Page 67 of Roan

Tiller glances over his shoulder. “Jesus Christ. We can’t take him anywhere.” Leaning over, he grabs hold of the handlebars and yanks the bike up. “Do you have a fucking plan or not?”

“I have a plan.” I nod to the path leading to the Hydrangea Cottage where Camden said they were getting married. Just the words “getting married” hit my chest with such weight that I gasp. It can’t happen. I refuse to let it.

“Now what?” Camden asks when he notices guests filling through the grounds, all dressed in wedding attire. He pulls the map from his pocket. “Looks like we go that way.”

Now might be a good time to tell you, I don’t have a solid plan. What I do know is there is a girl in a white dress standing next to a man in a black tux, and the guy’s not me.

Tiller takes the map from Camden, wads it up and tosses it at him. “We don’t need any evidence.”

Camden slaps Tiller’s shoulder. “Hey, I stayed up all night making that.”

Impatient as usual, Tiller revs his bike, rocking forward on it. “Make a plan, man.” Or at least I think he says that. I have no clue because I can’t hear him over the bikes.

Camden, poor fuck looks like he’s going to piss his pants and he can hardly keep the bike upright. People start to notice us. Tiller waves casually, but they don’t look amused.

Easing out the clutch, I grab a handful of throttle and take off down the path leading into the venue. When I said I didn’t have a solid plan, I meant I didn’t have one at all.

You know those storybook weddings that look like an artist painted the picture and everything is so perfect that you think to yourself, that can’t possibly be real? I’m here to tell you that those weddings do exist, but, if you look closely, it’s not as it seems. You don’t know the lies hidden deep within the thorns of the roses lining the path to the altar.

This might sound stupid, but when I think about this day, it really is perfect in every way. The sun’s at the exact point in the sky where it highlights every beautiful detail of the lush gardens. There’s a gentle breeze bringing in the salty marine air off the coast and if I sit still long enough, I can hear birds chirping.

Still, something is terribly wrong.

I can’t marry him.

All morning I tried to think of something to say to Agustin before it got to this point. Anything. But nothing came to mind. You know that movieMade of Honorwhere Patrick Dempsey’s character, Tom, is in love with the girl and he waits until the night before the wedding to tell her? Or maybe I missed big chunks of that movie, but I do remember him being punched by that one guy who now stars onGrey’s Anatomy. Well, actually, they both do, but you know what I mean. He waited until the last minute and I remember thinking to myself, dude, how could you do that? You had so many opportunities to tell her how you felt!

Well, now I know how Tom felt. It’s not easy to call off a wedding. Not when the last thing you want to do is hurt the other person.

So here I am, getting ready to walk down the aisle and trying to figure out if I fake my own death at this very moment, would that really be so bad? Maybe pretend to pass out? Choke? Faint? It’s the middle of July. I could totally blame it on the heat.

My dad squeezes my hand. “When you were a little girl, I used to think about this day.”

I hear his words and smile, my eyes on my feet, hands sweating so badly I can feel it pooling in my palm as I grasp the bouquet. It takes me a moment to understand what he just said. He thought about this day, as I’m sure most fathers have.

With shaking steps, I put one foot in front of the other. I look up halfway down the aisle, the slow steady beat of the music seeming to fade away. In front of me, my future, beside me, the man who made it possible. Some would think I might hate this man for the secret he kept from me as a child, but I couldn’t hate him. Not ever. He saved mine and my mother’s life. “Was it anything like this?”

His eyes shift to Agustin, and then me, the sunlight catching the green in his eyes. “Not exactly.”

At first, I want to ask what he means by that, but if I really think about his words, the tenderness in his eyes, I know. “I love you,” I whisper to him as we begin to walk.

“I love you, darlin’.” He leans down, kissing my temple. “Always, no matter what.”

Even if I call off the wedding after you paid nearly twenty grand to rent this place? How about then?

I don’t ask that, but I’m thinking about it.

Do you see that girl dressed in white standing in front of the man in black? They’re standing in front of a lavish altar surrounds by friends, family, everyone they love, but it’s wrong. Everything about it’s wrong, because that girl, the one in white, she’s about to break his heart.

Why have I let it get this far?

I know what you’re thinking. I should have said something sooner, and I wanted to. As we stand there in front of that altar, I think, maybe I’ve let it go on too far. Maybe I’ve lost my chance. Maybe I should… just keep quiet?

Something happens when I’m looking at Agustin as the minister asks me to repeat after him. Not only does the distinct hollow sound of dirt bikes draw my attention, yeah, you and I both know who that might be. But first, do you see the way I’m staring at Agustin and the nervousness in his stance? It’s then I remember what my mom said. You have a choice in who you love, but your soul mate, it’s destiny. And my destiny comes in the way of a dirt bike pinned full throttle and thirty feet in the air doing a backflip off a cottage and into a garden behind us.

I’m not even joking. Roan Sawyer just backflipped his dirt bike into my wedding.

You knew he’d do something, didn’t you?

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