Erin pressed her hands to my chest and gave me a gentle shove. "Go," she said. "We'll steal a bottle of sambuca later and catch up."
"Not the sambuca. I had a hangover for six days the last time we drank sambuca."
"Go," she repeated, laughing. "And be sure to bring him back with you."
"Believe me, I'm going to try."
I crossed the room with single-minded focus, weaving through the gathered guests and ignoring greetings. When I reached him, I didn't hold back. I curled my hand around his bicep and turned him to face me. "Don't make me dickslap that pout off your face," I said. "Come on. I have to do something."
He shook out of my grip with a gasp. "How—what are you doing? Where did you come from and why do you look like a sun-dried tomato?"
I took his hand, laced my fingers with his, and kissed his knuckles. "I'll explain everything later but right now, I'm apologizing. I'm throwing myself at your feet. I'm telling you I don't have all the answers and I'm scared I'll never have the ones you want but I'm also admitting I was wrong and wrong and, oh yeah, even more wrong. And I'm admitting I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going or who I'm going to be when I grow up but I know I like what I'm doing and where I'm going and who I am when I'm with you. I like that you force me to think about those things and even though it drives me fucking crazy and you're more than a little stubborn, I like that you expect big things from me. And even though there's a choice comment about my cock waiting to be made, I have to do something before this wedding kicks off and you need to be there for it."
Snatching his hand back, he hissed, "Don't you dare propose to me here. That is completely unacceptable."
"There's no way to say this without sounding like a massive dick weasel but I'm not proposing to you." I reached under his tuxedo jacket, flattening my hand on his back. I couldn't handle standing here without touching him. Scowling, he shuffled closer. "We'll talk about the marriage stuff later but I know I want to figure it out. With you."
"I already know what you think. You don't want to get married."
"Yeah, that's what I said before," I admitted. "I've had some time in the bottom of a rum bottle to reconsider. To start, I was thinking we might give it a shot by moving in together. I want to learn. I want to do better. I'm unemployed and my skills don't transfer to many civilian jobs and none of that sounds promising but we could try. We could go anywhere you want. I promise I'd take good care of you, Tom."
He shook his head and blinked away. "I can't," he whispered, tears heavy in his voice. "Ican'tbe your secret."
I reached for his hand again. "Do you trust me?"
He sobbed out a laugh. "That's a question with many answers, Wes."
"If you trust me at all, come with me now."
He rested his forehead on my chest for a moment. "All right," he whispered.
Our fingers laced together, I led him across the room. We blew past Shannon and Will, Matt and Lauren, Nick and Erin. We ignored everyone. Then, with my breath coming in jagged pants and bile in my throat and sweat soaking my shirt and my life flashing before my eyes, we stopped.
"Mom. Dad. I want you to meet someone." I met Tom's wide-eyed gaze and the whooshing in my head slowed a bit. I'd nearly died a few months ago but this didn't feel like that. This felt much worse, as if my vital organs were shivering, bracing for impact. "You already know Tom but you haven't met my…my boyfriend."
My mother squeaked in surprise and her face split into an enormous smile. I'd anticipated some version of that. My father, though, he was a different story. He blinked at us and that split-second pause did a number on my heart. But then he reached out, set a hand on each of our shoulders, and said, "I can't wait to get to know you both."
A leaden, decades-held breath wheezed out of me. If I hadn't been rooted in place by Tom's grip on my hand and my father's hold on my shoulder, I would've fallen flat on my ass. That was the only way to cope with the world tilting under my feet.
"Oh, look at you two. You're just darling together." My mother pushed her way into our circle and cupped Tom's cheek. To him, she said, "I've always liked you."
"Have you?" he asked, laughing.
She gave his cheek a loving pat. "Yes. You're bright and you don't take any nonsense. You're a sharp dresser too. I like that."
He glanced at me, an eyebrow arched and the corner of his mouth tipping up in a smile. "You're right about the nonsense."
I felt like a roughly shaken bottle of champagne, everything swirling and bubbling and the pressure building all around. If I blinked or breathed, the cork would pop and I'd dissolve into a fizzy puddle because this wasn't real. This wasn't my life. Things didn't work out like this for me.
As my mother made noise about getting a photo of us for her blog and folded us into a group hug, Tom leaned his temple to my cheek, whispering, "Don't freak out on me now. We've got this." He squeezed my hand again, hard enough to snap my attention away from everything else. "I've got you."
27
Tom
As I pushedthrough the crowd with Wes close behind me, two things were clear to me.
First, Wes was freaking out.
