me.

I wish he’d take my hand.

“It was a small wedding. We only invited the club and the Pastore’s. Pipe and Wolf cleaned up the clubhouse and had the prospects build a trellis. There were twinkling lights and sunflowers everywhere.”

Suddenly, he pauses and I watch his lips quirk ever so slightly at the memory.

“It wasn’t a wedding of the ages, but it was perfect for a love of the ages,” he rasps. “Lacey was your maid of honor and Blackie was my best man. There was a priest and Linc sang as you made your way to me. Surrounded by the people who love us most, I took your hands in mine and you smiled at me. It was one of the best you’ve ever given me, and I’ll never forget it.”

The play on words isn’t lost.

I forgot.

I forgot the smile.

I forgot him.

“The priest asked the room if there was any just cause why we shouldn’t be married and the doors of the clubhouse opened.”

He turns his head and finally, my wish comes true. His eyes lock with mine but the words that come next stab me in the heart.

“A man sent by one of my enemies walked in with his arms outstretched like Jesus on the cross and a bomb strapped to his chest.”

I go still. So still, that I’m not sure if I breathe. He bites the inside of his cheek and reaches for my hand. Studying them for a moment, he lifts them between us.

“They fit, don’t they?”

Unable to form a single syllable, I squeeze his hand and nod. He brushes a kiss across my knuckles before setting our joined hands on his lap.

“The bomb detonated before we could say I do. The next thing I recall is you on top of me, your face full of pain. I asked you what was wrong but I couldn’t hear you. I felt like someone was holding my head under water. They took us to the hospital, and that’s where we got separated. I might’ve lost my hearing, but that wasn’t going to hold me back from making sure you and the baby were okay. I tore through the hospital like a madman until I found you. You had gone into premature labor but they were able to stop it.”

His thumb grazes the ID bracelet on my wrist.

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