Page 57 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
The sound of the DJ tapping his mic stopped our flirting banter, “Next up, a few words from the maid of honor... Carol Jameson.”
A few words. Yeah, sure. Patrick and I shared a concerned glance. Carol was a writer. A writer of erotic fiction… one never knew what to expect with her. Come to think of it… I made a mental note to sneak a peek at her credit card statement the next time I was over. The gift basket… it sounded just like her kind of idea.
Carol rose from her chair like she was taking the stage at the Oscars. She looked stunning, wearing a wicked smile and with a gleam in her eyes that told me she was about to emotionally sucker-punch everyone at once. She took the mic, raised her champagne glass just slightly, and began, “So. I’ve known Patrick since we were born.”
A few heads turned. Even Patrick looked mildly concerned.
“I’ve seen this man with a bowl cut. I’ve seen him get bit by a goat at a petting zoo. I’ve seen him cry when his favorite action figure broke. I've seen him throw his first football—I still say it was way too soft of a throw, Henry." She raised her glass at him, and he laughed. "So, when I say I know him—Iknowhim.”
Laughter rolled through the room. Patrick covered his face with one hand and muttered something aboutbetrayal.
Carol pressed on. “And then, in high school, he fell in love with a girl I've known since kindergarten. A girl with big eyes, bigger dreams, and no idea she was about to turn Patrick McCloud into a simpering werebear.”
I groaned. “Oh God.”
Carol winked at me. “She didn’t see it, not at first. Because Ella was too busy pretending she wasn’t also falling. Which was cute. And also excruciating, because my two best friends shared a love that put every YA movie to shame.”
More laughter. A few people clapped. Henry cheered from the back.
“But then life happened,” she said, softer now. “The kind of life that breaks things. That stretches you. That forces you to grow in the dark and decide if it’s worth trying again when the light finally comes back.”
She looked at Patrick. “You did the bravest thing I’ve ever seen, McCloud. You let her go because you thought it was the right thing. And then you did something even braver: you came back and proved her heart was worth earning again.”
Then she turned to me, and her voice went all wobbly.
“And you, El? You said yes. Even after all the hurt. Even after all the time. Because that’s what love is. It’s not perfect. It’s not easy. It’sshowing up—again and again—and choosing each other even when it’s messy.”
I bit my lip. Hard, because damn it, the tears were about to spill.
Carol raised her glass, her smile turning fierce and a little misty. “To my two best friends. The boy I grew up with, and the woman I would set the world on fire for. To love, to stubbornness, and to second chances. And also to me—for not wearing white and stealing the show. You’re welcome.”
Laughter roared. People clapped. I was crying and laughing at the same time as I stood and hugged her hard.
“I love you,” I whispered.
She smirked. “Obviously. I’m fantastic.”
The lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed as the DJ announced our first dance.
"Shall we?"
Patrick held out his hand to me, and I felt like he was picking me up for the prom again. My heart stuttered in my chest, and my knees went weak. His hand was calloused and warm and gave me just the support I needed. We walked to the center of the wooden dance floor, surrounded by candles and string lights that looked like stars had fallen just for us.
Patrick stepped forward, hand out, eyes warm.My husband.God, that still didn’t feel real. The first soft notes ofTurning PagebySleeping At Lastfloated through the air, and everything else—the guests, the clinking glasses, the remains of the cake war—faded away.
He pulled me into his strong arms like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it, even though we’d done it a thousand times before. Every sway of his body, every pass of his hand over the small of my back, told me one thing loud and clear:This man was mine. And I was his.
“You’re glowing,” he whispered against my temple.
“Stop it,” I whispered back, already fighting tears. “If I cry, I’m blaming you and the damn lighting.”
He laughed softly, then leaned in closer. “Mrs. McCloud.”
“Still not over it, huh?”
“Never. You’re stuck with me.”
I leaned my head against his chest. “Good. I like stuck.”
